Page 49 of Broken Lines

“From which album?”

A smirk curls on her lips.

“Any album. Dealer’s choice. I’m just looking for one single fucking song from this great super fan—”

“Bleed For YouorThe Huntedfrom the Requiem for a Queen album. Though,Deliver, from End of the World is a great track. I also really loved the alternate take ofLydia, off the extended version of Blood on Main Street.Never Found You Againis beautiful, but I do like the live at Madison Square Garden version where you played with Dylan Mercer on keyboards the best.”

She pauses when she sees the reluctantly impressed but still scowling look on my face. She seems to allow herself a slow, smug smile.

“Well, you did your homework for your surprise interview.”

“It wasn’t homework.

“Sure it was.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I smile cruelly, nodding at the phone clutched in her hand.

“As in you prepped for your assault on my solitude. To impress me, or whatever you thought that would accomplish.”

“Youdelusionalasshole—”

“It means I’m guessing every playlist on that phone of yours is a plastic, shit-tastic soundtrack to a mall.”

She snorts.

“You have no idea what I like to listen—”

“Shitty boy bands? Tragically bad modern covers of great songs? Watered-down bland hip hop? Maybe some especially plastic K-pop?”

She rolls her eyes, swipes her phone open and then shoves it into my hands.

“Choke on it, asshole.”

She looks smug as I take the phone, which is open to her Spotify app. I feign a bored look as I scroll through her playlists. But I’m quickly repressing the urge to raise a brow.

Shit.

She’s got good taste. Like, really good taste. Classic Motown. Kick-ass 60’s and 70’s rock. A whole playlist of ultra-rare punk shit. Nick Drake. Jeff Buckley.

Fuck.

Annoyed that I haven’t stumbled across the smoking gun I was expecting to find, I thumb off her Spotify app. And immediately proceed to start snooping through the rest of her phone.

“Well?” She snaps sarcastically. “Did I make your cut, douchebag?”

I just grunt, lifting a shoulder. She still thinks I’m passing judgment on her musical tastes. I’ve moved on to scrolling her photo albums for something scandalous.

Which I soon find.

It’s not nudes or anything. But the selfies of Melody in a changing room taking shots of herself trying on bikinis is…

Interesting.

Alluring.

Very enticing.

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