Page 60 of Anything but Mine

“Well, how about that?”

If anyone knew what it was like to climb into a bottle and close off, it was Alexander Nash. He was a few years younger than Logan, but they’d bonded over an antique upright in a seedy bar in New York City. That piano had gotten a workout and they’d played the little dive until five in the morning.

It had been the first time Nash had sung in public since the car accident that nearly killed his voice. Five years later his friend was playing producer more than singer, and Logan’s career had gone on a much different trajectory. But near Christmas the previous year, Logan had heard that the little club in New York was going out of business. He’d bought that upright and sent it to Nash.

The fucker owed him another show.

They pulled up to the barn and two security guys opened his door and ushered him through the crush of people waiting to get inside. They were lining up already? That was insane. The show wasn’t for another nine hours.

He and Zeke snuck into the back. Tables were set up in the center of the general admission floor. Reporters sat with their microphones and phones on tripods for video. Leave it to Charlie, their manager, to set it up like this. Lindsey, Johnny, and Cole all sat at separate tables answering questions.

Logan scanned the room, found his band on stage, and circumvented the tables to get to the back of the stage. He slowed as he saw the small upright piano sitting where a keyboard had been before. He smiled. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?”

He turned to Zeke. “Check out the piano.”

“No. That isn’t the piano.”

“One in the same.”

“Son of a bitch. That’s an omen, my friend. A good one. The kind that adds up to magic and panty removal.”

Logan laughed. He stood up straighter, and the focus he’d been trying to find came in crystal clear. He’d been in the game too long not to have a few superstitions. The piano was good juju all right. He rolled his neck and headed back down the stairs. He held his hand out to the first reporter that stood.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Logan, it’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time since you’ve given an interview.”

He sat down and waved to the other three reporters sitting around the table. He folded his hands together. “I’m an open book tonight.”

Seventeen

Bella hopped out of the bathroom, tugging on her wedge heel.

“Hot mamacita.”

“Shut up, Nic.”

Her best friend was sitting in the center of her bed. “So, tell me. Is this get up to get laid?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you already get laid?” She looked over her shoulder at the mussed sheets. “Oh, man. Did you come up for a nooner?”

Bella laughed.

Nic slid off the bed. “I hope I didn’t sit in the wet spot. Urgh.”

“Is there a reason you’re up here harassing me? I’m late.”

“I know. That’s why I’m up here. Adam is already down at the barn trying to shoehorn us into the back near the bar. Evidently that country dude—”

“Cole Deveraux.”

“Whatever. Hot country dude with long hair and sky blue eyes.”

Bella stopped in front of the mirror and tucked in her cotton tank. “Pretty accurate for someone who doesn’t know his name.” She held up two belts. “White or black?”

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