Kiss Me Goodnight by Michele Zurlo Read Free Book Online Page A

to jump and not hurt something. When I resumed my position and closed my eyes, the song sounded better. The layered rhythms were well balanced, complementing Dylan’s voice instead of undermining it. Now all he needed were some backup singers. His bandmates needed to pitch in, but I didn’t think they’d take that advice from the crazy stranger who’d adjusted their settings.
    As I absorbed the song, it changed back to the way it was. I opened my eyes to find the bassist and keyboardist throwing twin glares at me. I shrugged. It was no skin off my nose if they wanted to sound like shit. They played two more, and I identified the same problem, which they apparently had no interest in fixing.
    When the last song ended, Dylan leaned his guitar against an amp, jumped down from the stage, and crossed to me.
    His eyes flashed, and I knew he wasn’t happy with what I’d done. My ballsy behavior probably didn’t fit with the shy woman he’d met who freaked out about spilling coffee on him.
    “Lacey, you can’t just come up on stage and mess with our equipment.”
    I studied him intently, noting the way his jaw flexed and his lips pressed together. From the periphery of my vision, I looked for him to clench his fists. He didn’t.
    “Okay.”
    He waited a beat, two beats. I didn’t blink or step back. Finally, he shook his head. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”
    “No. You sounded better after I made the change and worse when you changed it back. The acoustics in this place suck, and you have to account for that in your mix. I don’t see a soundboard, which is a mistake if Mike is serious about featuring better talent.”
    By this time, the others had joined Dylan. Besides the two male guitarists, the drummer turned out to be a taller woman with an athletic build, long dark hair, and a lip ring. She looked enough like Dylan to be his sister.
    I faced the hostile crowd without changing my expression. “You also need backup singers.”
    The drummer snorted. “I told you so.”
    Dylan flashed her an impatient look. “Daisy, hush.” Then he returned his attention to me. “Next time just say something. Don’t mess with my equipment.”
    I’ve never had a man tell me not to mess with his equipment. I know that wasn’t what he meant, but I couldn’t stop from giggling.
    Dylan had a hard time holding together his stern expression, and Daisy didn’t even try. The other guys were checking out my outfit and trying to figure out who I was.
    “Lacey, we need to have a chat.” Mr. Hanover appeared at my elbow. He eyed Dylan’s unfriendly bandmates with a stern expression of warning.
    How sweet. Dawson Hanover was my protector. I barely refrained from calling him Dad.
    Dylan scowled at Mr. Hanover, then looked back at me. “Lacey?”
    I felt bad because now he thought I hadn’t come by to see him. Then again, maybe that was a blessing in disguise. I shouldn’t have come by to see him.
    “Dylan, this is Dawson Hanover. He’s a liquor distributor.” I gave Mr. Hanover a hopeful smile. “Did you close the deal?”
    He dropped the overprotective parent look to give me a grin. “After the way you set it up? Absolutely. You’re amazing, Lacey. You’ve accomplished what six of my best sales reps have failed to do, and you made it look easy.”
    Lying was easy. The truth is hard.
    “Oh, good. I’m glad. Dylan invited me here to listen to his rehearsal.” I realized my mistake. Now I was sorry. I faced Dylan with a sad heart. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You didn’t invite me here for feedback.” I reached out and squeezed his shoulder as part of my apology. I absolutely was not feeling him up. “Best of luck tonight.”
    With that, I turned and followed Mr. Hanover across the floor. It looked like Craig had already left. I halted abruptly. “I need to use the restroom.”
    The fixtures in this bathroom were clean but worn. Mike needed to do some upgrades if he wanted to attract a different clientele.