Page 154 of Hope & Harmony

She must have felt me looking at her. Eyes slid my way, but as soon as they connected with mine, they jerked away. A flush rose on her cheeks.

Hmmm.

Seemed like Pretty Girl was shy.

My pondering over her was cut short when Rodrigo, The Seasons Change’s drummer, spun around in his chair to face me.

“You in for tonight?”

I cocked my head. “What’s tonight?”

“Grabbing some dinner and going out to celebrate. Nothing late or crazy. All of us have homes we’re jonesing to go back to, but we can’t let this accomplishment go unrecognized.”

I rubbed my chin, contemplating. “Everyone going?”

He shrugged. “Everyone’s invited.” He pointed to Pretty Girl. “That includes you, Lena. Don’t even try to hide. I’ll find you.”

Pretty Girl shrank slightly. “I-I won’t hide.”

Ah, pretty voice, too.

I wanted to hear more of it.

“I’m in.”

CHAPTER 2

SELENA

When Iris Adler handed you an edible, you took it and said, “Thank you, Mother,” even if your intention for the evening had been to curl up with a mug of tea and a book.

Iris wasn’t my mama, but she was an absolute goddess of rock. My idol. The fact that she liked me too still boggled my mind, and even more mind-boggling was that I’d co-written three songs with her on TSC’s last album, solo-written two, and I was on my way to having my lyrics in just as many songs on their new album.

Since Iris found me online four years ago, my safe, calm, quiet world exploded. A golden award statue, a dream career, and an entirely new lifestyle later, and here I was. Out to dinner with Iris and the band like they were regular people. The hell of it was, they kind of were. I’d known goofy, sweet guys like Rodrigo back in school. Quiet, mysterious men like Callum had sat at the bar I used to tend. Friendly golden retriever types like Adam were neighbors. I even occasionally ran into stunningly beautiful but shockingly nice and funny girls like Iris at sample sales or grabbing coffee.

After four years in their orbit, I didn’t quiver in their presence.

But I was still me. Selena Cruz from Queens. The girl with the stutter and big ass—though only one of those was seen as a fault around here, and it wasn’t the size of my ass.

“I get the sense you need this, honey bunny,” Iris whispered.

“Your senses are t-t-tingling.” I popped the proffered weed gummy into my mouth. “Thanks, girlie.”

She winked and punched my shoulder lightly. “Anything for my main squeeze.”

I laughed. “D-don’t tell Ronan that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Lenie. Ronan is well aware that if he tried to get between me and your lyrics, I’d forsake him in a heartbeat.” She sighed, pressing her hands to her cheek, no doubt thinking of her huge, Irish bodyguard husband. “No one else can turn emotion into art like you do.”

“Th-thank you.”

I wanted to say more to her, but the irony of my life was while I had a gift with words, I couldn’t easily get them out of my mouth. Only when I sang, but unfortunately, life wasn’t a musical.

I took a bite of my juicy, southern-fried chicken sandwich, probably making a mess of myself. My lips were saucy, hands greasy, but it was delicious. I moaned at the crispy saltiness on my tongue.

That was when I felt eyes on me.

Hiseyes.

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