Page 18 of Ring My Bell

He was staring at me over his phone, eyes shiny. “That.” He shook his head. “That’s how it’s supposed to sound. I fucked it up. When I sang it. I made it something wrong…”

“Iggy…”

“Oh my god, I thought that was you!” A young man bounced over, all shiny and tan and expensive. A small herd of similar, college-aged people followed in his wake. “I saw your post on ShoutOut, and I thought oh my god, that looks like the Clarion, and I was so right!”

Iggy smiled, tucking his phone away. “You found us! Are you here for the popup show?” He shot me a wink.

Flustered, the young man fumbled an answer in the affirmative family.

Iggy glanced at the clerk, who gave him a helpless sort of nod. “Grab a seat then! It’s just a few songs, trying some things out.” He lowered his voice, bringing the fan into his confidence. “We might be doing a festival later on, and we want the set to be a surprise, you know? So if you post about this, make sure you don’t give away too much!” Flashing me a tense smile, Iggy trotted over to join me by the piano. “Got a few more songs in you?”

I didn’t give a good goddamn about the people thinking they were about to see some mini concert. I didn’t care if they got mad when I walked off. I just wanted to make sure Iggy was okay. I couldn’t shake how his eyes had been shiny and wet after the song, how he’d looked so shaken. “You didn’t screw it up. Your version—”

“Later.” He patted my chest. “I can’t at the moment, okay? Just… later. Now. What’re we gonna wow ‘em with?”

* * *

Our popup set went on for half an hour, a handful of songs we both knew. While they were nothing amazing in terms of content, playing with him felt so right. We trotted out some popular songs from the last decade or so, then dug in to the classics. He nailed “Bei Mir Bist Du Schon” with a sort of saucy, sassy, swagger I’d rarely seen someone just get. And when we segued into “Moon River,” my hands went on autopilot so I could float on his voice.

He was wasted on prepackaged pop crap.

His voice was magical, and my face flushed thinking something so cliché.

Is it cliché if it’s true?

I’d never really wanted to collaborate with anyone before, but now I was damn near desperate to get Iggy alone with me and a piano and play and write and let him sing…

Is that all you’re wanting to collaborate on? that snarky inner voice demanded.

I hated that bastard sometimes.

The little show wound down. Iggy, a natural showman, bowed, made me bow, joked with the audience, and promised the clerk he’d talk to his manager to smooth over any issues before we checked out. Caught in his whirlwind, I followed him into the restaurant in a daze. We were tucked away at corner table as the cluster of college kids swarmed the bar. The other audience members either headed out for the evening or went back to their rooms or who knew where.

“You good?” Iggy asked softly. “You look kind of shaky.”

“Um. Yeah.” I was unable to look away from his bright eyes and pink, parted lips. “I’m feeling very good right now.”

Smiling, he squeezed my hand atop the table before picking up the menu. “Good. I was worried we wouldn’t work together, but I think we really got this.”

I nodded.

I was thinking we did, too.

* * *

We got halfway through our dinner before the gaggle of kids came back. Immediately, Iggy turned on his stage persona, smiling and chatting and being Iggy.

Iggy’s bright smile and those damn lashes batting away at his fans made me want to be a dick.

Correction: Even more of a dick.

It wasn’t envy making me so tetchy, but the desire to snarl and tell them to back off, Iggy was with me, thank you very much, which just made it worse.

“I’m going up to the room,” I muttered next to his ear, easing out of the booth. Meanwhile, he chattered with one of the bright-eyed college guys about how much fun performing on Late Night With Stella Benson had been and how much fun recording at the famous Houghton Vine Studios was and how fun clubs in LA were.

If he said fun one more time, I was going to find out how fun jamming olives in my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear that damn word again would be.

“Oh! Wait up!” Iggy slid out after me. “Sorry, babes, I gotta run. Mathis and I have been on the road all day and I’m about to conk right out.” He giggled, making an exaggerated sleepy face.

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