Charlotte touches my shoulder. “Sweetie. He only has eyes for you. Trust me. He never talks to anyone outside of the band, Mark, and Amy.” She makes a face. “Thankfully, you haven’t met Amy yet. She’s…good at her job, but she’s a lot. She’s basically the reason we even stayed afloat after the third album. She knows how to sell a story to the media. Problem is, now she thinks she owns the band’s image—including Sully’s.”
I blink at her. “Owns it?”
“She acts like it’s all about protecting us, but it’s really about the money. Sully’s the only single member left. Amy sees dollar signs when she looks at him. She wants a picture-perfect romance to sell tickets, merch, anything she can put a price tag on.”
“That’s what he told me. That it was all a PR stunt he didn’t agree to.”
“Yes. Gigi asked us to record a track for her new album, and Amy thought it’d be great press. I was against it, but I got outvoted.” Charlotte sighs, rubbing her palms down her jeans. “And now Amy’s pushing for us to tour with Gigi in Europe. We’re still ironing out the details, but it’s looking more and more like a done deal.”
The wordEuropelands like a punch to the ribs. I don’t want to imagine Sully leaving—but what right do I have to ask him to stay?
Charlotte watches me, her mouth pulling into a soft frown. “And Gigi…she’s another story. She’s used to getting her way. Always has been. She loves the spotlight, and she’s smart enough to know pairing herself with Sully will give her fresh attention, boost her tour numbers, sell this fantasy.”
“She sounds awful.”
Charlotte nods. “She is. She barked at Sully like he was an intern the first time they met—ordered him to fetch her green tea.” She shakes her head. “The sad thing is, Sully’s too easygoing. He hates drama. He thinks if he stays quiet, people will leave him alone. But it’s the opposite with people like Amy and Gigi. They see him as this prize they can polish and parade around.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, the anger and sadness tangling up inside me.
Charlotte smiles, just a little. “But you…you’re the first thing that’s broken through that ice around him in a long time. I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him smile so much until you.”
She opens the door, ushering us back into the studio.
Sully’s guitar is fixed, and he’s laying down his part of the track. His eyes are closed, and the melody fills the air. Damn, he’s breathtaking, and all I want is to have those hands all over me and see what kind of music we can make together.
After Sully’s finished with his part, we walk a couple of blocks north to this hole-in-the-wall pizza and ice cream place I never heard of. He holdsthe door open for me, and a cow moos to welcome us instead of the usual bell ringing.
“How did you find this place?” I ask, looking around. It’s small, maybe two hundred square feet, with only a few tables. In the corner are two pinball machines that use bouncy balls. There’s a TV hanging in the corner of the room playingFriendswith the volume low and closed captions on.
“I read reviews and found this hidden gem.” He wraps an arm around my hips, and I have no clue if he’s messing with me or not.
We both order a slice of pepperoni pizza. The slice is huge, needing two plates to support its weight.
We sit at the table with a giant Marilyn Monroe poster hanging on the blood-red wall. For a few moments, we’re quiet while enjoying our dinner.
“Dessert?” Sully licks grease off his fingers.
He read my mind. I’ve been eyeing the ice cream menu since we sat down. They have endless options.
I order a cookie monster munch, which is cookies and cream flavored ice cream with extra Oreos crushed on top. Sully gets dirty love, which is rocky road ice cream with gummy worms.
Sully licks his purple plastic spoon and stabs at a gummy worm, slicing off its head. “Tell me something you’ve never told another soul.”
I wipe my mouth on a napkin. “And why would I do that? Do you want to run for the hills?”
He makes a show of glancing around then leans forward to whisper, “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
“Ha!” I snort and ice cream burns my nose. “I’d be the worst serial killer. I pulled a muscle putting on my tail last week.”
“Come on. It’s easy to open up to someone who doesn’t know you.”
“You go first then,” I say, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Need to rate how honest I should be.” He needs to give me some range because there are some scary skeletons locked in my closet.
He leans back and cracks his knuckles, treating this like a contest of sorts. “Right before the tour started, I almost walked away from the band for good.”
A heavy weight crushes my chest. My favorite band almost broke up, and no one knew. No music magazine or social media outlet posted a peep about it.
“Wow…” I clench my jaw to keep from gaping at him like a fish and poke at a cookie piece with my spoon, lost for words. “How…when…”
