Okay, fair enough.
“What about tomorrow? My meetings?” she asked.
“My car service will drive you.”
She folded her arms and tapped her foot. “And Rory?”
“He’s spending the day with me.” Cary scratched the dog behind his ears while he tried to lick his face. “Rory! Who wants to go to the beach?”
The dog zoomed around the room. Rory understood the word “beach” perfectly.
Tyler bit the insides of her cheeks, because there’s nothing worse than laughing when you’re trying not to.
“Or we can stay here,” Cary told her. “No worries, babe. I want you in my bed at some point this weekend.”
She had to admit she was curious—about where he lived, where he slept, where he brought the models and actresses. That was it. The gnawing uncertainty that always came with dating a musician. The doubt never really left, just lurked under the surface, waiting.
“Fine.” She unfolded her arms. “We can stay in Malibu, but I have to head to the venue for soundcheck.”
“We’ll do whatever you want.” He picked up his phone. “What time are you going?”
“Around six.” Her voice returned to normal.
“Perfect. I’ll stop by the gallery while you’re there.”
“Are you still coming to the show?”
“Absolutely.” He lowered his chin and looked at her. “Are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good,” she said. “I’m sorry for overreacting, but I’ve barely talked to you. Oh, and by the way, you’re my plus one on the guest list.”
“I’ll giveyoua plus one.” He sprawled across the king-size bed and patted the mattress. “Maybe we should see who’s all talk?”
She stared into his penetrating gaze. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Kim!” Tyler hollered as she rushed into the Troubadour’s showroom, heart still pounding.
Cary Kingston had spent the last few hours proving he wasn’t just talk.
“Hey!” Kim called, hurrying over.
Tyler threw her arms around her. “There’s already a line around the corner!”
“I know, right?” Kim beamed.
Tyler pointed at her pink hair. “Nice dye job, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Kim shook her head. “I got it done this morning.”
“You’re a saint for doing this. If I could, I’d canonize you.”
“Dude, I love Yestown. They’re so easy to work with. And I, like, owe you my life, remember?”
Tyler held up her hand like she was taking an oath. “I swear on my record collection—it was all Cary. He’s the one who insisted you stay on the tour.”
“How pissed is Sebastard?”
“Pissed.” Tyler rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, I forgot to tell you. The Westgrays fired their producer, that guy from the Island. Right in the middle of their session. And get this, they had the audacity to ask for time off to see their girlfriends.”
