Page 116 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

But I knew. This was my own little canvas of memories.

I wrote with my piano most often, but when I needed a friend in the dark, it was this guitar. The familiar calluses on my fingertips found the grooves from the strings. And because it was just Jamie and I, the songs flowed like water. Covers for now because we played our own so much that it felt good to play others.

To wrap ourselves in the memories of music that had saved us both.

Me from stoic parents who didn’t know the meaning of the word passion. Jamie from a household full of too much violence and hate.

Both of us changed forever by what we’d turned to out of desperation and love.

My fingers ached with the need to chase Jamie’s faster fretwork. The simple Frank Turner song became more complex and layered with both of us playing.

It was a good song to warm up my voice. The lower registers and moving story full of tumbling lyrics loosened my tongue. Moody and real, his songs were the perfect addition to our repertoire because they were alternately fun or dark, depending on what we needed.

Jamie actually pulled ahead on the next verse and I let her. She so rarely sang, although her voice was rich enough to be lead if she wanted to. But she never did. She lost herself to the guitar and didn’t want to be bothered most of the time.

We sang together for the joy of it and didn’t notice we had an audience.

Usually, we started a song and slipped into several different ones like an impatient hand on the dial of a radio. Never content to stick with one. Wanting to play everything at once.

We were head to head, her dark hair flowing forward as she poured herself into the song. Both of us laughing at the end, breathless with it.

Applause made me look up. There were a dozen people in the room now. They’d eased inside, lured by our guitars and lyrics.

“Tell me you got that,” Casey said from the back.

“Every note,” said a male voice.

Jamie grinned at me. “I mean, now we gotta keep going.”

Casey twirled her finger in the air and two people left the room. “I don’t know what that song was, but wow. I’m pushing up one of our other guests if you want to keep going.”

I shook my head. A radio producer who didn’t know her songs should be shot. Before I could open my mouth, Jamie spat out the name of the song.

“‘I Am Disappeared’ by the one and only Frank Turner.”

Casey lunged for a notebook.

“Shall we go with that chick we really like next?”

“Dorothy?”

“Dude.” Jamie slapped her hand against the body of her guitar as I did my best to dirty up the sound coming out of my acoustic. “Raise Hell” was a new addition to our jam songs. Quick and perfect for a singalong. The people in attendance were clapping along within the first beat.

Jamie’s growling voice was made for the super short song. We transitioned into “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett, laughing more than singing as we tumbled over the lyrics.

Jamie didn’t have her electric, but it didn’t matter. She could make an acoustic sound just as dangerous as her Warlock.

Finally, she hung her arm over her guitar and looked up. “Does this mean we can go home? We totally gave them a free concert.”

Dark curls flying behind her, Shay came running around the desk to the stairs that led down to the lounge area. “No, no. We’re ready for you.”

I pressed my lips together against a laugh.

She shoved her headphones over her ears and waved to Bobby, who was sitting up at the desk typing furiously on his keyboard. His booming morning voice filled the room as he rattled off call letters and the name of the morning show.

Jamie lightly strummed her guitar to an old Eagles song while we waited for our turn to talk.

Shay collapsed onto the couch between us. “You guys are amazing. Are those songs just in your head all the time?”

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