Page 99 of That First Moment

I silenced her with another kiss. “No, no it’s not. You’re hugely mistaken.”

She laughed against my lips, her hands running up my bare chest to wrap around my neck. Her hands began to wander as she kissed me, completely forgetting the tasks she was doing. She was my only train of thought. That is, until my phone rang, disrupting everything. I broke the kiss and let out a growl, causing Jamie to laugh again. God I loved her laugh. I looked at my phone, which was almost dead after not plugging it in last night, to see Bennett’s name flashing.

“Well, good morning,” I answered, half-annoyed he interrupted my moment with Jamie.

“Please tell me you checked your email this morning.” His voice was quick as he got straight to the point.

“I just woke up,” I admitted.

“Well, check it. They want us. Pacific Sound wants us. This weekend. Elliot . . .”

“What?” I shouted, pulling my phone down to switch him to speaker. I opened my email, only to be greeted first thing with the subject line:Savage Whittaker Performance . . .“You’re shitting me.”

“Elliot!” Bennett screamed. “They’re purchasing plane tickets, hotel rooms, accommodations . . . they want us there, Elliot! This weekend!!”

While Bennett rambled, I read the email. He was right. They wanted us to come this Saturday to perform original works with the possibility of signing a contract. They wanted us to stay a few days, meet with agents, possiblyrecord.That word hit like a thousand knives. Record. We had to get in touch with them today, and then—if we accepted—we’d fly out tomorrow. It was all happening so fast, so many things were piling up. My heart began to race. With excitement? Nerves? At this point I couldn’t tell the difference. It wasn’t until Jamie touched my back that I slowly came back to reality.

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice low.

“Jamie!” Bennett shouted. “Can you believe this!?”

“Oh, I can . . .” Jamie smiled. “But I’m afraid Elliot has turned into a statue.”

“No, I’m here . . . I’m . . .” I’m what? Whatexactlywas going through my head.

Jamie. That’s what.

Jamie was the only thought process I seemed to hold.

“It’s unbelievable. Jameson is calling his girl. Chase almost fainted! A show tonight and then off to California tomorrow. It’s happening, Elliot, it’s really happening.” Bennett’s words were becoming louder and louder as his excitement grew. I could hear him pacing, I could hear Chase saying something in the background. Jameson’s voice was faint as well, they were bustling over there, and all I could think of was the woman next to me.

“Okay, Bennett, slow down. I’m picking you guys up in an hour, right? We’ll go to the bar, set up, and do our sound check, then call the label. We’ll get this squared away.”

“Come on man, why don’t you sound as excited as all of us? We have a shot of getting signed, Elliot! It’s happening!”

I looked at Jamie. Her eyes were wide as she watched and waited. Evensheseemed more excited than I was. I was excited. Deep down I knew it. This was what we were working towards, this is what I wanted for the band. But this weekend . . . it was too soon. I wasn’t done here. There were still things in Park City I had to do.

“Bennett, I’ll call you back soon, I, uh . . .”

“Elliot . . .”

“I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone, placing it face down on the marble counter, and looked at Jamie.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, jumping right to the point. “Elliot . . .” She touched my arm, her fingers trailing down to my tattoo. She had gotten used to tracing it, and I’d admit it had a calming effect on me, one I welcomed.

I leaned against the counter, still trying to focus on her fingers. “I can’t fly out this weekend.”

“Sure, you can, this is your break, this is what you wanted.”

“The gallery auction is on Saturday.” I met her gaze.

“So?”

“So . . . I need to be there for that.”

“Unless you’re planning on bidding on it, no you don’t. You need to be in California getting yourself a record deal.” Her eyes lit up, wide—full of excitement. There was a slight grin on her face, bringing a warmth into the room. She was so sure of it, so sure of herself, so sure ofme. “Why are you so focused on being at the auction?” she asked, her fingers still tracing my tattoo. I watched as they moved with the ink.

“Because it’s yours . . .” I mumbled.

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