Shit, was that too much?
“I mean, not that I can tell you what you deserve.”
She smiled graciously, perhaps reading his mind. “I know what you mean. And I appreciate it.” Flicking on her recorder, she pointed to the soundboard’s infinite illuminated buttons and switches. “So, how does all this work?”
He exhaled, relieved that she wasn’t freaked out by his bush-league flirting. Jamie wasn’ttryingto do it, but it kept happening. “Slide closer, and I’ll show you.”
As she rolled over, he felt a magnetic pull he knew didn’t come from the wheels beneath him.
He cleared his throat, hoping to regain his bearings. “This is an audio mixer. Essentially, it controls the levels of different sounds you’re recording. So, for example, vocals, guitars, and keyboards are recorded on separate channels and then routed through the mixer. An audio engineer uses these levers called faders to blend everything…It’s called the optimal mix.”
“Sounds complicated,” she offered. Her eyes lingered on the tiny, ridged knobs.
“It is, but it’s also fun, kind of like a puzzle.” He pressed a button, and a melancholy acoustic guitar riff filled the room. He pressed another, and his vocal track followed. It sounded robust and a little charred on the edges.
“Can I show you?” he asked.
“Yeah, show me everything.”
He placed one of her hands on a channel fader and put his on top. Jamie inched her fingers up gradually, until the guitar overpowered his vocals and electricity ricocheted where their skin touched. At some point, he stopped breathing.
He shot her a furtive glance. She was holding her breath too.
“Wow,” she breathed.
Did she feel that too?
“Yeah, it sounds imbalanced,” Jamie said, silently cataloging where his fingertips gripped hers. He savored the naked contact. “The vocals and guitar need each other, in the right proportions, to sound good.”
Eyes on hers, their fingers still intertwined, he guided the faders back down, blending the outputs into soothing harmony.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
So are you,Bee.
He’d keep that part to himself. He couldn’t risk scaring her off, because she was there to help him. Professionally.
Then, that reflux-inducing chorus slithered through the speakers:You want love/But I need space/Baby my heart beats/At a different pace/I can love you right/But only for tonight.
When Brinton jerked her hand from beneath his, it felt like a piece of him had gone missing. His optimal mix.
“These lyrics are…” She let the words hang in the charged air between them for a few uncomfortable moments. “Did Melvin write this about anyone in particular? Like…Kendall?” She looked down at the floor. “It’s for the article,” sheadded quickly, but the mulberry flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
Lordy, she was adorable. He paused the recording.
“This song isn’t about Kendall,” he said.
“Or someone else? I guess with your ‘Heartbreak Prince’ nickname, there’s probably plenty of…inspiration out there.”
He breathed shakily. Time to unearth another truth. “I know you’ve heard all the stories, and, yeah, I’ve dated a lot of women. But those relationships weren’t real. My team thought I needed the press after my breakup with Kendall.”
She was quiet for a few moments, and his heart did a fifty-meter dash in his chest. What if she pushed him away, now that the latest lie had come to light? What if, upon further inspection, she decided that his dreams weren’t worth saving?
But when she looked at him again, her expression was stripped of judgment. He didn’t expect it, but he was grateful.
“Was it real with Kendall?” she asked.
“I didn’t feel the same way about her. I wanted her to be happy, but I didn’t—I couldn’t love her, even though she loved me. The more I tried, the more I knew it wasn’t there.”
