I smile as I tie my plaid over shirt around my waist.

You just got mad cool points, Dad.

Ayden glances at me, and I mouth, come with us.

“Sure. That sounds good, Mr. Scott.” He picks up his guitar case.

“Call me Micha, okay,” my dad insists. “Mr. Scott makes me feel so old.”

“You kind of are old,” I say. When he shoots me a nasty look, I add, “But the coolest old man ever.”

He laughs, opening up the door. “Come on. This old man needs to get to work.”

After we say goodbye to my dad, Ayden and I walk outside with Sage and Nolan to the parking lot. It’s later in the evening and the sky is splashed with pink, orange, and gold.

“We so rocked today.” Sage fist-bumps Ayden. “If we can sound like that on the tour, there’s no doubt we’ll get more tour offers.”

Nolan tosses his drumsticks into the backseat of Sage’s truck. “We did sound fucking awesome today, but what’re we going to do when we have a sucky guitarist instead of Ayden?”

“Don’t start,” Sage warns, leaning against the back of his truck. “I already hear enough of that shit from Lyric.”

“That’s because it’s the truth,” I say, pulling my hair up as the heat instantly gets to me.

“Would you guys please stop arguing?” Ayden asks, shocking the three of us.

“Sorry, man,” Sage says, holding up his hands. “I was just pointing out that they can complain about it all they want, but it doesn’t fix the problem that we’re going to be short a guitarist on the first fucking tour we got hired for.”

“I’m sure they don’t all suck,” Ayden says, glancing at the screen of his phone.

Nolan shakes his head. “Yeah right. They’re freaking terrible. Seriously. I’ve started wearing earplugs so I don’t go deaf from the God awful noise they think is music.”

“You wear earplugs?” I narrow my eyes at him and put my hands on my hips. “So not fair.”

Sage sighs, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “You know, you could still change your mind, Ayden.” He pops a cigarette between his lips, cups his hand around his mouth, and lights up.

Nolan perks up, rubbing his hands together. “Yeah, you could always do that. Make our lives easier.”

Ayden fiddles with the leather bands on his wrists while staring at the ground. Sensing his uneasiness, I grab his hand. “We need to get home,” I tell Sage and Nolan. “See you guys tomorrow.”

Their moods deflate as they turn and get into Sage’s truck. Ayden and I hop into his car without saying anything and he pulls out onto the busy road. I ignore the headlights of the cop car following us, and instead focus on stroking Ayden’s palm during the entire drive to our neighborhood.

‘That feels good,” he murmurs as he steers the car into our subdivision.

“Yeah?” I brush my fingers across his skin again, tickling him softly.

He nods, his eyelashes fluttering. “It’s relaxing.”

“Maybe when we get home, I can give you a massage,” I tease with a wink.

“Maybe,” he says, surprising the crap out of me. He turns his head and our gazes weld. “What?” he asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I keep looking at him the same way. “Looking at you like what?”

“Like you were when you . . .” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. “Like you were when we were singing.”

I rest my head against the seat, keeping my eyes on him. “Maybe because I feel the same way as I did when we were singing.”

He grows silent as he turns the car into the driveway of his house. The lights are off, but my house is lit up and music is blaring.

“My mom’s having a party,” I tell him, unfastening my seatbelt.

“I know,” he says, turning off the engine and headlights. “Lila told me about it earlier when she texted me and told me I could either go over to your house and wait for them to get home from Everson’s practice. Or I could go inside my house, lock the doors, and set the alarm. But if I did that, I’m supposed to text her and let her know so she could give the police a heads up to keep an extra eye on me.”

“How long is everyone going to be gone at practice?”

“At least until ten or so.” He shrugs, looking over his shoulder at the police car parked in front of his house. “I guess there’s a team barbeque after the practice.”