Page 21 of Polly

“You heard it here first, folks. Keep an ear out for upcoming releases from Late Nyght Smoke.”

The broadcast cut to commercials.

Polly sat on the floor with her back against the wall. She pressed a hand to her ribs, which hurt from laughing so hard.

Murmurs went around the group’s dates about how she had obviously lost her mind to behave like that in front of such a prestigious band like Late Nyght Smoke. She laughed even harder because she knew all the band members — they were regular guys and would probably be on the floor, too, if they weren’t on the air. Not only would she tease Flynn about the nickname, they would, too. They may be famous, but they were regular people, too.

The band filed from the broadcast room in their tuxes and picked up their dates. They winked or nodded at Polly. They headed outside to the car. Flynn followed last in his business casual, entering the hallway alone with Polly. He walked closer and knelt beside her.

“You okay down here?”

“Oh yes, Master Flynn. I’m peachy.”

He pursed his lips and looked at her like it took all his effort to hold back a comment about peaches. She patted his cheek, and he smiled at her affectionately.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Flynn stood and offered a hand to Polly to pull her to her feet.

They linked arms and walked down the hallway, out the door to the waiting cars.

* * *

The band took two limos to the ceremony. Flynn and Polly waited until last to exit their car. They listened as one reporter announced each couple. “And here we have the lovely Zack of Late Nyght Smoke accompanied by his date...”

“Rochelle,” the brunette said.

“Rochelle. Zack wears a traditional Armani tux, and Rochelle wears a Tina Zee original red dress with Jimmy Choo heels. Very nice ensembles.”

Polly laughed from her spot beside Flynn. “I can’t wait to hear how we’re announced.”

Flynn intertwined their fingers and squeezed. “I’m curious, too.”

Flynn stepped through the door, and they climbed from the car. A concrete barrier formed a walkway to the building, and a crowd of paparazzi and screaming fans swarmed the boundary. Lights flashed as they took pictures.

Flynn and Polly shut the limo door and stood side by side, hands clasped.

“And here we have Flynn of Late Nyght Smoke with his date Polly of Lovely Oblivion. Both wear Levi’s...”

The reporter’s voice trailed off. Open-mouthed disbelief crossed her face. Obviously, in her mind, awards ceremonies were for showing off.

Flynn smirked at her and tugged Polly against his side. They posed for photos in front of a couple of cameras, then walked together to the sleek auditorium entrance with Flynn’s arm around her.

Flynn’s band gathered around a nearby bench, so they joined them. Their manager, Miguel, stood amongst them. A fedora hat covered his dark hair and his tux looked spot-on. He reminded Polly of a movie mobster, and she almost expected to hear an east coast accent.

“Whoa, what the fuck, Flynn? That is not the tux I sent you,” Miguel said.

Flynn squeezed Polly’s shoulders. He subtly winked at her. He looked down at his clothes, his eyebrows wrinkled and a dumbfounded expression crossed his face. “What do you mean? I’m wearing what they delivered in the bag.”

“I sent everyone in the band a tux for tonight.”

Flynn shook his head. “I’m wearing what I got, Miguel. Polly had a beautiful ball gown on and I made her change to match. I thought we were all wearing business casual.”

Miguel leveled an all-knowing look at Flynn. “You’re a great actor, maybe almost as good at that as you are with a guitar, and I might have believed you — if I hadn’t already heard your radio interview.”

Flynn grinned. “Heard that, did you?”

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