Not being able to get up on stage and do what I love is a curse, but in a weird way, it was also a blessing for a time. Staying behind the scenes has taught me so much about music. There’s certainly something to be said about the old truism Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.

“Thank you, Lucky. I swear, I’ve learned more in the last week than I have in the last five years.”

“You’re sweet, Chelsea. But you’re the one doing all the work. I’m only here to guide you to be the best you can.”

“Same days next week?” she asks.

“I look forward to it. Try to rest your voice over the weekend. You worked hard this week.”

I pack up after my last session of the day and look around at the sound studio. When Dylan first mentioned his record label was looking for a full-time voice coach, I was leery for so many reasons. Since going back to school and getting my degree, I’d trained only a select few people on a very part-time basis. Lucky’s was my home, my comfort zone, but I hated the damn place almost as much as I loved it. Not to mention that the thought of having to demonstrate vocal techniques for more than one or two people was enough to make my palms break out into a sweat. Yet I knew it was time for a change. I’d been standing in place long enough—so I took the job. Step three, Dad. You see that? I’m making progress. If the first week has been any indication of things to come, I’m going to be very happy here.

With my last coaching of the week done, where else would I go to celebrate, but Lucky’s?

The bar is crowded, even for a Friday night. It feels odd to stand on the patron side of the bar when I walk in.

Avery spots me immediately. “Hey, stranger! What the heck are you doing on that side of the bar? Come help me out. I’m drowning back here.”

I smile. Oddly, I’m glad she needs me. I throw on an apron and start taking orders and mixing drinks. Avery and I catch up as we work.

“What happened to the new girl you hired?”

“Fired.”

“What? Already?”

“Her customer service skills were a little too friendly.”

“She was giving away too many buybacks?”

“Caught her giving a blow job in the bathroom while she was supposed to be waiting tables.”

“Maybe he ordered a Screaming Orgasm.” I grin, remembering Beautiful Man.

Together we clear the bar orders in less than half an hour, and I tell her about my first week at Pulse Records.

“That reminds me,” she says. “The hot guy who was lusting after you last week came back in.”

“He did?” My interest perks up. I’ve found my thoughts wandering to Flynn on more than one occasion. There was just something about him, aside from the obvious—that he was ridiculously good-looking.

“Yep. Twice.”

“Did he come in to sing?”

Avery shakes her head and smiles. “Came in looking for you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Told him the first time that you weren’t here. The second time, I told him to try back tonight. That maybe you would stop in.”

My eyes bulge. “What? Why did you do that? You know I’m meeting Dylan here.”

“So?” She shrugs. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Might do Sleazy Ryder some good to see other men interested in you.”

“You just like to screw with him.”

“That’s just a bonus.”

“Be nice.” I slide two wine glasses out of the rack above my head. “Or I’ll tell Dylan that you had his poster on your bedroom wall when we were teens, too.”

Avery stops. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh I would. I might even embellish the truth a little and tell him you still have a big ole crush on him. You’re really just jealous I was the one working the second time he visited Lucky’s a year ago. And that’s why you give him an attitude.”

My best friend flips me the bird with a smile and returns to the business of waiting on customers.

Easy Ryder is on a short tour break. They’ve been on the road for four months already, and still have almost eight more months ahead of them now that they’ve extended their tour. Dating a rockstar is counted in dog years—Dylan and I have been together for nearly a year, but that only equates to a few months in the real world.

Word spread quickly that Dylan and his entourage were at Lucky’s tonight. Avery had to lock the door fifteen minutes after their arrival, and now the line waiting to get in extends around the corner.

“You’ve been behind the bar all night,” Dylan says. “Come sit with me.”

“I can’t. Look at this place.” I take a quick glimpse around. The last hour that I’ve been pouring drinks hasn’t made a dent in the three rows of people waiting to be served.

“You don’t work here anymore.”

“No. But Avery does. What am I supposed to do, let her drown? Plus, I’m still half owner.”

Dylan sips his beer. “She should have hired someone.”

“She did. It didn’t work out.”

“Excuse me. Mr. Ryder?” We’re interrupted by yet another duo of girls saddling up to Dylan. Both blond, both wearing bustiers, with skintight jeans and leather boots reaching to the knee. “Can we take your picture?”

Dylan looks to me and then to the two girls.

“Can I see some ID, ladies?” I lean closer to the bar and extend my hand palm up.

“We showed it at the door.”

Jase is working the door tonight. His idea of proper identification when a young, hot girl wants inside is to measure their bra cup size. Anything better than a C is automatically of age. My eyes drop to their well-endowed chests. “Still going to need to see ID to stay inside.”

The eye contact between the two girls as they stall, fishing for their fake IDs, confirms my suspicion. Definitely underage. I’d guess nineteen at best. Hesitantly, they pass me their licenses. The picture on one resembles the first girl, but her age is certainly not thirty-two. The second girl doesn’t come close to being the woman in the picture I’m looking at.

“Sorry, ladies. You’re going to need to leave.”

The two girls pout but are smart enough not to argue. They’re lucky I’m even offering the licenses back to them. With a scowl at me, they snatch the IDs from my hand and return their attention to Dylan. “Can we please”—they coo in unison—”take a quick picture before we go?”

Dylan looks to me and I lift my hand as if to say, by all means. The two snuggle against him and extend their arms for a barrage of pictures—all three smiling.

I tend to a few customers, then walk around the bar to greet Dylan properly for the first time.

He curls his arms around my waist and pulls me close to him, rubbing his nose to mine. “I like you jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous.” Maybe just a little.

“Mmm mmm.” He kisses me. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I rest my head to his shoulder and sag into him as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed his touch—until I feel it again.

“I thought now that you had a normal job I would have more nights with you to myself. Why don’t we get out of here?” His hand slips into the back of my jeans.