Page 46 of Sing For Me

“No, all of us. Our parents just packed us up and took us with them. We had tutors for homeschooling and we got to see most of the country. It was pretty cool.”

“I wonder if it was as fun for your parents with all those kids on a bus.”

He laughs. “We had several busses, but, yeah. I’m sure it was a lot. Rose and River and I were pretty awful. We were always sneaking around, trying to get back stage at the shows.” He gazes over my shoulder, smiling vaguely, like he’s lost in a memory. “I always had such a hard time sleeping when the tour would end and we’d go back home. I would get so used to being crammed on those bunks with my cousins. It was like I couldn’t sleep without Fox snoring a few feet away from me.”

He’s quiet for a moment before shaking his head, as if to clear it. “Anyhow, once they started the label, they toured a lot less, so we stayed home most of the time. But when I was sixteen, they did this short summer festival tour, and they took me with them.” He laughs. “I thought I wassofucking cool, like I was hot shit because I was the only kid they brought along.” That same something flickers in his eyes, his mouth tightening. “Anyhow, that was the trip we stopped at Sin Bin.” He smirks but it looks forced to me. “Changed my whole life, that burger.”

I hold up the meager remains of my meal. “Well, this one comes in pretty close second for me.”

Now his grin looks a lot more sincere. “I’m glad to hear it. Maybe that means you’ll come back with me sometime.”

I’m sure my own smile is as shy as I feel. “I’d like that.”

Will looks at his watch and winces. “I should probably head out. I have a two o’clock.”

“Do you know what tattoos you’re doing before the clients come in?” I ask as he pulls out his wallet to pay the bill. Instead of waiting for the check, he lays a crisp fifty—way more than what we owe—on the table and stands, holding out a hand to help me up.

“Most of the time,” he explains, leading me through the restaurant. He calls out a goodbye to Ollie as we pass the counter and we get a “See ya later, asshole,” shouted back from somewhere in the kitchen.

Once outside, he keeps my hand in his. “For simple stuff, I can do a consult over the phone or through email. But with more complicated pieces, the client usually comes in to talk it over before we schedule them. We get some walk-ins, too, but I’m usually too booked up to take them.”

“Mr. High Demand,” I tease.

“Well, I am the best,” he says in aduhsort of voice. “I can’t just be working on any slob who comes in off the street.”

“I was the exception, huh?”

He laughs, squeezing my hand. “Thank Christ we were shorthanded that day.” He looks down at me. “You know, you never did tell me what the bet was. Why you guys came in for tattoos together.”

I blink up at him, unsure of how much to say. I want to trust Will, want to let him in, but it’s still scary.

“My friends do this thing,” I say, talking fast. “To, uh, try to get me out more often. We have these challenges—like a Mario Kart tournament or something—or we’ll bet on things. Silly stuff. Oscar picks, baseball scores. Whoever wins gets to choose an activity, and we all have to do it.” My cheeks feel warm and I’m sure he can see my blush. “It’s stupid.”

He’s watching me carefully, eyebrows drawn. “Why do they try to get you out of the house more often?”

“Oh.” That brings me up short. I sometimes forget that it’s not as obvious to strangers that I’m a complete mess most of the time. I take a deep breath. “That’s something I have trouble with. Since the, uh, fire. They’re scared I’m going to turn into a total hermit. I don’t really like crowded places. Or having people look at me.” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Makes the whole being a professional performer thing a little tricky these days.”

For once, his face doesn’t tighten at the mention of me being a performer. Instead, he stops walking, pulling me up to the brick wall of the tattoo shop. “What was the bet this time?” he asks, voice a soft rumble across my ears.

“Oh, that was Geoff,” I say, a little breathless because he’s standing so close to me. “He’s obsessed with this cooking competition and he picked the right contestant to be eliminated. He hadn’t won in a while, so he wanted to do something big—hence, the tattoos.”

Will shakes his head, gaze fixed on my face. “No, not the day of the tattoos. I mean, what was the bet to get you to leave your house today?”

“Oh.” My cheeks get warm. “There was no bet. I just wanted to come see you.”

His gaze heats even as his usually sharp features soften. Then he’s lowering his head, getting closer, his eyes flicking down to my mouth.

He’s going to kiss me,I think, waiting for the flare of panic. Will is bigger than me, much bigger, and he’s in my space. He could easily push me aside, knock me to the ground, trap me and—

Then his lips touch mine and all those familiar fears fly straight out of my head. There’s just not room for them, not with every nerve ending in my body standing up to cheer. Instead of telling me to run, the little voice in my brain urges me to wrap my arms around his neck, to pull him even closer.

Before I can act on the impulse, he’s pulling back. “I’m really glad you did,” he murmurs.

“Me too,” I whisper, breathless. Just from one closed mouth, fifteen second kiss. I have to fight a shudder when I think about how much damage he could do with a little more time and a lot more tongue.

His hand comes up to my shoulder, fingers playing with the end of my braid. “Can I call you? Tonight?”

Dear God, yes. Please, please call me. Pretty please with a cherry on top. “Sure,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice mostly even.