Page 9 of Sing For Me

“I don’t need to go to college to learn guitar,” Silas grumbles. “Dad didn’t.Youdidn’t.”

I grit my teeth. “We’re not talking about me,” I snap, too sharp. My fucked up issues with the music industry are not my little brother’s problem. I release a heavy breath, trying to calm down. “You at least need to get through high school, man. Something Dad and Iandall of our uncles did.”

“Uncle Daltrey didn’t!” he shoots back. “Grandpa let him leave to go on tour when he was seventeen. That’s only a year older than I am now.”

I’m pretty sure Uncle Daltrey would be the first to say that was a mistake, what with all the shit that went down after he left for their first tour, but I don’t mention that.

“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “There’s no way in hell Mom and Dad are going to let you drop out of school. You know that.”

He grumbles something under his breath. “When are you coming over, anyhow?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“The shop is pretty busy,” I say, even as a sting of guilt slices through me. “I’ll try to get over there this week, okay?”

“Fine.” He still sounds pretty petulant.

“Hey man, at least there are girls at school, right? High school is the best time to work on your game.”

He’s quiet on the other end of the line and I wonder, suddenly, if my little brother met someone. Before I can ask, there’s a rap on the door. “Clients are here!” Quinn calls.

“Hey, Si, my next appointment is starting. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“You’re going to come to the house this week?” he presses.

I stifle my sigh, wondering when I’m going to have time to squeeze that in. “Sure, man. I’ll see you.”

“Bye, Will.”

As I end the call, I look down at the pile of untouched paper. So much for getting a start on things.

Out in the front of the shop, a small crowd has gathered, my guys introducing themselves to the clients. I slide up next to the desk where Lulu, our receptionist and all-around shop overlord sits. Lulu handles the schedule, makes sure we’re stocked up on everything from clean needles to coffee in the break room, and basically keeps this place from descending into chaos. She runs my shop with a steel fist and she’s the single best hire I’ve ever made.

“Where do you need me?”

She makes a note on one of the freshly signed waiver forms, then looks up at me through her thick black cat-eye glasses. “Girl in the blue sundress needs someone,” she says. “Red hair. Bit of a looker.” She leans toward me. “Half of the assholes you employ have been giving her the eye. I’d put her with Hannie, but she already consulted with one of the others. Figured you could at least be professional.” She rolls her eyes. “Better get to it before Quinn makes a move.”

The last thing I need is Quinn—or any of the other guys in the shop—hitting on a client. “Thanks for the heads up,” I tell Lulu. “Name?”

She checks the waiver. “Evangeline.”

I push away from the desk and wade into the crowd. The girl in the blue dress has her back to us, talking to one of her friends. I make my way to her, crossing my fingers that she wants something on the smaller side so I can get back to the office soon.

“Evangeline?” I ask when I’m a couple feet away. She starts to turn. “I’m Will.”

My name comes out with a slight catch because the woman is facing me now andholy shit. “A bit of a looker” is the understatement of the century. This girl is fuckinggorgeous.

Red curls brush against her shoulders, kissing the thin little straps of her sundress. She has the kind of eyes a person could get lost in, big and expressive, irises a clear green. There’s a scattering of freckles over her nose, which strikes me as unbearably adorable. Funny, I’ve never had a single thought about freckles in the past, but right now all I can think about is where else on her body I might see them.

Speaking of her body.Shit. I swallow hard, trying to keep my eyes on her face so they aren’t tempted to scan over her perfect, willowy figure.

“Hey,” I say, wincing at the sound of gravel in my voice. “I’m, uh, going to be helping you out today.”

Her posture stiffens, shoulders going up and back, like she’s bracing herself for something. Her eyes are wide as she stares back at me and I’m pretty sure she’s not actually breathing.

What the hell?

The friend at her side, a tiny blonde woman with a pixie haircut, clears her throat, her fingers sliding over the girl’s pale forearm. Like someone breaking out of a spell, Evangeline’s body relaxes, lungs filling with a long breath. “Hi,” she says, her voice soft but friendly, and then holds her hand out for me to shake, like nothing weird just happened. “You can call me Eva.”

I take her hand in mine, trying not to think about how good it feels, all warm and soft and small against my big palm. “I’m Will.”