Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)(18)

Laughing, I shake my head. “No. But what made you change your mind? I thought you were worried earlier about our friendship.”

His expression turns serious. “I was. I am. But then I watched the video of us singing, and we looked good together.”

“I want to see that.”

He grabs his phone and swipes the screen, showing me a few seconds. “Damn,” I whistle, as I watch how I sashayed and sidled right up to him. I tap my finger to my tongue then the screen, and make a sizzling sound.

He closes the clip. “Jackson wants to make a mini doc of us forming a band for his scholarship submission for a media program. It should pay a big chunk of his school if he nabs it.”

I bounce on my toes. “That sounds like an amazing opportunity.”

“It is. I’m psyched for him. But I’m psyched for us too, if we can do this right. I figure if we’re mature and thoughtful, we can make it work. Do you want to try it for a month? Like a test run? What’s the worst that can happen in a month?”

I’m a glass-half-full person, so I turn his words around. “Or what’s the best that can happen in a month?”

He squares his shoulders. “Honey Lavender, do you want to sing with me?”

I throw my arms around him and say yes. He hugs me back, and I inhale his woodsy scent, sharpened by the cold and smelling more delicious than a friend of mine should rightfully smell.

I shouldn’t linger on how yummy Miller smells, but I’m so damn excited I don’t care. I inhale one more happy lungful of him before my boots sink down to the sidewalk.

“I guess you’re excited.”

I hold up a thumb and forefinger. “A little.”

He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get cracking. Since Savory Gerbils, Balloon Buddies, and Hashtag ZimmerHart are out, want to discuss better names and rules of engagement?”

My eyes drift to Rockefeller Center. “I have thirty minutes before I need to head downtown. Let’s do three things at once.”





Chapter 12





Ally



Fifteen minutes later, I’ve laced up a pair of skates, and so has Miller.

As we circle around the ice rink, we decide we’ll tackle a few originals, with him doing most of the writing, since he’s quick and fast. Plus, he has some songs he’s been working on for a few months, and he’ll put the finishing touches on them to suit our duet style. I’ll plan some covers and secure rights for us to sing those online and on stage. If it all goes well, we’ll try to land a gig soonish. Time is of the essence, so we’ll squeeze in recording sessions quickly.

“This is easy,” I say, gesturing with my mittened hands as we glide and talk, since we both can hold our own on skates. “All we have to do is remember that our friendship comes first. Above all else.”

“Does that mean we agree that if we disagree, we’ll remain friends?”

I laugh as we glide past a family of four, skating in a row like ducks. “Sort of. But we also agree to talk things through. To be adults. We don’t throw video game controllers from windows, or stomp off like children.”

Miller nods like he’s processing this information, as we weave around some teenagers taking selfies. “And we have that time limit,” he adds. “We’ll see how it goes for a month and then regroup.”

“Exactly. We have the rules of engagement in place. It’s like in a novel where the hero and heroine agree to a thirty-day arrangement and then walk away.”

He shoots me a curious look as we skate. “That happens in young adult books?”

“It’s more common in romance. Let’s say the heroine is a little inexperienced and wants some lessons in seduction. They might agree to thirty days of sexual education. Or maybe they both have issues from the past and don’t want commitment, so they agree to a month-long deal. Or maybe they’re friends but want to scratch an itch, so they lay out the rules of the road.”

Miller digs his blades in to stop, grabs the side of the rink, and doubles over. “To scratch an itch?”

I laugh too, as I stop next to him. “Yes, sometimes friends get horny for each other in romance novels.”

“If we get hot to trot, do we outline the rules of the horny road?”

I swat him, because it’s easier than dealing with the little zing in my chest when he says hot to trot in reference to us. “We’re singing together, not making out.”

His expression turns deadly serious. “Promise me something, Ally.”

“Yes?”

He sets a hand on my shoulder and takes a deep breath. “If you ever want lessons in seduction from a friend, please come to me.”

I roll my eyes, doing my best to make light of his suggestion, even though a part of me knows he’d be the first person I’d ask. Except I don’t think I need or want lessons in seduction, even though it’s been a while for me. “Yes, Miller. I’ll come to you with ribbons and a request to try various positions. But only if you answer the door freshly showered and wearing just a towel.”

He pretends to consider it, then nods. “That’s a deal,” he says, offering a hand to shake.

I take it, and he growls in appreciation, a sexy, husky noise I’ve never heard from him before. The sound tangoes over my skin, and unexpected tingles zip over my chest. The sensation surprises me, like someone jumped out from behind a door. But then I try to reason it through. When I narrate battle scenes, my heart often pounds harder. It’s not unreasonable I’d have a physical reaction to this kind of vaguely dirty back-and-forth.