“Ah, shit,” my guy swore. “I thought I lost him.”
Suddenly another participant butted into our conversation, and this one was even more fancily dressed than the first. Pulling his head out of my window, my would-be carjacker turned to face the caller, tensing as the other guy grabbed his arm.
“Get your hand off me,” the hot guy demanded, jerking free.
Oh dang, I liked his fire. This showman was not the pushover his outfit suggested.
“Let’s talk this out,” the accoster replied, still gasping for air.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You sold me out. You sold my family out.”
“I can see how you might feel that way. Is this about the video? Because I agree. It was… unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?” my guy barked, his fists curling. “It was more thanunfortunate. It was exploitive. You promised this wouldn’t happen, that I’d have a say, but then you, what… you just went behind my back? Was I just a ratings boost for you?”
I watched the exchange with unparalleled interest, wishing a tub of popcorn would miraculously appear in my hands. Whatever was going on here was better than any binge-watch on Netflix.
“Of course not, Quinn,” the man said, still trying to get his exaggerated breathing under control. “Your talent speaks for itself. Look, I’ll admit your last name was a big draw, but it wasn’t why you made it to the top ten. That was all you.”
Talent? Top ten? Last name? And the plot twists kept on coming. Pass the Milk Duds.
“Then why lie? Why try to change me?” Quinn pressed. “Why force me to cut my hair and wear these shitty clothes?”
Did someone say hair? Well, now, that was an interesting development. Had my boy toy, who I’d now determined was named Quinn, once been rough around the edges?
“Look, I’ll be honest with you. Yes—the haircut—that partwasfor the ratings. We knew the girls would freak.”
I nodded from my place of utter insignificance. Good call. I mean, I didn’t know what he looked likebefore, but theafterwas pretty spectacular, so I had to agree with Wheezy on this one. Even a mole rat could see Quinn was ratings gold, and although I was still in the dark as to what the two were discussing, I’d been around show business long enough to understand their dispute was entertainment-related.
It wasn’t until the other man turned my way and his face came into view for the first time, that all my questions were answered. Quinn was arguing with none other than Alan Forrester—the ultra-famous TV host ofNext in Line. And, by way of logical thinking, that made Quinn a contestant on his show. A top ten contestant. Atalentedtop ten contestant with a last name of some significance.
I needed a soda to wash this all down.
Quinn took a step back toward my car until his ass was flush with the window and his hand was again testing the doorknob. Still locked. Glancing my way, his nonverbal plea for help was just the push I needed to be his hero.
I unclicked the lock.
He spun around without a second’s hesitation as if instinctively he’d known I’d be there for him when he needed me most. In one fluid motion Quinn opened the door, shoved his guitar into the back, and slipped onto the seat beside me like he’d rehearsed it a thousand times.
Slamming the door shut, he slapped his hand on the dashboard.
“Go!”
* * *
Our getaway was epic, complete with the satisfying squeal of my speed-limit-rated tires. Darting a gaze to my rearview mirror, a rush of adrenaline shot though me as I watched Alan Forrester slip away into the congregating mob of tourists. Quinn was also focused on the scene playing out behind us, fully rotated in his seat to take in the action. Once we were too far away to see, he righted himself, and we both sat in silence as I drove.
Exiting right and off the boulevard a few blocks down, my rapidly beating heart began to slow. God, how I loved the thrill! Too much, some would say. I’d spent my life repenting for my wild ways, but if you dangled a string in front of me and wiggled it around, you could expect me to pounce. It was just in my nature, I supposed. I was meant for adventure and fun, and had my life not gone the way it did, I would have been out in the world really living it.
I glanced over at my accomplice, expecting to see the overconfident man from minutes earlier flushed with the same excitement. Instead, I found him decompressed like a wilted balloon, his body limp in the seat and the palms of his hands covering his eyes while he mumbled tidbits of doom and gloom.
“Shit. What have I done? What was I thinking? I’m fucked. Totally fucked.”
I continued to glance between Quinn and the road, wanting to comfort him with words of hard-earned wisdom but not knowing enough about his situation to give a qualified response.
“You all right there?” I asked, after he’d let loose another string of self-directed insults.
Not bothering to uncover his eyes, he said, “Depends on what you mean by all right.”
