Tyler’s just the opposite.
Or maybe not. Maybe he’s just that way with me.
“I’ll do my best.” I stand and move toward the door, afraid to promise anything.
“No. Just do it.” Heath’s eyes are sharp. I’m trying to remain noncommittal, so he sets the hook: “You follow through on this story, Stella, and it can make the difference between the big leagues and the farm team.”
I mumble “Yes, sir,” and slip out the door, feeling the full weight of his meaning. A strong feature story would do great things for my career at The Indie Voice. A weak story could end it, or at least guarantee my exile to writing the dregs of the music scene.
On my sweaty slog home, I think of a dozen ways to approach Tyler about letting me attend a practice. I trudge up the sweltering stairwell and hear music.
Practice is in full swing in the loft. The guys are so intent on a song, they don’t notice me when I walk in the door. All of them are glistening with sweat, and Tyler’s heather gray T-shirt clings to his narrow back, perspiration soaking either side of his spine.
It’s freaking hot.
The band plays loud and I try not to draw attention to myself as I tiptoe to the kitchen to deposit my bag of groceries and, more importantly, get a drink. I pull vodka from the freezer and let the door hang open to bathe in the cool air.
That’s when I realize something’s wrong—the air conditioning in Tyler’s loft isn’t working.
Sun streams through the warehouse windows and this place feels like a greenhouse, hot and humid. The first heat wave of the year is here and life without A/C is going to get ugly. I do a couple of icy vodka shots, but they aren’t nearly enough.
I search my bedroom for something lighter than my work clothes. Slim pickings; I’m way behind on laundry. I find an eyelet sundress with thin straps that can work without a bra and I hastily change into it, again thankful that Tyler put up curtains for me.
As I stuff my laundry in a fat duffel bag, I hear the band stop playing. I peek out of my room as Gavin grabs beers from the fridge. Dave lectures Tyler about a tricky transition that got mangled on the last run-through and Tyler argues that they need to work in lockstep on the downbeat.
“Until Tyler gets the A/C fixed, I am officially against working out after practice,” Jayce says, sitting on a weight bench but making no move to actually lift.
“Me too,” Gavin agrees, and clinks beer bottles with Jayce. Dave scowls at them.
I give myself a mental push into the room and Tyler looks surprised. He didn’t know I was here. “Hey guys, sorry to intrude,” I say.
“It’s cool,” Jayce says. “How do you like your new digs? I mean, other than the fact that it’s a hundred degrees in here. Tyler never put up curtains for me.”
Jayce creases his brow in mock jealousy but Tyler waves a hand to dismiss him. “Don’t be a whiner. You’re lucky I put up with you. The price was right, and of course the company was outstanding.”
“Never let it be said that I was ungrateful,” Jayce says. “You saved my ass by putting me up here. And now you get to save Stella’s.”
I frown, not liking where this is going.
“Lucky me,” Tyler says. “She’s got a much nicer ass than you do.”
Jayce rolls his eyes and I decide to bring up my new problem before this goes any further.
“Guys? I hate to ask you this, but I’m wondering if I might be able to watch you practice tomorrow.”
“Why?” Dave’s on high alert and he moves between me and the band. His protective instincts and past experience as their manager make this one-word question a little scary.
“Um, my editor wanted more than just a short story about your practice space. He really wants people to see you and feel you guys in it. He wants me to write about what it’s like at practice.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Dave’s expression is fierce.
Gavin shrugs. “What’s the big deal? You just heard us. Write about that.”
I shake my head. “I only got here a couple of songs before the end. And anyway, I promised Tyler I wouldn’t write about anything without asking for permission first. So I didn’t take notes.”
Jayce tilts his head toward Dave. “Sounds like Stella’s playing by the rules. I’m game to let her come to practice. As long as she puts in her article that I’m the good-looking one. And I’m single,” he adds, cackling.
“It’s too big a risk,” Dave says, digging in his heels. “At a minimum, she should have to go through our PR people.”
I panic. That could take weeks. I try a different tack and appeal directly to Dave.
“I hear your concern, and I know that it’s hard to trust me. I don’t blame you. But fast-tracking a feature article right now could really help Tattoo Thief, especially with a storyline that’s not about Lulu.”
Gavin winces as I say her name. “She’s right, Dave. We’ve got to shift the story. Make it about our music.”
Jayce punches Dave in the arm. “Majority rules, bro. You say no, Gav and I say yes, and Tyler says…?”
I send Tyler a pleading look and he nods once. “Tomorrow? We usually practice from two to five.”
I hear Dave grumble a curse.
“I can be here. Would you—would it be OK if I brought a photographer?” I cringe just asking the question, but Heath won’t settle for a story without it.
“You’ve got to swear him to secrecy. Blindfold him when you bring him here.” Tyler’s eyes twinkle at me and I melt a little more in this heat. It’s like he’s got a direct line to my swoon button.
Gavin picks up his bag and lines up his empty beer bottle on the kitchen counter with a few others. “I’ve got to jet. Beryl’s waiting for me and my place has A/C. Maybe I’ll bring her tomorrow and we can all go out after?”
“Sounds like a party. I’ll bring a few friends, too.” Jayce wiggles his eyebrows and I suspect they aren’t just friends.
“Kristina will love that,” Dave answers sarcastically and he ducks into the bathroom. Tyler and Gavin are locked in a quiet discussion by the door and Jayce brings his beer bottle to the kitchen counter by me.
“Tyler told me,” I say to Jayce quietly. “About his diabetes. Is that what you meant when you said to take care of him?”
Jayce nods. “He’s not disciplined enough. When something’s bugging him, he lets his blood sugar get all wacky. It’s not good for him. I saw it when I lived here.”
“I’m not sure what to do or what to watch for.”
“You’ll know. If he gets too low it’ll look like he’s stoned or really out of it. You’ll see it before he does. Just give him a nudge.”
I promise to look out for him.
The band leaves Tyler and me alone in the loft and it’s too quiet in this oppressive heat. I miss the steady hum of the air conditioner. I grab my purse and two bags of laundry from my bed.
Tyler bounces up to me. “Where are you going?”
“Ice skating,” I deadpan, but Tyler’s still in motion on the balls of his feet.
“Want to go get dinner?”
“I’ve got ramen.” I point to the few groceries I brought home. “Besides, I need to conquer this mountain of laundry or else I’ll be going naked tomorrow.”
Tyler raises a brow, his eyes skimming my thin sundress. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Stop it. I’m going to bask in the bliss of an air-conditioned Laundromat. Probably not something you’ve done in years, huh?” I imagine the perks of being a rock star include shedding mundane aspects of life like laundry.
“I’ll come with you.” Tyler picks up his aviator glasses and phone. I stare at him in disbelief.