“All right, love, you just sit down and get comfortable,” Trevor said. “Tanner! Come on, man.”
Josh heard the low strum of Donny’s bass guitar, heard Felix do a little warm-up rhythm, and knew there was no way of getting out of it. If he refused to play a song now, he’d look like an ass.
Still, his feet didn’t move, and he took another sip of beer.
Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up to see Heather in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb as she studied him.
“Okay, 4A?” she asked.
Her tone was lighthearted, almost slightly reluctant, as though she didn’t want to care about why he was out here alone, feeling oddly itchy with his life.
He appreciated it. He’d spent enough time in the past few years dealing with people who walked on eggshells around him, cooing sweetness. Some of it genuine, some of it not so much.
Heather’s no-nonsense question was refreshing—and exactly what he needed.
He was happy and healthy and living the dream, damn it.
Even if he was no longer sure it was his dream.
“You going soft on me?” he asked, taking one last sip of his beer before setting it aside and strolling toward her.
Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Hardly. I just wanted you to get your shit together so I can see your cute lead singer work his magic.”
He deliberately stepped into the doorway so she couldn’t move in either direction without brushing against him, grinning at her discomfort.
“You’re in a better mood tonight,” he said, his eyes skimming over her crazy curls and relaxed expression. “Why?”
“Believe it or not, I’m not a shrew.”
“Huh.”
Heather shoved his shoulder with a little scowl. “I’m not!”
“Does that mean you’re going to start making banana bread like Mrs. Calvin?”
“Yes, definitely. And coffee cake and sugar cookies and whatever other goodies you might like. All while wearing a frilly, feminine apron.”
“Dare I hope there’s nothing under the apron?” he asked, leaning in slightly.
“Right again!” she said, in mock delight. “I just love to bake naked.”
Josh’s pulse leapt, but Trevor interrupted before the sudden X-rated picture in his mind could turn into a full-fledged fantasy.
“Dude, we doing this or what?”
Josh looked at Heather.
“One song,” she said, holding up a finger. “I may as well hear what the music sounds like on this side of the wall.”
She slipped back into the practice room, sitting in the stuffed armchair in the corner. Josh followed her in, reaching for his guitar and slipping the strap over his head before catching her eye and giving her a wink.
Heather rolled her eyes, and Josh couldn’t hide the grin as he ripped his first chord.
Once again, it was this snotty, mouthy woman who’d managed to shake him out of his funk.
It was becoming increasingly clear that his intriguing new neighbor might be exactly what he needed to make him feel alive.
Chapter Eight
IT HAD BEEN A long time since Heather had let herself enjoy a weekend night.
Hell, it had been years since she’d stayed up too late, had one too many drinks, which, considering she was only twenty-seven, was a little sad. But that was the nature of the wedding business. Her slowest days were Mondays and Tuesdays, when the rest of her social group was recovering from their weekend festivities, and her busiest workdays were on weekends, when everyone else was cutting loose.
Most of the time she didn’t mind, even if the lack of overlap with other people’s schedules left her feeling a little lonely. She wanted to be a wedding planner more than anything, and if that meant a limited social life, so be it.
But that didn’t take away the joy she felt at sitting curled up on a cute guy’s couch, with another cute guy’s arm slung casually around her shoulder. And if she was maybe a tiny bit disappointed that the arm around her didn’t belong to Josh, then she blamed it on her third—fourth?—beer.
“So, 4C, you never told us why you’re living on the edge on a Friday night,” Josh said, tilting his beer toward his lips as he studied her. His gaze flicked just briefly to where Trevor’s hand had come to rest on her shoulder, but he looked away almost as quickly.