Page 70 of Perfect Pitch

“Not a chance.” All teasing is out of my voice.

“Really?” There’s a hint of vulnerability there.

“Really, Austyn. The only woman I want is you.” With a self-deprecating quirk of my lips, I admit, “Shortly before I was sent on this assignment, I’d yelled as much at my boss.”

Her breath increases. “What did you say?”

I mumble something, not wanting to share the entire conversation with Beckett. But I do end it with, “I clearly let him know you were my girlfriend.”

“You let him know I was your girlfriend? Me?” Now her voice is incredulous.

“Do you know of any other DJs whose background check I may have accidentally disclosed,” I let slip.

Austyn’s swift inhale of breath tells me nothing. Not. One. Damn. Thing. She could be pissed, really pissed, or pleased. I begin, “Austyn...”

“I didn’t want to presume you wanted a label, Mitch.” Her voice is hesitant.

“I’m not a mind reader,” I point out.

“No, but you’re also not a woman trying to navigate a potential relationship—”

I cut her off. “This relationship is far from potential.”

“With a handicap due to her age. I don’t want you to be embarrassed around your friends,” she concludes.

“Austyn, within seconds of meeting you, my friends, my colleagues, hell, random strangers are going to wonder what the hell you’re doing with me.”

Her voice is ladened with disbelief. “Are you crazy? You’re smart, confident, and brave. You’re intelligent. You make me laugh, not to mention you’re sexy as hell. You...” Her voice trails off.

“Beats, I could say all those things about you.”

“Then what are we doing, Mitch?”

“We’re starting, Austyn.”

“Do you see an end?”

I consider her question for a while before I answer it. “No. I really don’t. Do you?”

She shakes her head. “And that’s what terrifies me.”

“Good to know I’m not alone then.”

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Beckett Miller opens his mouth and makes people’s dreams come true. When he sang “Life in Sin,” he touched my hand, and I swear I wept. All the parts of me did.

His lyrics are pure sin, but when he looks into your eyes and sings them, they’re worth praying to God over.

#Boston #hetouchedme #handjob

—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger

“Say it again,” I demand incredulously.

“I’m filling in at the New York Philharmonic,” she repeats exasperated. “My old middle school music teacher now instructs at Julliard and occasionally sits in. He asked if I’d mind.”

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