Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t need apology balloons or even an apology at all.”

I snort, when she mentions the lame-ass gift her ex-boyfriend Tyler gave her last year when he was two hours late to see Matilda with her and Chloe, and they’d missed the show. Ally won’t tolerate hurting, disappointing, or just plain dismissing Chloe. “As if I would ever get you apology balloons.”

She smiles. “Good. Balloons are bad for wildlife. Besides, you didn’t do anything wrong. Also”—she purses her lips then casts a glance down the street—“I really do have to go.”

This time I don’t chase her down.

Because I lied.

I’m not an asshole. Please. I’m a cuddly teddy bear.

But I also know how business works.

It works best with family. It works best with acquaintances. I’m jonesing to play again in a band, but that’s because I miss working with other musicians. I miss being part of a business team.

But a business team isn’t a playground for friends. Or for lovers.

If you get too close to either, the next thing you know, your Xbox is splattered on Fifth Avenue.

I can buy a new Xbox fifty times over, but I can’t buy a new friendship.





Chapter 9





Ally

Macy: Give me the 411. Was he so blown away by Honey Lavender that he said, “Please, play sweet music with me now”?



Ally: Hardly. He’s freaking out. He thinks we can’t be friends and sing together.



Macy: Well, that may be true. Look what happened to the White Stripes.



Ally: Could you have picked a worse example than a husband and wife team that had all sorts of issues?



Macy: I’m just saying even the Righteous Brothers split up.



Ally: And one of them died of cocaine-related heart trouble. What else could go wrong?



Macy: You could be Sonny and Cher. Or worse—Ike and Tina.



Ally: I feel super uplifted right now.



Macy: Even Simon and Garfunkel can’t stick together. Those guys keep doing reunions then breaking up.



Ally: Why don’t you make a list and put it in an email?



Macy: Who has time for that? Taylor Swift and John Mayer, Katy Perry and John Mayer . . . wait. You’re fine, as long as you don’t sing a duet with John Mayer.



Ally: Duly noted. I’ll stay away from him.



Macy: Also, why are you bringing up couples who sang and then split? Are you and Miller a couple and you haven’t told me? Tell me, tell me, tell me.



Ally: We’re not a couple. And it’s totally fine if he doesn’t want to sing together. I auditioned, I put my best foot forward, and now I’m going to focus on the things I can control. Like weather and the national debt.



Macy: I’m sorry, honey. I know you wanted to pull this off. But, joking aside, when people go into business with their friends, it can blow up.



Ally: Maybe it was crazy to try to push our friendship into some other category.



Macy: I used to think that about Kirby.



Ally: I’m covering my ears when you talk about MY BROTHER who you fell for. Some friend. ?



Macy: I couldn’t help falling for my bestie’s brother. He’s wonderful, and so are you. And Miller is just being cautious about the band thing. Don’t let it get you down.



Ally: I’m not even thinking about Miller’s band anymore. Not one bit. Not one stinking iota.





Chapter 10





Miller



Jackson is pacing the hall as I turn the corner past the receptionist’s desk.

I rake a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what the hell to do with the spectacular mess my plans have become. Jackson’s face is lit up though, and he points to his phone. “Miller, man, you need to see this.”

“I do?” I ask half-heartedly.

“I have this kick-ass editing software on my phone. I put a clip together in ten minutes.” He’s practically bouncing as he goes into the recording studio, looking back to make sure I’m following. I do and flop down in a wheeled chair between my brothers, rolling back into the wall with a thud.

Jackson brandishes his phone dramatically and hits play.

The first screen is a title card. Break it Down.

I arch a brow.

“Wait for it,” he assures me.

The screen reads, Go BTS for the making of a brand-new musical duo.

“BTS?”

“Behind the scenes,” he answers quickly. “I’ll spell it out next time. Keep watching.”

The next clip is a shot of Jackson strolling down the hall of the studio, talking to the camera, selfie-style.

“Ever wonder what goes into forming a band in the era of YouTube, Spotify, digital everything, and the new musical world order? I’m going to take you behind the scenes into the inner workings of . . .” He stops at the door of the studio, pauses, then stage-whispers, “Hashtag ZimmerHart.”

I raise my eyebrows. Is he joking? But then the camera zooms in on Ally and me, and my eyes are drawn to the screen. Damn, she is luscious as Honey.

Note to self: don’t think dirty thoughts about your best friend.

But hell, that body, that face, that wig. The way she looked. How she smelled.

I scoot back in the chair, like a slight change in position will shift matters away from my pants.

Enough, brain. Focus. Just fucking focus.

I wipe the filth from the gray matter and slap on blinders, zeroing in only on the tunes.

Except I didn’t realize we were that close when we sang.

Ally’s inches away from me, and the look on her face is seductive and sensual. Why the hell did I pick that tune to sing today? What was I thinking choosing a sexy song of desire?

I tug at my collar, my temperature ticking up a few degrees as I watch the small screen, wishing my brothers and Jackson were gone, wishing I was alone to enjoy this.

I mean, study this.

I want to study this video.

Understand it.

Because it’s like watching a foreign film without subtitles. I don’t know what’s going on, so I have to rely on the actions, and the actions make one thing clear—we’re setting the studio on fire. We’re giving off fumes of lust.

I blink, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

It must be the song. Must be that it’s a great sexy duet, and we were both getting into the meaning and the lyrics.

That’s the way it should be.

Jackson touches the screen with a satisfied flourish, an expectant look in his dark eyes. “What do you think? This might be a crazy idea, but as soon as you two started singing, I knew I was witnessing something I could use for my scholarship application.”

I crease my brow. “What? How?”

“My submission for the media scholarship.”

Awareness slams into me like a truck. He’s mentioned needing to submit a short documentary for the scholarship he’s applying for.

“This would be your submission? Hashtag ZimmerHart?”

“You don’t have to keep that name.”

“But it’s a fun one,” Miles jumps in. “Also, you’d be helping your little brother, and I don’t mean me, because I’m beyond help.”

I laugh at Miles’s goofball side. “True. You’re a lost cause,” I say, smacking his shoulder.

Jackson looks at me, all puppy dog eyes. “If you don’t want me to shoot it, that’s cool, but I stitched this together hoping it would convince you. I was looking at the requirements for the scholarship, and the main thing is to submit your own documentary. I thought this would be an awesome thing to show a behind-the-scenes look into how your duo comes together.”

Campbell meets my gaze, tilting his forehead toward Jackson. “That’s a smart idea for a scholarship app, Miller.”

I heave a sigh. “Let’s be honest here. What are the chances this is going to work out with Ally? I’m not close with anyone I’ve played with except you two dweebs, and you have to like me.”

Campbell crinkles his nose. “Wait. You think we like you?”

“Fuck off,” I say.

Miles raises his eyebrows. “Don’t swear in front of your little bro.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Guys.”