I swallow. “Okay, but I’ll have to concentrate. Singing and drumming at the same time is like patting your head while rubbing your stomach.”
He chuckles. “I think you can handle it.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
We start again, and this time I come in on the chorus, harmonizing softly. Our voices blend better than I expected—smooth and natural.
“That’s great,” Axel proclaims when the song ends.
“Glad you approve,” I tease.
“Should we go to the next one?”
Before I can answer, my stomach growls—loudly.
I press a hand against it. “You might be able to do this all night, but I’m starving. Any chance we could break our noses away from the grindstone long enough to eat?”
He laughs. “Let’s order a pizza.”
“Sounds good.”
His phone buzzes. He retrieves it from his pocket. “Hey. How’s it going?” He makes a face. “Oh, wow. That’s too bad. Hmm. Okay. Well … yeah, I can do that. I was just about to grab something to eat, but … sure. I’ll just eat there. Sounds good.” He ends the call and lets out a breath.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He gets up and hangs his guitar on the wall. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta run. They’re short on volunteers at the soup kitchen tonight.”
“Soup kitchen?”
He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah. I help out when I can. It’s over near Jefferson Street. The coordinator just called. Half the volunteers are down with the flu.”
I blink. “You volunteer at a soup kitchen?”
“It’s a good way to give back. Keeps me grounded.”
Okay, that’s … unexpected. For so long, Ipegged him as the self-centered playboy who only cares about the spotlight. I’ve viewed him through the lens of old hurts, middle and high school memories, and celebrity gossip. But this? This doesn’t fit the image at all.
“Sorry about dinner,” he says.
“It’s fine.” It occurs to me that I’m disappointed. It would’ve been nice to have pizza with him.
His eyes light up. “Hey, you could come with me.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. Help at the kitchen. You’re hungry, right?” He points. “Don’t deny it, I heard your stomach.”
“Ha, ha,” I say dryly. “Too much work, not enough food.”
“Come with me. The food’s actually pretty good. Lizzy—who runs the place—makes a great soup.”
It would be awesome to watch Axel interact at a soup kitchen, but I can’t come across as too eager, so I scrunch my brows. “I dunno.”
“Come on,” he drawls. “Where else are you gonna get free food and such fabulous company?”
A giggle rises in my throat as my words come out silky and taunting. “Axel Cox, you certainly have a high opinion of yourself.”
He laughs. “I suppose I might resemble that comment.”
