Page 63 of Wish You Would

As if sensing I needed someone to sabotage me, Dante slid in beside me, tossing a grin at Halle. “Whatchu want, girl? Whatchu need?”

She grinned back, wiggling her brows in my direction. “I need your boss to get her juicy ass up on that stage with us tonight.”

“Is that all?” He threw his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “I think we can spare her for ya.”

“No, Dante. I—”

“You said it yourself.” Spinning me to face him, he assessed me. “You got faith. So let that faith take your ass up on that stage.” He lifted his eyebrows as if daring me to argue, as if daring me to disagree. I opened and shut my mouth, looking from him to Halle, who was grinning even wider now.

My brain vacillated from thought to thought so fast I got dizzy. I could do it, and I knew I’d love it, being on that stage again. But wasn’t it a bad idea to dangle something so sweet right in front of me when I couldn’t have more? When it was only a teaser, a taste of what could never be mine?

Then there was the Parker of it all. I’d spent the last however long helping Parker gain confidence to woo the very woman in front of me. I’d been successful. So successful that their date ended in a kiss last night. How would Halle feel to know that Parker had ended that night in my bed?

“Halle,” I started as I tried to pin down one single thought too verbalize. “I don’t know if—”

“Is this about Parker?”

“I—” I looked from her to Dante, who let out a low whistle and backed slowly away, returning to his tasks. Facing Halle again, I shook my hair away from my face and squared my shoulders. “What about Parker?”

Her lips quirked at a corner. Climbing onto a barstool, she folded her arms in front of her. “We went out, you know.”

“Did you?” I nodded as my mind looped a conjured-up image of the two kissing. “How…how was it?”

“It was the most interesting thing,” Halle said. “We had a great time. Good food, good conversation. Then, after I kissed her goodnight, she looked me right in the eyes, and do you know what she said?”

I leaned forward, brain full of bees. And I hated myself for it. Parker already told me about their date. So why was I seeking out information from Halle? Did I hate myself that much?

Halle mirrored my body language, leaning in until we were a few inches apart. “She looked me in the eyes,” she repeated, her voice low and only for us. “And she said your name.”

The buzzing in my brain stopped. “She said what?” I whispered, heart somersaulting beneath my ribs.

“Your name.” Halle shrugged a shoulder and shook her head, bemused look on her face. “It was the funniest thing. As soon as she said it, her eyes got real big and she started apologizing like crazy.” She laughed. “I couldn’t even be insulted. She was so genuine. She—well, you know how she is—she just said sorry over and over, until I stopped her. Then, she—”

“Then, she what?” I leaned forward further, enraptured by the picture Halle was painting. Filling in the highlights and shadows that I hadn’t gotten from Parker’s word sketch of the same story.

Halle’s eyes ran over me, and she smiled. “I believe you know what happened next.” She pushed away from the bar and stood. “And don’t think for a second that I’m anything other than thrilled for the two of you. Now.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and cocked her hip. “You gonna get on that stage tonight, or what?”

My brain and body moved at a snail’s pace as they tried to catch up with the info dump Halle had just laid on me.

She said your name.

She said your name.

She said your name.

I grinned, heart blossoming wide open in my chest. “Okay,” I said as I untied my apron and tossed it to Dante. “I’m in.”

The grin stayed plastered to my face as Halle and I crossed the bar to join the rest of the band, as we went through sound check and reviewed the setlist. As I did my vocal warmups. And the grin was still there when we took the stage, Halle counting us in, as the opening notes of “Lovefool” surrounded me.

She said my name.

26

26 PARKER

I DON’T WANNA MISS A THING

The music hit me as soon as I opened the door, the drumbeat pulsing, the guitar’s notes chasing the tempo. The singer’s voice wove in and out of the melody with the righteous indignation a song like “Just a Girl” required. Oh, right, I thought as I tapped my fingers against my backpack strap in time with the music. It was Patti Mayonnaise night.

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