Page 99 of Perfect Pitch

“What’s your plan for tonight?”

I’m on FaceTime with Mitch while I arrange my hair. “I play from ten to one. Then I’m coming back and calling you.”

He laughs. “You think that’s your plan.”

I purr, “Why? Do you have something better in mind?”

He just hums. “Maybe. Maybe I’m going to have you run your fingers up your thighs pretending they’re mine.”

Immediately, my muscles clench. My nipples pebble and my neck arches. “You suck.”

“Not yet, Beats. But soon. I promise that.”

* * *

Hold Tight is a hot club that pulsates with my music in Milwaukee. I love the retro vibe as I spin a little Usher mixed in with Miley Cyrus’s latest hit. But I’m so damn grateful I decided to wear a long dress with cutouts instead of one of my bulkier numbers.

The club isn’t just hot as in the tunes, it’s scorching because the temperature control is busted. Not that the patrons mind. The hotter it gets, the more clothes seem to disappear. Though I admire the gyrating bodies, the part of me that was raised by the esteemed Dr. Paige wonders how they’re not going to be sick as hell when they step outside into the sub-zero temps in a little while.

Wickedly, I think that clubs should offer clothing checks, not just coat checks. They could offer different prices depending on the garment being checked—kind of like the dry cleaner closet in Alecia Silverstone’s movie Clueless. Mentally high-fiving myself, I do a little spin and shake my hips until my ass rests on my heels.

Then I flip out because I feel a pair of hands smooth over the thin material of my dress. Ripping my headset off, I jerk away. In front of me is one of the drunk bachelors who have been requesting songs all night. Even though I have to shout to be heard, I get my point across. “Get the fuck off this stage!”

He smirks as if his shit is something I can’t resist. Hand resting on his junk, he starts to grind toward me. When he gets close enough, I shove with all my might.

Drunk, the asshole hardly moves.

Fuck.

Grateful for the fact I wear shit kickers to every job I go to, I stomp down on the asshole’s instep as hard as I can before I kick him in the thigh, just like Uncle Jesse and Uncle Ethan taught me to do. “I said NO!”

Before he can reach for me again, a pair of arms grasp underneath his and hoist him up. I get a flash of furious green eyes in the strobe lights, a jaw that’s locked so tight it’s about to snap.

And a face that’s beloved to me who looks like he’s ready to kill.

“Mitch!” I shout as I leap off the platform after him.

But it’s not just the bonehead Mitch is ready to fuck up. He shoves the drunk ass into the guy wearing the “Security” polo and gets in both of their faces. When I reach them, Mitch is pointing at the platform, and I hear the tail end of his outrage as he finishes with, “... accosting my woman.”

All the pieces of the puzzle of my life fall into place. It wasn’t just the music I’ve been waiting for, it was love.

It’s Mitch.

I struggle to get beneath his arm, but the minute I am, he clasps me to him. In that moment, I know I’m home.

I can breathe easier because I inhale his scent.

I relax because I absorb his strength.

My fingers run up and down over his body, reacquainting myself with the man I know is mine.

Now. Forever.

He jerks me around so my back is plastered to his front. He barks directly at the security goon, “Keep everyone away from Kensington, or I’ll have your ass.”

“Yes, sir.”

He points over my shoulder and says to the guy trying to hide from him. “Leave. Now. Don’t let me see you here in thirty seconds.”

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