Page 17 of Wild

I step back into the studio listening as Hayes replays what we’ve recorded today and goes over what needs to be redone tomorrow. All in all, I can tell he’s pleased.

“I think this single will be ready sooner than I anticipated,” he admits. “If you guys are as on as you were today this album might be ready for a release next year.”

I try not to show my shock. It’s September. If it released next year … well, it’s more than we ever hoped for. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around it. We’ve workedyearsto get here, to sign with someone we admire and trust, to put out a real and true album and now the dream we’ve been working toward might be realized in a matter of months.

It’s almost too much.

“Fuck yeah,” Rush cries, high-fiving all of us.

Mia slips back into the room, I don’t even see her, but I feel her. It irks me the way my body reacts to her, how I sense her. I don’t know her, and most of our few encounters have been far from pleasant, and yet I seek her out. I saw her leave the room and I had to go after her. I had to know what she thought of the song even if I already knew. I wanted to see if she’d be honest or lie. But she couldn’t lie, and I know why, because music is as much a part of her as it is me, and when you eat, sleep, and breathe music you can’t deny when it’s good.

We work for a few more hours, starting the base track for another song while we’re on a roll, with plans to fine tune both tomorrow. Mia stays in the room as much as possible, only leaving when she needs to get someone coffee or something to eat.

By the time we all head out and Hayes is locking up, it’s dark.

The guys and I walked here this morning since the studio is only a block from our hotel, but as they head on—Cannon shooting me a warning look as he goes—I linger in the darkened shadows, hoping Hayes leaves before Mia. When I see the Range Rover pull out of the lot I head for the back and nearly get run over by a little red car.

The window rolls down and Mia screams, “Are you crazy?”

“Possibly,” I admit.

I move to her open window and cross my arms as I bend to lean inside.

“What do you want?” she asks. She doesn’t sound irritated, only tired.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I thought maybe we could start over. I’m Hollis.” I stick my hand out to her with a grin.

She narrows her eyes on my hand as if it has some kind of flesh-eating disease.

“I’m not sleeping with you if that’s what you think,” she blurts.

I throw my head back and laugh. “Did I ask you to sleep with me, or did I conveniently forget that part?”

Her cheeks burn. “I know your type,” is all she says.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” I say by way of explanation. “I figured I should clear the air of any hostility. I can’t promise not to hit on you, I’m a natural flirt,” I joke with a hint of a smile, “and I can’t promise to not be an asshole sometimes or to mess with you, but—”

“This is the most pathetic starting over speech I’ve ever heard.”

“Have you heard many?”

“Only this one,” she admits, fighting a smile. “But it doesn’t take a genius to see how pitiful it is. I expected more groveling.”

“You already saw me naked.”

“Practically naked,” she shrieks, turning redder.

My lips twitch. Messing with her is way too easy.

“Look, I’m trying here,” I say in a placating tone.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “I’m Mia. Nice to meet you douche nozzle.”

“Ouch.” I place a hand over my heart. “That hurt.”

“Good. Can I go now?”

“No goodbye kiss?” I jest.

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