Page 64 of Grumpy Bear

“So, listen. Trey and I have this mutual friend in Atlanta—my best friend, actually, Gary—who’s casting for a show. Are you visiting here, or local, or…?”

“Local, I guess. Edgewood.”

“Ah.” Brad nodded enthusiastically. “Makes sense.” He squinted apologetically and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Could I possibly steal you for a few minutes?”

Luke shifted the guitar case to his other hand. “We were just—”

“On our way to bed.” As I finished his sentence, I leaned forward, emphasizing my ability to tower over the guy. I had no idea what his angle was, but he was not going to interrupt my evening with Luke. Especially not tonight.

“Oh. Shit.” Brad held up his hands. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you, then. Will you be around in the morning? At breakfast?”

Damn. He was not taking the hint. What was this guy’s deal?

Luke shrugged, no doubt wondering the same. “I’m sure I will be. At some point.” His tone was hesitant and flat.

“I really want to put you in touch with Gary. Trey and I were talking about how hard it’s been for him to find LGBTQ talent for the show. Like, out musicians. It’s really important to him. The auditions are already under way, and like, no one has materialized. Where are the up and coming gay rock stars? He’s been pulling his hair out.” Brad chuckled like we were old friends gossiping about someone we all gave a fuck about. “Anyway, I think he’s gonna flip over you. No. No, I know he’s gonna totally flip over you.”

Before answering, Luke glanced at me again, then he narrowed his eyes. “What kind of show is it?”

Brad grinned, encouraged by Luke’s sudden shift in interest. “It’s a music competition show but for singer-songwriters.”

Luke cocked his head. “Like a reality show?”

“Exactly.” Brad looked between the two of us like he was unsure who he needed to appeal to. “So, I may have taken a little video with my phone of you playing.” He winced. “Is it cool if I shoot it over to Gary tonight when I get back to my cabin?”

He was right to consider my response. The thought immediately pissed me off. I was more than a little touchy about camera phones on the property. Because of past issues, we now had signs up in the bathhouses about not photographing or making videos of people without their permission.

Luke’s face was blank with a kind of breathless shock. “Are you serious?”

Brad mistook his lack of expression for displeasure. “I mean, if you’d rather I didn’t, I totally understand. I get it. I can even delete it. I should have asked, but you were already playing. It was an impulse in the moment—”

Luke interrupted. “No. I’m cool with you sharing it.”

“Yeah? Okay. Great. On the off chance we miss each other tomorrow”—Brad took the pencil stub and jotted something down on his own little slip of bonfire paper—“this is my cell. But I’ll definitely come look for you at breakfast. Assuming I hear back from him, I can let you know what he says.”

“Cool.” Luke took the paper and held it up, carefully pinched between his thumb and forefinger like a lit match. “I’ll be there.”

“Awesome. It’s really nice to meet you, Luke.” Brad shot me a tight smile. “You too. You guys enjoy your night.”

Oh, we will, I thought, glaring at his back until he was out of sight. If you haven’t fucked it up.

Luke watched Brad walk away, then he turned to me, mouth open, eyebrows high, total joy all over his face. “Holy fuck. Was that for real?”

I shrugged. “You never know who you might meet here.”

He pressed the paper with Brad’s number against his heart. “Austin is going to shit when I tell him about this.” He looked up at the night sky and exhaled. “Wow. A music reality show. Can you picture me on TV?”

“I can.” Of course I could. He was handsome as hell. He had that pretty sparkling smile, that God-given voice, that fucking hair, and he’d just proven he was talented as shit. The whole world would fall in love with him. I tried to disguise my panic with a joke. “The Surfer Cowboy Show.”

“Shut up.” Luke’s grin rivaled the moonlight. The quiet drowsy guy I’d been cuddling ten minutes ago was suddenly wide awake and bouncing on his toes.

On the drive back in the UTV, he rattled on about American Idol and The Voice, naming unknown singers whose lives had been changed forever by reality shows.

A part of me was glad he’d found a second wind; I definitely wanted him up for a little while longer tonight. But another part of me remembered the promise he’d made to himself and the dream he was pursuing outside this place and wondered how many nights we had left.

Two? Maybe three, at best?

The calendar hadn’t changed. Our lives hadn’t changed.