Palms sweating, I turned my attention to the walls to plan the best backdrop for our shoot. His family must’ve hung old childhood artwork and posters from various bands and TV shows. It kinda served as a developmental timeline for Zack. Teeth chattering, I dragged my feet amid the surreal, modern art museum quality of the history hanging here. What did Zack’sinterpretation of the tooth fairy as a no-nonsense woman in gloves say about him?
But then a bed under the stairs caught my eye–and a dresser with donuts on top of it. Did he live down here?
He squeezed my hand and led me past retro workout equipment to his band. The drummer was in a bold print shirt, spinning idly on his stool, while the other guy lounged in flannel pants on an old beige sofa, his instrument propped against the arm. They looked casual, almost unwashed. Did he not tell them we’d be filming?
He jerked his chin at them. “Hey, this is Nicole.”
“Hey,” they chorused.
“Wow, that was almost in harmony,” I said. My chest tightened at the bad joke, but at least Zack snorted a laugh.
“Don’t get used to it,” he said.
“We’re not that bad,” the drummer amended.
“We’re not that good either,” he said.
“We need more practice,” lumberjack-flannel guy said pointedly, picking splinters out of his hands.
The drummer shrugged. “We’re just having fun. Zack’s already got three jobs. The band doesn’t need to be another one for any of us.”
“Three?” I tucked my toes behind my heel when the bandmates eyed me. “Fancee’s, the bar, and…?”
“Shoveling. Er, landscaping. It’s seasonal, though. It’s nothing.” He rubbed his ear on his shoulder.
“Nothing?” Lumberjack bristled.
It didn’t seem like nothing.
Zack abandoned my side for his guitar. “I mean it’s not steady.”
Lumberjack frowned. “He didn’t tell you about his other jobs?”
I pulled my collar, hoping the studs on my jacket would protect me like a hedgehog’s quills. “We only just started dating.His work doesn’t leave much time for chit-chat, either, which is why I’m happy he’s at Fancee’s with me.”
The drummer grinned at my outfit and rubbed his goatee. “Maybe your style will rub off on him. So, why do you work at the mall? I thought you were a model.”
“Oh, I am.” Didn’t I look like one? “But it’s not a steady gig either. I like to keep busy, keep hustling. That’s probably part of why we’re compatible.” If he knew about my side gig selling feet pics, he’d probably shovel me right out the door. I grimace-smiled at Zack. This wasn’t going over as easily as he’d said it would.
“Sit down.” He pointed to the couch with the neck of his guitar. “I mean, you can.”
“Gee, thanks.” I teased. My swagger evaporated as I sank onto the old sofa, my spine straight so the studs on my jacket didn’t press too hard into my skin.
Zack fiddled with his instrument. “Okay, Lance, if you'd actually like to practice…"
“I’m coming.” Lumberjack Lance slid past me without making eye contact.
The drummer leaned over. “Don’t worry, we do a reduced set for girlfriends.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want them getting bored. Any requests?” the lumberjack asked, his tone flat.
“Um…” My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single classic rock artist, nor their prior setlist. Was this a test? “I doubt you’d do any Stylin’ Myles, so how about…” My gaze flitted to Zack’s barely concealed scowl. “KISS?”
“KISS?” Lumberjack Lance glanced at the drummer and Zack, his tone considerably lighter. “I guess we could do one of their songs.”
Zack flashed me a smile, pride glinting off his dark eyes and swelling my lungs. My insides twisted tighter than boot laces. I passed the test. All we needed was a little KISS.
