Falling Out of Hate with You (The Hate-Love Duet 1)

My heart racing, I introduce everyone—two guys and two women—trying to sound light and bright. And through it all, I steadfastly avoid Savage’s gaze.

Kendrick enthusiastically invites us to fill our plates from a buffet at a nearby table. So, we all head over there and begin doing just that, exchanging small talk with Fugitive Summer as we do. We talk about the venue. The acoustics. The amazing sound crew. My musicians compliment Fugitive Summer on their soundcheck, and several of them compliment my band in return, saying they heard our two songs from in here and we sounded great.

As I walk to the dining table with my meal in hand, I feel eyes on me. And when I finally muster the courage to look up, I discover I’m right. But the eyes don’t belong to Savage. They belong to Kendrick. He’s looking at me apologetically. Like he feels bad he just ratted me out to his friends.

I shoot him a warm smile to let him know I’m not offended in the least. That in fact, I’m well aware I deserved it. Actually, although I’d never admit this to Kendrick or anyone else, I’m kind of glad Savage knows my thoughts about his lateness, albeit not directly from me. Someone needs to tell that boy the truth—that the entire world doesn’t revolve around him. It might as well be me.

As conversation at the table between the two bands becomes easier and gains momentum, I muster the courage to peek at Savage, and find him already staring at me. Or, more accurately, glaring at me. Glowering, like he wants to beat the hell out of me.

Oh, dear. Is Mister Rockstar pissed about what Kendrick just now revealed? Because, if so, I’m not sorry. The man made me have to reschedule half the stuff on my calendar and cancel the rest. So, I think I’m allowed to be a tiny bit annoyed. Lesson learned, though. Annoyed or not, I’ll shut my trap going forward.

Savage slowly slides a bite of food into his gorgeous mouth and chews, not taking his eyes off me.

So, I arch my eyebrow, and do the same.

He subtly mimics my facial expression, like he’s mocking me.

So I shoot him a look that says, Come at me, bro.

He doesn’t hesitate. He makes a face that says, Oh, I will . . . and then looks away.

Damn it! When will I learn to look away first?

Feeling pissed at myself, I take a big bite of food and tune into the conversation happening around me. It seems Kai and one of my musicians went to the same music school and have several mutual friends.

“I had classes with your older brother, Sebastian!” Kai says to my musician, Tate, connecting the dots.

“No way!” Tate replies.

“Is Sebastian still playing for Alicia Keys?” Kai asks.

“No, not anymore. Right now, he’s playing in the house band for Sing Your Heart Out. He’s been doing that for the past three seasons.”

Kai laughs. “Holy shit! Is that a cushy gig?”

“Super cushy. No travel. Easy songs and arrangements. Sebastian could do it in his sleep.”

“I bet.”

Everyone at the table joins in with questions and comments about the show, with Titus rolling his eyes and calling it the most “cringey-ass show ever.”

“Yeah, it’s cringey as hell,” Tate, my musician, agrees. “But a massive gravy train. My brother’s salary from the show itself is shit, total shit, but he gets so many side gigs from the contacts he makes on the show, it’s turned out to be a goldmine. Now that the show had its season finale last night, he’s getting ready to go on tour with Hugh Delaney’s band. Who, of course, he met on the show.”

“Good for him,” Kai says. “Although I’d sooner shoot myself than play Hugh Delaney songs, night after night.”

“Hey, it’s a steady job,” Tate says. “They’re not always easy to come by for a musician.”

“Oh, of course,” Kai says, quickly backtracking. “I know it’s tough out there. Any musician would leap at a regular gig on a popular TV show. Good for him.”

“I watched the final performances last night,” Ruby interjects. “I can’t wait to find out who won in the big reveal tonight. I’m hoping Deanna.”

“I saw the finale, too,” my musician, Tate, says. “Did you see Aloha kick the crap out of Hugh?”

“I saw that!” Ruby says, laughing. “I thought both contestants did such a great job. I think it’s so fun to watch people trying to make their dreams come true, any way they can.”

“I agree,” I say, my heart thumping. As this conversation has worn on, I’ve felt internal pressure to mention I’m going to be on the next season of the show. The lineup hasn’t been announced yet, but that’s not why I haven’t mentioned it to this group. Obviously, this is a highly trustworthy crowd. I think I’ve held off because I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’ll be appearing on a show half these people think is “cringey-ass.” Testing the waters, I say, “In my opinion, the only thing that’s really cringey about the show is Hugh Delaney.”