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He must be toying with me. There’s no other explanation for what is happening. He picked up on my obvious lust and wanted to poke fun at the gay guy.
Cheeks heating, I focus my attention on finishing my cupcake, taking care not to get anymore on my face. If he touches me again, I think I might implode.
“Actually, I would love to collaborate with you. I’ve been playing around with the idea of a side project, and I would be lying if I said that you didn’t make me feel something unforgettable that night in the bar.”
My eyes dart back to him, jaw hanging open. “I’m… not sure if you’re serious…”
“Why does no one think I can be serious?” He pouts for a second before popping an entire biscuit into his mouth.
Bloody hell, he’s being sincere. My chest tightens with impending doom. How do I politely turn down someone of his caliber? If he takes this the wrong way, he has the power to tarnish my name in this industry forever. What artist would want to license my songs then?
On the other side of this scale, am I in the financial position to say no? Most of my savings went toward a funeral and putting my mum up in a place that would treat her. After years of circuiting Europe like a nomad, I’m down to the dredges of my bank account, the consequences of which would be dire for the only family member I have left to claim.
A side project with Hail would more than likely result in a steady paycheck. The guy’s a powerhouse musician. The artistry we could create together…
“How would logistics work? Aren’t you on tour?”
He shrugs. “A temporary hurdle, but we could always video chat. Pass things back and forth via email. Obviously, Atonement has to be my number one priority for a little while longer.”
My brows furrow. Is he planning on leaving the band? There were rumors online about Liam retiring soon. Little side comments made in interviews.
I chew on my bottom lip. If I accept,mypriority needs to stay locked on the money. I can’t let temptation for the guy sitting two feet away from me lead me astray. That line cannot be crossed again. It’s permanently etched in concrete.
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” I admit, dropping my eyes to the table.
He brushes crumbs aside and slides his phone toward me. “Say you’ll at least consider it. Add your number. Then you can ask me all the questions you want. Or we can just chat.” He offers a kind smile.
Breaths coming in shorter spurts, I blink down at his phone.
“Choice is one hundred percent yours, but I would really love to work with you. Maybe you can teach me how to summon something other than rage.”
I can’t help but grimace, which makes me feel guilty enough to punch in my number. What else am I supposed to do to extract myself painlessly from this situation? So what if he has my number? Doesn’t mean I have to answer his calls or text him back. Soon he’ll move on to another city and everything can go back to normal. I can go back to my secluded, pathetic life, and he can carry on wooing fans and building his reputation in the music industry.
He retrieves his phone. A few seconds later, my own phone vibrates in my pocket. I slip it out, my lungs expanding when I see his text. A smile emoji. You know, the one with hearts. Cute as fuck, and so at odds with surface-level Hail Koval.
“Thanks. I’ll… uh… think about it. Though my process of making music lately hasn’t been exactly… orthodox.”
Meaning I haven’t completed a song in weeks, too busy suffocating under the pressure of delivering so I can keep bills paid.
“I’m not into orthodox,” Hail says, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “You ready?”
We leave the table, and Hail reaches back to slide his hand in mine. Simultaneously, blood rushes to my head and my crotch. I try to pull free, but he gives my hand a squeeze.
“If you’re doing that for my sake, forget about it,” he says softly. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
Stunned into silence, I quit fighting him. The question I’ve wondered since he let his eyes rove over me in Selma’s bar sticks in my throat. I don’t need to know the answer. Whatever this is, it can never be part of this collaboration–if I even decide to go through with it.
“Did you drive to the festival or catch a cab?” he asks, guiding me across the street to the Audi.
“Cab,” I whisper, still floating from what just occurred and who it occurred with. What he offered me. Maybe a lifeline from the heavens. I can’t blame medication today. I threw that up.
As we come to a stop at the passenger door, he drops my hand. His eyes move slowly over my features, but he gives me no further signs of interest. No neon blinking lights. Hail could be just an affectionate person by nature.
“Want me to drive you home?” he finally asks.
“Sure. I’ve got a gig in a few hours.”
He flashes a smile. “Great, we can go together.”
