Page 45 of Sing For Me

As if reading my mind, Will scowls. “He hasn’t put any pressure on me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says. “I just want to do this myself.”

I hold up my hands, surprised by the bite in his voice. “I didn’t say anything.”

He sighs, expression softening. “Sorry. I’m used to people assuming I have a trust fund and shit like that. I get defensive.”

“So you don’t have a trust fund?” I arrange my features into a disappointed pout, reaching for my purse. “You know, I think I’m actually busy this afternoon.” I move to slide from the booth and he captures my wrist in his tight grasp, grinning.

“Very funny, smart ass.”

I grab another onion ring. “You probably have to deal with that shit a lot, huh?” I ask seriously. “People using you.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. More so when I was younger. It really stung back then, because I wasn’t expecting it, you know? I guess that’s part of why I stick with my family. Rose and River and all of them, they have my back no matter what.”

I think of my own friends. I had intentionally only told Marissa about this date, wanting to keep it low-key, but of course that didn’t mean shit when it comes to our group. There are very few secrets between us. I’d gotten an encouraging text or call from every single one of them this morning. “I get that.”

“You probably had the same thing. People coming out of the woodwork to be your best friend after you got signed.”

“A little. I was lucky because I started in theater out in New York. That can be just as cut throat as the music industry, believe me, but there were a few people that I worked with a lot when we were all starving artists. We’ve pretty much stuck together.”

He nods his head. “That’s good. You need that or you’ll go nuts with all of the nonsense. I know my dad and uncles wouldn’t have been half so well adjusted if they didn’t have each other the whole time.”

I want to ask him more about his uncles, what it would have been like to grow up in the shadow of such a world-famous group of people, but a server appears at our table, tray filled with our plates, more root beers, and a fresh order of fries.

I laugh when he sets the burger in front of me. “What?” Will asks.

I shake my head. “Just thinking about what my manager would say if he saw me eating this.” Double cheeseburgers with bacon and a fried egg on top are definitely not on the Dennis Armstrong meal plan for celebrity singers. “He likes to count my calories. This would make his head explode.”

A scowl so severe I actually wince covers Will’s face. “I hope you don’t listen to that shit.”

The truth is, Idolisten to it. Or, at least, I did, when I was still performing. It was hard to tune out the loud chorus of people judging my body in the spotlight. But if there’s a silver lining to all the shit of the past year, it’s that I haven’t had to get fitted for a costume or photo shoot wardrobe in months. So I grab my burger, keeping eye contact with Will the whole time, and take a massive bite. His scowl softens.

I’m starting to see a pattern with that—Will seems to go from a charming, warm guy to closed off or straight up pissed pretty quickly. I wonder if he’s always this mercurial, or if there’s something specific about me that has his moods unsettled.

But then I don’t really care about the flash of grumpiness because the tastes exploding against my tongue are too amazing to think about anything else. “Oh my God,” I mumble around my mouthful.

“I know,” Will says, tone much lighter. “Top five burger, easy. Maybe even top three.”

“Well now I’m going to need to know your other top five burgers. Because if they’re anywhere near this good, I’ll have to track them all down.”

We spend the next several minutes happily chatting about the best burgers we’ve ever had while we demolish the ones on our plates. It’s obvious that Will has been pretty much everywhere. My own travels consist of the times I’d been on tour, and that hardly counts. It’s not like I ever had time to go out and see much of the places I visited in between shows and promotion. Will, though, has stories to go along with all the burgers on his top five list, most of them including at least one of the cousins I met the other night.

“Number one is tough,” he says. “But I’m gonna have to go with the Sin Bin in—”

“Chicago!” I squeal delightedly. “I’ve been there!”

“Yeah? They’re awesome.”

I nod. “Did you try the Portobello poppers?” At the shake of his head, I close my eyes dreamily. “So good, Will. They stuff Portobello mushrooms with cheese, wrap them in bacon, and then deep fry the whole thing.” I open my eyes to grin at him. “I swear, stopping in at Sin Bin was like, the highlight of my entire first tour.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but his expression remains neutral. “I stopped there on tour too,” he says, tone subdued. “With my Uncle Reed.”

He always seems hesitant to talk about his dad and uncles, but since he brought it up, I figure I’m safe to ask more.

“Did you get out on the road with them a lot?”

“Oh, yeah. Half my childhood was spent on a tour bus.”

“Really? Just you or—”