“They waved off icing.” Tyler pointed to the screen. “See, he could’ve played the puck.” She continued to watch the game while she ate. “This food is delicious!”
“You’ve lived here for how long and never had Vij’s?” He shook his head. “How’s that even possible?”
“I don’t eat out much unless I’m with Sebastien. He hates Indian food. Indian anything, really.” She darted her gaze back to the game. “Goal! That dummy scored on his own net. I wish they’d make it two points like a safety in football.”
He laughed. “Any other suggestions?”
“Oh, this is spicy.” She took a gulp of water. “I think if you score a shorty—when the other team has a power play—your guy should get out of the penalty box.”
Her phone vibrated. It was an email from Sebastien. She laughed as she read the message.
Your band is in. You’re welcome.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m laughing at Sebastien’s deal. You for my band. It’s like a prisoner exchange.”
“I suppose it is.”
“Why do you hate awards so much?” She put her plate on the coffee table and crossed her legs over his lap.
He paused. “I don’t have a problem with awards based on merit. Record sales or number of streams—I’ve got a problem with voting on the best song or artist. It turns into a popularity contest, and the person with the most likes wins.”
“How do you feel about your Lifetime Achievement award?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not even forty.”
“What am I missing here?”
“They’re for old people.” His shoulders rounded as he cringed. “I don’t want to be a legacy act like Jamespoke. I play a lot of new songs in my set.”
“You’ve had twenty years of hits,” she reminded him. “Jamespoke had one hit, and another group made it famous. Plus, Brad’s a colossal idiot.”
He tilted his head. “My last number one was five years ago.”
Had it been that long?
“The song Yestown recorded is a banger,” she reminded him.
“I was talking about a new song.” He sighed. “As much as I hate to say it, a Cary Kingston song.”
What had she done? She’d practically forced him to accept his award in person.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’m pulling Yestown and you won’t have to do it.”
“I’m not backing out, babe. I committed.”
Why did he think he had something to prove? He’d been a best-selling artist for two decades. Maybe he was just like Prince’s mother: never satisfied.
“High stick!” she shouted at the TV. “His stick was higher than the crossbar.”
“You sure know a lot about hockey.”
“I’m surprised you don’t know more, being a Manitoban.” She tapped her lips. “You’re on the road too much.” She scooched behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “You don’t have enough downtime to write.”
“I’ve got plenty of downtime,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s called hurry up and wait.”
“I don’t push my artists to write on the road. Writing and performing are two different things.”
