Once Upon a Sure Thing (Page 18)

I play for the camera the whole time, singing to her, touching her shoulder, her hair, her hip. I go for broke at the end. After I finish my last line and the music carries us, I brush my lips to her neck. She shivers in my arms, a tremble that I swear moves through her whole body. I drag my lips lower down her neck till she lets out a soft gasp. It turns me on ferociously.

The tiniest gasp escapes her lips, a sound so soft, a noise so sensual, it sends a fresh wave of heat through my body.

I should stop, but I don’t. I kiss the hollow of her throat. She trembles against my lips, and even though we’re not alone, it feels entirely private—this kiss, her reaction, my desire. It feels like ours alone, whether the camera is rolling or not.

It makes me want to kiss her senseless.

But you always leave the audience wanting more. Slowly, I pull away, my lips already missing her skin.

Her eyes float closed for a moment as she sings the last words. When she opens them, I wonder if she’s acting too.

Or if everything just got real.

Chapter 16

Ally

That two thousand views in an hour multiplied.

Exponentially.

What started as a let’s-post-this-online experiment has steamrolled. I know the drill, since I’ve been here with Kirby. But it wasn’t our first YouTube video that took off like proverbial wildfire. It was our seventeenth.

This time, the first one with Miller is a hot, sexy charm. And so’s the second, when Jackson posts the next day with another song Miller wrote and tweaked for us.

Now, three days later, those two thousand views have avalanched into half a million views. The second video? It’s riding the coattails at a hefty 350,000 views already.

The comments are endless, a river of Whoa, is it hot in here, Mr. Hot Stuff and the sexy blonde, and Hashtag ZimmerHart.

I can’t complain, and neither will my bank account. The money is a trickle now, but as the views grow, so will the ad dollars, and every little bit helps when you have someone besides yourself to look out for. I shoot Miller a quick note while walking home on Saturday evening after picking up Vietnamese sandwiches for dinner with Chloe.

Ally: This is amazing! We need to keep this up!

Miller: I’m on the piano as we speak.

Miller: Well, I’m not literally *on* the piano. If I were a cat, I’d be *on* the piano. I’m not a cat.

Ally: Thank you for the clarification. I did wonder.

Miller: Technically, I was typing on the phone. But my ass is on the piano bench, and my fingers are on the keys. And I’m purring . . .

Ally: Meow. Keep going, pussycat! We have fans already! Eeek, fans!

After dinner, Chloe heads to the shower, and I read the comments on our videos once more, shaking my head in amazement. It really does seem the internet likes what Miller and I have going on—our music, our songs, but especially our chemistry.

So does Macy.

As I make a pot of tea, my phone pings with a text from her.

Macy: Damn, woman. Have you seen these videos? I think I’m pregnant from just watching you and Miller.

Ally: When you have your second baby, please name it Immaculate.

Macy: Oh, sorry. What did you say? I just jumped your brother. We’re having twins.

Ally: La la la la. I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

Macy: Seriously, this is so hella hot I don’t even know if there’s a temperature that can record how incendiary it is. I can’t stop watching you two. And I’m not alone. Your videos are burning up the charts.

Ally: It’s crazy, isn’t it? It was never like this with Kirby.

Macy: Well, let’s hope not! But I need you to tell me the truth. Are you dying for Miller? When I watch those videos, all I can think is that you must have climbed him like a redwood tree when the cameras stopped rolling.

Ally: No trees were scaled, I assure you. We simply have stage chemistry.

Macy: I can literally hear you lying through the transom of text.

Ally: I swear, Macy! There’s nothing happening.

Macy: Not a thing? Not even a little bitty flicker of a thing?

Ally: When we sing, we’re performing. We both just go into character. That’s all.

Macy: Bummer. I was hoping for one final salacious tale before I leave for Boston.

Ally: Fine. I’ll give you one little nugget. I *might* have felt a flicker of a spark when I went ice skating with him last week, but I think it’s normal to be attracted to someone you perform with. That’s what happens when we’re in the studio. But what’s important is what to do with the attraction.

Macy: Act on it?

Ally: No. Channel it into the music. Acting on it would ruin our band and ruin our friendship.

Macy: All I’m saying is Kirby and I were friends, and now look at us. It can work. ?

Ally: Yes, but you and Kirby were on the same page. Miller’s not, and I respect his wishes. It’s best if we let our unusual chemistry fuel the music. Only the music.

Macy: I bet it winds up fueling your pants.

Macy is determined to make her point. She fires off a string of text-message gifs—Blanche from The Golden Girls spritzing water on her flushed skin, James McAvoy fanning himself with a sheet of paper . . .

Laughing at my friend’s antics, I set the phone on the counter as an image of a cat basking in much-needed air-conditioning pops up on my screen.

While Chloe’s hair dryer whirs from the bathroom, I squeeze honey into a mug, and consider Macy’s efforts to break me down. She’s not wrong. I would absolutely like to climb Miller. In fact, I’d like to ride him like a rodeo bull. Yeehaw. I’d saddle him up and reverse cowgirl him till the cows came home.

Have him tie me down with rope . . .

Wait, do I have a Western fetish?

No, that’s not the case, because my brain serves up an image of Miller pinning my wrists in an elevator, then on a bed, then in a town car.

Well, that’s clear now. I don’t have a Western thing. I have a Miller thing. As my belly swoops in a dirty roller-coaster ride, it’s a thing my body wants me to act on.

But there are choices, and then there are foolish choices. They have the most foolish of consequences.

When Chloe clicks off the hair dryer, she pads into her room and calls out to me, “Can you braid my hair, Aunt Ally?”

“Of course.” I shove away the dirty thoughts to focus on my girl.

I find her on her bed, brushing her hair, wearing her doughnut pajamas. I take a drink of my hot tea, place the mug on her nightstand, and hop onto the bed beside her. She hands me a hair tie and I move behind her, sitting cross-legged as I gather chunks of her red hair. “What was your high and low today?”

She hums then answers, “High was when Hailey and I decided we should go bowling together over break, and maybe binge-watch a new show we like. I love bowling.”

“Bowling rocks. I like this plan. And your low?”

Her shoulders sag a bit. “Low was talking to Uncle Kirby. He called me when you were picking up dinner.”

“Why would that be a low, Monkey?”

She sighs. “Because I’m going to miss him and Aunt Macy when they move.”

“Me too,” I say wistfully, weaving another strand of her hair. “It’ll be strange not to have them nearby.”

“I know. But I’m glad you’re not the one moving away.”

Startled, I drop her hair and scoot forward so I can look her in the eyes. “Sweetie, I’d never move away from you.”

Her lips are a tight line before she seems to force out a shaky question. “You wouldn’t?”