“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“If you learn how to spell ‘ice cream,’ you’ll understand what I mean.”
“There’s no ‘us’ in ‘breakfast,’ either.”
“Which is why I’m sharing my ice cream with you. It’s an even trade.”
This must be some weird female logic. Like how women never order fries because they’re on a diet or some bullshit, but always filch one—or half the carton—from their men, as though theft makes them calorie-free. “You’re illogical and unreasonable.”
“The possibility exists. But I’m also the person with the hot water and the ice cream.” She smirked smugly.
“Which you negotiated for.”
“I just didn’t want any noise pollution. It was a public service to the town.”
“You really have no clue who I am, do you?” It was kind of stunning. It’d been years since I met somebody who didn’t know who I was. Hell, I’d started to wear sunglasses and a pulled-down cap when I was out in public. In a lot of cases I’d been forced to hire security to keep the weirdos away. Emily had to have been living under a rock to be this oblivious, although…somebody in town had to have told her about me. Maybe a cashier at Sunny’s. Or maybe one of the local radio stations had done a piece on me, like they often did.
She paused and studied me, her gaze traveling up and down. “Are you a model?” she asked finally. “Maybe do photoshoots for romance novels? If so, I’ll buy a few photos for my next book.”
My jaw slackened. “Where did you get that?”
She shrugged. “Just a guess. You keep talking like you’re somebody I should recognize…and you have a pretty face. But I haven’t seen you on any covers, in case you’re wondering.”
“Nope. Totally off.”
“Then what are you? Obviously you think you’re some hot shot. The mayor’s nephew, maybe? Not the good one who went to Harvard, but, you know, the tat-having, cigarette-smoking troublemaker who likes to visit from time to time from Maryland? I heard he rides a Harley.” She gazed at me thoughtfully. “I can picture you straddling one on the road.”
“Uh, do you know what Mayor Cruise looks like?”
“Short, with dark hair? A pug nose?”
“Yeah. What does that say about your guess?”
She shrugged. “You could’ve been adopted.”
I shook my head. This was even worse than her thinking I might be a romance cover model. “Where the hell do you get all these ideas?”
“I’m a creative person.” She didn’t actually say duh at the end, but it was clearly implied.
“Here.” I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen a few times. The band’s number one hit from last year flowed from the speakers. It was one of our best, and I was proud of it. It connected deeply with our fans, which was the main purpose of the music the band created.
Now Emily would finally put things together. Damn it, I knew her work, and I wanted her to know mine too. And like it. For some reason, it was important she enjoy my music, just like I enjoyed her writing.
“Is that you pounding the drums in the opening?” she asked hesitantly after a moment.
“No, that’s Dev. I’m the lead vocalist.”
“Oh.”
Oh? That was it? Just a mildly surprised oh? She hadn’t heard this song anywhere? But I wasn’t seeing any sign of recognition in her eyes, and I didn’t think she was messing with me. I couldn’t tell if she liked the song, either, although she was nodding slightly to the beat. My mouth felt parched all of sudden. This was worse than my first audition.
“So why were you playing the drums?” she asked.
“Well, I also play drums.”
“So why is this Dev guy playing them in the song?” she asked, obviously obsessed with the damned drums.
“Because he’s better than me,” I said, starting to get annoyed that this was what she was focusing on while listening to this song. She might as well have stabbed my ego with a rusty knife.