“So, then, no tattoos. That’s good.”
She grinned. “How do you know that?”
“He studies economics and his name is Elliott. Lucky guess.”
“And he wonders why I keep him away from my man,” Grace thought aloud.
My smile faded. “Is he good to you?”
I could almost hear that wide smile of hers. “The best.”
“All right then. I forgive you.”
“Forgive me? For what?”
“For telling Emma your secret before me.”
“Well, if I didn’t think you’d be a judgmental ogre, you’d have been the first to know.”
“Me? Emma spent ten minutes criticizing my shoelaces the other day. They were white, Grace. Apparently she found them too bright, and they were giving her a headache. That’s who you chose to confide in over me.”
“Okay.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. So, what’s up, Quinn? You said you needed to talk to me about something important.”
“I need you to take credit for my songs.”
“Say what? Did you hit your head?”
I explained the entire saga for my sister and how I needed her signature as a shield. “Anyway, he said to choose someone I trusted, and I couldn’t think of anyone more trustworthy than my baby sister.”
“Ah, that’s so sweet. Of course I’d be happy to help you. I guess the only thing left to discuss is how much my silence is worth to you.”
I nearly fell from my chair. “Wait. You want compensation?”
“You need a service, Quinn,” she said, appearing totally sane. “One that I’ll be signing my name to. I don’t think fiftyK is too much to ask.”
What the hell? Had her economist boyfriend rubbed off on her, figuratively speaking?
“You understand you’re not actually writing the songs, right? We’re just pretending. You know, like when people pretend to understand bitcoin?”
“Oohhh.” She laughed. “Pretending. Got it. I’m joking, dork. You should’ve seen your face. And yes, Quinn, of course I’ll help you. But…”
“But?”
“I do have one request. I have a song I wrote. It means a lot to me because it’s about us when we were little. Jake thinks I could sell it, but I don’t want anyone else to have it because it was written for us. I just thought maybe you could…”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask you.”
“I know exactly what you were going to ask. And yes, Grace. I want that song.”
15
Quinn: Band of Brothers
It should have been an easy decision. A slam dunk. Eighteen guys in total auditioned, seven of them standouts, so it really was just a matter of whittling down from that elite group. While all eighteen waited out in the hallway for word, me, Tucker, and the group he’d assembled to help us pick the contenders, were sorting through the final lineup when nature called.
I was in the process of relieving myself when one of the musicians from the audition walked in and chose to stand at the urinal directly beside mine, despite there being a handful of free ones to choose from. I tried to focus on the task at hand, but the dude kept casting glances in my direction, not being the least bit subtle in his desire to talk to me. Still, I was confident he wouldn’t do it—couldn’t—because all guys know not to break the universally agreed upon etiquette rule: no talking in a men’s bathroom while dicks are out.
