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“Because we weren’t popular,” he said and added with a shrug, “And you weren’t our target audience.”
She put a hand to her chest. “Now I’m offended.”
He met her eyes and smiled slightly. “Wasn’t trying to offend.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw and the dark whiskers there. They weren’t long enough to call a beard, but they looked fuller than just a day’s shave away. It matched the dark hair on his head which was thick and black with a hint of a wave on top.
“What was the name of the band?” she asked again. Hoping, hoping, hoping she knew it so that she could rub it in his face. In a nice way, of course.
“Our band was called Winking Pete,” he replied, crumbling up his cheeseburger wrapper and tossing it in the bin nearby.
Her shoulders fell. “I haven’t heard of you,” she admitted grumpily.
He barked a laugh and something lit up inside Zara’s mind at the sound.
“Don’t feel bad,” he reassured her. “We weren’t worth hearing about.”
Somehow, she doubted that.
She was somewhat upset with herself for not knowing the band anyway, simply because she adored Nikki. And it had been Nikki’s band too. Even though Nikki hadn’t ever wanted to talk about it. Zara could have still investigated on her own for more information. Then she could’ve impressed Asa with all her intimate knowledge of his once upon a time rock stardom.
Rookie mistake.
“Do you still write?” she asked.
“Nah.” His eyes slid off to the side and she wondered about that.
She wrote all the time. Couldn’t seem to stop. She’d never met another songwriter who had just…stopped.
Weird.
She wanted to ask more about that specifically.
“What comes next for you? Another album of the year?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Fine. She’d allow it. But she’d be coming back to this subject eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not soon, but she’d get to it.
She hummed, distracted by his assertion. “Maybe. I already have one finished?—”
“Do you live in a recording studio?” he asked, amused.
“It feels that way sometimes,” she admitted.
He shook his head, a flicker of something, maybe sorrow, hitting his eyes before he blinked it away.
Thunder rumbled ominously and they both glanced at the window, covered by heavy hotel curtains.
“Sounds like a storm.” He set down his fries and started toward the window. He was almost there when the lights dimmed and then came back. “Uh oh.”
He slowly turned toward her, an eyebrow lifted.
The lights dimmed again, and the room buzzed with labored electricity. They brightened once more.
She jerked her chin up. “Take a look,” she said, referring to the window.
He drew back the curtains just as a huge bolt of lightning seared across the sky. The lights in the room blinked one, two, three times, then stayed dark as thunder rumbled through the building.
Excitement flared in her chest along with a little squeal. Maybe she should have been embarrassed by that, but she just wasn’t. At least it wasn’t a full-on cackle like that one night in Barcelona. Her backup dancers said she’d sounded like a witch.
Oh well.
