Her phone vibrated, and she held that thought. It was Vegas on text.
On r way 2 casino.
Shit. What if Sebastien was calling her bluff? Nadie was hitting the stage in ten minutes and she didn’t feel like dealing with his bullshit. Or smelling his breath.
She texted back.Who are you with?
CK.
As in Cary Kingston.
Oh my god.She placed her hand on her chest. Why was Cary with him? Maybe Vegas was joking. But maybe he wasn’t.
The casino was a far cry from the venues Cary played. The sound bounced off the metal roof, harsh and hollow—this place was never meant for live music. And on top of that, she’d have to introduce Caryto her family, somehow explaining why the biggest rock star in the world was here for her mother’s benefit.
Where was that bottle of champers?
Five minutes later her phone vibrated. It was Vegas again.
We’re here.
She took a second to respond.
Meet you at the back door.
With the theme fromA Summer Place—her grandma’s favorite movie—swirling in her head, she drew in a breath and strolled down the hall as if it were a Sunday on the seawall—without the hazard of cyclists.
Tyler opened the door.Yep, that’s Cary—fresh out of the shower, judging by his damp hair. Not that she’d worry about him catching a cold. That was just a myth, anyway.
“Where are your parents?” she asked, tilting her head.
His forehead creased, confused by the question. “They’re staying at my aunt’s.”
Right. He had family in Winnipeg.
She pointed to his guitar case. “Are you planning on busking or something?”
“No.” He scowled at Vegas. “Didn’t you tell her?”
“Sorry, man.” Vegas shook his head. “You didn’t ask.”
“Ask me what?” She cut Vegas off, ears perked.
This ought to be good.
“I thought I’d play a few songs.” Cary tapped on the side of his guitar case. “Help out a good cause if I can?”
Ha!Like she was going to say no to him. She opened the door wider. “I think we can squeeze you in.”
The knots in her stomach tightened into a ball. Maybe this was his grand plan all along. Or perhaps it was an afterthought.
A few seconds later Tyler caught the stage manager’s eye and he flashed his hands, holding up three fingers.
“You’re on next,” she told Cary. “But they only have time for three songs.”
“No worries.” He swept his hair away from his eyes. “Sorry for crashing your concert.”
She smirked. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
