Page 59 of Perfect Pitch

—@PRyanPOfficial

I’m about to walk out the door after a set at Club when Mitch calls. “Are you all finished for the night?”

“About to walk out the door now.”

“Wait for me. I’ll be there in less than five minutes,” he insists.

“You’re back.” I can’t keep the hum of pleasure from my voice.

“I’m off the next twelve hours and I want to spend as many of them as I can with you.”

“I think that can be arranged.” I pause with my hand on the exit door. Curtis, who was ready to close and lock the door behind me gives me a quizzical look. I pull my hand back and grin up at him. “My ride’s on their way.”

“Got it, cool chick. I’ll just wait here.” The bouncer points to a spot a few feet away.

Mitch is laughing in my ear. “Cool chick?”

“I’ll take it over loser.”

“It was a good night then?” he queries.

“It was good,” I inform him. “I suspect it’s about to get better.”

“You’d be right.” I hear muffled noise from outside as the crowd that wraps around Club’s back entrance amplifies in volume. “I think the crowd to hear you is pretty impressive, Beats.”

Pleasure spikes through my veins. “You’re here?”

“Just pulled up. You need me to come get you?”

I tug my black sweatshirt hood up over my now trademark colorful braids and slip a pair of shades on my face. “Stay in the car. I’ll be out in a second.”

Curtis gets a good grip on my elbow before escorting me through the throng of people. Someone shouts, “That’s her!” And cellphone flashes start popping off just as I climb into the SUV Mitch normally favors driving. The door closes behind me and the first words I say to his face when I see him after our last disastrous interlude is, “I love blackout windows.”

He bursts into laughter before tugging me forward to drop a quick kiss on my lips. “Hey, Beats.”

I bloom like a sunflower beneath the Texas sky. “Hey yourself. What do you want to do?”

His stomach growls and it’s my turn to laugh. “Food first.”

“Agreed. There was no time to eat on the plane.” After he turns the vehicle into traffic, he reaches for my hand. Holding it against his thigh, he starts, “I have a really important question to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you like diner food?”

“Without question.”

“Then I know just the place to go.”

“I thought we were eating in?”

“I have a craving—for something other than you.”

“By the way, is this normal?”

“What? Us?” His celadon green eyes cut to the side. “I’m thirty years old and you’re ten years my junior. You’re my brother’s roommate—hell, his freaking best friend. Yet, you pop up in my mind at the most inopportune times.”

Curious now, I ask, “Like when?”

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