Off the Record
Jesse looked around. “Where’s Melody?”
Melody. The name tickled the hair on my neck and made me forget every single name I’d just committed to memory.
Peter said, “I think she was talking to the receptionist.” He jogged to the hallway calling, “Hey, Miss Twitter! You’re wanted in the lounge.”
I scratched my neck to make the tingling stop. “Did you say Melody?” Shut up. There’s no way it’s her. Focus.
“Yeah. She’s a hell of a writer and the best damn girl- friend a guy like me could ask for.” Jesse shrugged like we shared a joke.
The tingling started to close my throat. “Writer?”
But Peter reappeared, and the woman who followed him in confirmed every ounce of adrenaline coursing through my system. My pulse beat in my ears and muted the scene as her ocean-blue eyes landed on me.
Suddenly I was eighteen again, rocked by nostalgia and memories that had been locked away for a decade.
I saw the shock in her gaze, but she rearranged her expression to a placid mask fast. Her cool stare under those black--Black??—bangs made me hold my tongue and remember where we were.
His girlfriend. Jesus, I didn’t see this coming.
“Hi.”Her soft greeting turned my mouth to dust. I wondered if it was her hand or mine that was so cold when I reached to clasp her outstretched palm. I’m not sure if I spoke, but after a beat she withdrew.
Easy, man. Calm down. Jesse’s debut album is why you’re here. Don’t make a scene. I turned to Jesse. “Should we get started?”
He grinned. “Let’s do it.”
While he met the band and started rehearsing, I dropped into my chair behind the sound board and rolled my shoulders. The album is all that matters. All. That. Matters.