The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

But it stayed.

My heart lurched forward with excitement as I launched myself from the bed and hurried toward my home office where my acoustic guitar waited for me on its stand.

A new song.

TWELVE

Troy

Warbler Talent was easier to find than a place to park once I got there. I considered driving my Jeep right over the Toyota Yaris someone had parked like an asshole, taking up a space and a half of valuable street parking. Which was impressive because the car was stupid tiny.

It was too early for that shit, but I tried not to get pissed off because this meeting was important. I grabbed the strap on my guitar case and crossed the quiet street, heading for the agency’s entrance.

I was in jeans and a button-down shirt and already sweating, but it wasn’t the heat causing it. It was normal for my nerves to act up right before a performance, but usually it was more excitement than anxiety.

Today was . . . different.

One bad show wouldn’t hurt me. It definitely wouldn’t make or break whatever ‘career’ I thought was possible for me. But this? If I sucked or didn’t impress Erika’s boss, she’d pump the brakes on the whole thing. I understood this was an audition I had to nail before I could get the real audition.

The floorboards of the entryway creaked as I came in and I liked the sound of it. Maybe because it sighed with age and history, rather than the gleaming floors I’d spent most of last week helping Bill install. And by helping, I really meant doing. He was using me as a crutch more and more.

In the main room, there was a girl sitting behind the desk facing the front door, and the groan of the floor drew her gaze up from her phone. She was pretty, with light brown hair down past her shoulders, and a face full of perfect makeup. She seemed to be about the same age as I was. If I weren’t so focused on the woman I’d come here to see, I might have labeled this girl hot. But today I was completely uninterested.

It was clearly not the same for her. The girl’s gaze swept over me and her face lit up. She wasn’t subtle, and her bright, teasing voice wasn’t either.

“Well, hi there. Who are you?”

I pasted on a polite smile. “Troy Osbourne. I’ve got an appointment with Erika.” Was it cool I was so informal? “Ms. Graham,” I amended.

The girl’s smile hung. She’d expected her friendly tone to warm me up and was confused it hadn’t.

Movement to the side caught my attention. Erika appeared from one of the doorways, and my body heated just at the sight of her. I’d been inside her less than twenty-four hours ago and I was still so fucking horny for her.

Be professional, Troy.

She had her hair pulled back, and although I loved her hair down, she looked great like this too. She had on a black sleeveless shirt that showed off her toned arms and was cut low to hint at her amazing rack, and white pants that clung to her thighs. Fuck, I wanted to be between them again.

Any hope of keeping it professional went out the window. If I had my way, I’d push her inside her office, shut the door, and make her moan my name. But this was business and as usual, Erika was oblivious to the torch I carried for her. She crossed her arms and leaned casually against the door frame.

“Hey, Troy,” she said. “Did you find the place okay?”

I shifted the guitar bag from one hand to the other. “Yeah,” I said. “Other than someone parked a Toyota Yaris out front like a jerk.”

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, and I didn’t understand she’d done it to hide her smile until the girl abruptly stood and grabbed her purse off her desk.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” The girl sounded mortified. “I’ll go move it right now.”

She disappeared out the door, and when it banged shut behind her—

“Well, shit,” I said. “Now I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” Erika’s eyebrow arched up. “Charlotte parks like that almost every day. She’s gotten three tickets, but I guess it hasn’t fazed her because she keeps doing it.” Her focus dropped down to my hand holding the case, and then she nodded toward the stairs at the back of the room. “C’mon. The studio is upstairs.”

There was a nervous flutter in my stomach. Seriously? Butterflies? I swallowed thickly and followed her up the steps.

We turned the corner at the top, and once I stared down the long hallway, it was obvious which room I’d be recording in. There was a red light over the door and everything. But Erika bypassed it, turning into a room beside the studio, and flipped on the lights.