Kiss Me Goodnight by Michele Zurlo Read Free Book Online

breadth of his shoulders. I couldn’t guess his age, but I can tell you he definitely worked out.
    Mr. Silver-Hair rounded the bar, extending his hand to Mike. “Mike MacMurtry, I’m Dawson Hanover, owner of Hanover Distribution.”
    Mike shook his hand enthusiastically. “Mr. Hanover, you have one hell of a sales rep here. No pressure, yet she gets her point across. It’s been a pleasure to do business with her.”
    I edged away. The owner of the company might know I didn’t work for him.
    Mr. Hanover slung his arm across my shoulders. He did it in a nice way, but his firm grip let me know I wasn’t going to get out of this cleanly. I hoped to hell Dylan hadn’t noticed me yet. Maybe I would come back tonight to see his set.
    “You’re right. She’s amazing. I’ve been listening to her for about ten minutes. I think she’s sold some of my liquor to me.”
    I gave him an affectionate smile. He seemed nice, and I didn’t want to blow this for him. Craig didn’t rate consideration, but I already liked Mr. Hanover. He reminded me a little of John, only older.
    I know you must be thinking I’m nuts to not break down and beg for forgiveness or make a fun for the door, but I wanted to see where this situation would lead. I’ve never been arrested for lying because I’ve never done so maliciously. In general, I don’t damage anything but friendships.
    And even though I’ve alienated more than my fair share of people, I’ve managed to retain a core group of close friends: Jane and Luma. They’ve learned to spot my stress triggers. Also, if you ask me if I’m lying, I’ll admit to it. Always. Jane says I’m hard to love but so worth it.
    “Well, I’ll let you two discuss the particulars,” I announced. “Mike, do you mind if I stick around and watch the band for a little while?” The size of my balls is amazing. No fear—not when I have absolutely nothing on the line.
    Mr. Hanover released my arm. “That sounds like an excellent idea. You and I can talk afterward.”
    I drifted off and let the men discuss the financial side of the deal. Some of the prices I’d quoted Mike were from the cheaper and cheapest sheets. I think that helped keep his attention. When he’d told me what he was currently paying, his rates mostly matched those listed on the most expensive spreadsheet.
    Dylan didn’t notice me until I was about twenty feet from the stage, which just shows how much he was concentrating. The large dance floor was adjacent to the stage, and I had to cross a lot of open space to get to him.
    He looked up. His eyes widened a little, and the corners of his mouth curved in a jerky smile. He’d just started singing, and I didn’t expect him to stop, which he didn’t. I stood in the center of the dance floor and watched his band play a song.
    It wasn’t one I’d heard before, so I figured it was an original. I closed my eyes to better absorb what I heard, and I didn’t love it. Music feeds my soul. At one point, it functioned as my only emotional outlet, and John had encouraged that by taking me to many live shows and talking to me for hours about how music is constructed. Melodies seep into me and fill the vast silence. Well, good music does.
    As I listened, I tried to figure out what was off. Dylan’s voice was pretty good. Rich and smooth, it washed over me. I liked the rhythms too. So, what was wrong? As I tapped my foot in time to the drum, it came to me. Without thinking, I hoisted myself onto the stage. I traced the black cords of the bass back to the source, and I turned up that amp. Then I turned the lead guitar’s down just a notch.
    More than one of the four band members glared at me, but they continued playing. Dylan regarded me with an expression that mixed outrage and bafflement. It was a cute look on him. Some people might have used the word ominous , but not me. My spider sense is finely tuned, and I rely on it heavily.
    I sat on the edge of the stage and slid down. It was too far