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  Shelly stared a moment, then nodded. “Good. Because Jared’s worth a lot.”

  “I know he is, Shelly.”

  She paused in the doorway to stick her head back in. “Not that you care what I think, but so’s Sam.”

  I knew that, too.

  I tossed around the idea of making Jared a partner, but the idea was too overwhelming to think about all at once. I’d worked hard to build up my business and make improvements. A partner would mean I’d have help to share the burdens, but would also have to share the decisions.

  I was just getting used to the idea of having a romantic partner. I wasn’t sure I was ready to take on a business partner, too, no matter how much I liked and respected Jared. The only person I could really count on to help me decide was my dad, and I was pretty sure he’d blow a gasket at the mere suggestion.

  It was almost enough to make me offer Jared the partnership right away.

  Chapter 18

  Sam greeted me with a kiss that made the whole daybetter, and it hadn’t been so bad to start.

  “How’s tricks?”

  I filled him in on the whole story as he set up the stage the way he liked it. He’d been the regular “wallpaper” on Thursday nights at the Firehouse now for a couple months, and the owner liked him enough to offer him an open-ended contract. I didn’t make it to hear him play every Thursday, but I went as often as I could.

  “Can you grab me a beer?” Sam adjusted his chair the way he liked it, just under the single spotlight. He was an acoustic player and didn’t need to do much preparation, but he had an almost obsessive ritual about how to set everything up.

  Including beer. I brought him one, though, and one for myself. I didn’t ask him how many he’d already had, though his kiss had tasted of hops and barley. He finished the one I’d brought in record time and gestured at the bartender for another.

  “You’re going to drink your entire paycheck.” I meant to tease, but Sam shot me a look that hovered on the edge of being a glare.

  “It’s part of my paycheck,” he said.

  “Sorry.” The apology tasted bad. I don’t have a problem saying I’m sorry when I should, but it rankles when I didn’t do anything wrong.

  Sam shrugged and went back to adjusting the height of his microphone. The doors would open for dinner in about half an hour and he was scheduled to play for the night, starting at eight.

  We had an hour and a half to spend together before he had to work. I thought we might wander down to one of the other places along Second Street and grab something to eat, but Sam had other plans.

  “Come in the backroom with me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  I glanced at the backroom, which stored extra tables and chairs and various restaurant junk. “Uh-huh. I don’t think so.”

  “C’mon.” He took my hand and kissed the palm. “It’ll be quick.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” I tugged my hand away and looked around, certain the bartender was eavesdropping. “Quick is good for you. Not so much for me.”

  “What are you talking about?” He leaned in to nibble on my ear. “You’re like a bottle rocket.”

  I laughed, ducking away from his tickling touch. “I’m not a machine.”

  “So, you don’t want to do it because you’re afraid you won’t get off?” He was frowning again. “Fine. Forget it.”

  This was unlike the persistent but charming Sam I knew. “Sam, this isn’t the place, you know? Later.”

  He shrugged, the line of his shoulders angry as he gave me his back. “Sure. Whatever.”

  Oh, no, he was not giving me attitude because I wouldn’t fuck him in the backroom of a public place. “Hey.”

  Still frowning, he turned. “Let me finish this up and we’ll go do what you want to do.”

  “What’s with the bitchface?” I asked, hands on my hips. “C’mon, Sam, if you’re mad, just tell me.”

  We stared at each other for a minute until he softened and pulled me closer for a kiss. “I’m not mad. Just a little nervous.”

  “About what? Playing?” Mollified, I looked at the stage. “You’ve done it a thousand times.”

  “Yeah. And I get nervous every time.” Sam shrugged and kissed me again, then finished off his beer. He took the empties to the bar and brought back another. “Did you want one?”

  “No.” I watched him sip at his. “Are you really nervous?”

  He shrugged without looking at me. I sat next to him on the stage as we both drank our bottles. He finished his third as I drained my first and then stood and offered me a hand up.

  “C’mon. Let’s hit the Sandwich Man or something,” he said. “Unless you want to eat here.”

  I liked the food at the Firehouse, but not so much the prices. “A sandwich is fine.”

  At the Sandwich Man, Sam dug into a steak sandwich and I had a tuna sub. He seemed in a better mood than he had earlier, but I couldn’t stop thinking it had very nearly been our first fight. A milestone, one I wasn’t really that jazzed about reaching, but one that seemed significant nevertheless. I made sure to hold his hand extra tight on the walk back to the Firehouse, and to kiss him with extra passion before we went inside.

  “What was that for?” Sam asked, eyes bright.

  “So you won’t be nervous.”

  He smiled and kissed me. “Thanks, honey.”

  The endearment gave me giddy shivers up and down. “You’re going to be great tonight.”

  Sam waggled his brows and touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I meant inside.” I swatted him.

  “There, too.”

  He hugged me tight. With my face pressed against the front of his coat, a button scratching and the smell of him filling my senses, I wanted to cry from a rush of sudden emotion. I loved him. I loved this man, Sam, who played the guitar and had Seven League legs and who made me laugh.

  Sam kissed the top of my head. “Gotta go in. Clap for me.”

  “I always do.”

  Together, we went upstairs where Sam took the stage to a lot of clapping that didn’t come from me. Not wanting to take up an entire table to myself, I found a place at the bar where I nursed a beer. Sam had another, I saw, from which he sipped from time to time.

  About half an hour after he’d started playing, someone tapped my shoulder. The crowd had grown and I’d had eyes only for Sam, so I hadn’t noticed anyone standing so close to me.

  The tap startled me, but when I saw who’d done it, I broke into a grin.

  “Jack!”

  I got off my stool to hug him and step back to look him over. He looked good, but then, could Jack ever look bad? A few seconds too late, I noticed he wasn’t alone, but the girl with him wasn’t glaring at me. She held out her hand, instead, and we shook.

  “Sarah,” she introduced herself.

  I recognized her, of course. The blue hair and the metal in her face weren’t hard to forget.

  She was the girl who’d been talking to Jack the time we’d been here together. I gave him a look, and he responded by putting his arm around her shoulders. Sarah beamed, her hand going into Jack’s back pocket.

  “I started school,” Jack said. “Full-time.”

  “Good for you,” I said sincerely.

  I heard Sam saying something onstage, and laughter, but I’d missed most of it.

  “See? She is ignoring me.”

  I heard that and turned to see most of the audience looking at me. Embarrassed, I gave a little wave and did my best to send Sam a mental vibe to stop talking about me. He must have got it, because he started plucking a new song, leaving me to wonder what exactly I’d missed that had made everyone look at me.

  Sarah invited me to join her and Jack at their table, and though I hesitated, she insisted.

  There didn’t seem a graceful way to refuse, so I ended up sitting with them. Jack left to use the restroom, and I waited for awkwardness to fall over us.

  Sarah wasn’t a