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She laughed, some of the tension she’d been holding in her posture releasing. “Oh, you definitely nailed it. But I meant for pushing me to sing the song. It felt good to be behind a microphone again and really punch the gas.”
His expression warmed, and he switched his focus back to the road. “I’m the one who should thank you. You’re a fantastic musician. Plus, I totally recorded your song and will soon be selling it for millions of dollars.”
She sniffed. “Yeah, right.”
“No, really. It recorded.”
She turned her body toward him. “Hold up. What?”
He chuckled. “Don’t freak out. The mics were still live when we started playing, but I won’t be sharing the recording with anyone.”
She blinked. “The mics were—oh my God. So …”
“Yeah. There will be quite the X-rated soundtrack recorded afterward.” He sent her a don’t-kill-me look. “But don’t worry. The file is in my private account and protected. I only wanted to record your song for you. I thought you might like to have it or maybe share it with Reagan. I didn’t plan for everything else that happened afterward. I’ll edit the other stuff out when I get back to town.”
“And delete the rest.”
He shrugged. “Or save it for my own listening pleasure. Or sell it to TMZ for a Where Are They Now.”
Her mouth fell open, and she shoved his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Extortionist.”
He grinned as he turned off onto a side road. “Totally. I’m holding the tape hostage tonight until you have lots and lots of hot, kinky sex with me.”
“Lucky for both of us, I accept these terms.”
“Excellent. But that will have to wait because right now, we must eat tamales.”
Oakley looked up as gravel crunched beneath the tires of the truck. Over the last few minutes, they’d driven to a part of Dallas that she wasn’t familiar with. But as promised, it was definitely the opposite of fancy. All the storefronts appeared in need of a nip and tuck, the roofs sagging and the pastel paint peeling. But
the restaurant they’d just pulled in front of seemed to stand proud among the rest of the block. The building was a bold robin’s-egg blue and Flora’s was painted in bright yellow on the side.
Pike cut the ignition and climbed out of the truck. When he came around and opened her door, he gave a sweep of his arm Vanna White style. “Welcome to my ’hood.”
She lifted an eyebrow as he helped her out. “Pike, I’ve seen your neighborhood, Mr. Uptown.”
“You saw where I live now. This is where I’m from. Well, this is the nice part. This was uptown for me when I was a kid.” He cocked his thumb to the left. “The rental house I grew up in is about five blocks that way.”
She peered in the direction he was pointing, then back to him. “Do you still have family out here?”
He tucked his hands in his pockets, his smile sagging and his posture stiffening. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry.” He’d already told her he had a shitty childhood. It’d been a stupid, automatic small-talk question. “You don’t have to say any more.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just an ugly answer.” He rolled his shoulders, seeming to shake himself free of something. “The night Red, my mom’s boyfriend, broke my hand, they kicked me out.”
“Wait. They kicked you out? You were the one who got hurt.”
He wet his lips and looked into the distance. “I pulled a gun on the guy when he hurt me that night. Kind of lost it. My mom walked in on that part. She wasn’t going to risk anything that messed up her situation with Red since he was paying the bills. I was a risk. So I left and haven’t seen either of them since. But they were living in a nice part of Lewisville by that time. They may still be out there.”
“God, Pike. How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
She frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
