Unrivaled (Beautiful Idols 1)

“My boyfriend and I made a trade.”

So, she had a boyfriend. Not necessarily good news, but not exactly a roadblock either, considering the way she’d kissed him.

“He a surfer?”

“Why?” Layla pulled onto the street.

“’Cause the floorboards are coated in two feet of sand.”

Layla shrugged and glanced in the rearview mirror. “So kick off your shoes and dream of Malibu. Meanwhile, where to?”

“Los Feliz.” He dropped his backpack between his feet. “Though I warn you, my place is a dump.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m moving in.”

He shook his head. She was feisty as hell, which was exactly why he liked her.

“So, will you play me your demo tape?”

Tommy looked at her in shock. He didn’t remember mentioning his music.

“You are a musician, right?”

He nodded slowly.

Did he really look like some kind of wannabe rocker cliché?

Was he that pathetic?

“Can I hear it?”

Tommy hesitated. If she hated it, she’d tell him. But if she didn’t hate it, the compliment would mean more than most.

“Just because I’m bad at charming people, as you say, doesn’t mean I’m bad at reading them.”

“I never said you—”

She waved it away. “The tape. I want to hear it. If for no other reason than it will save us from the slow, burning torture of small talk.”

He slid the disc from his backpack and inserted it into the stereo. Holding his breath as the first strains of a six-string guitar filled the car. When his vocals kicked in, he thought he’d keel over from anxiety. Layla said nothing. And the few times he peeked, her expression was blank.

When the first song ended, she still hadn’t spoken. Same went for the second and third. He was just about to beg her to put him out of his misery and give him the verdict—good or bad, either way he could take it—when she finally lowered the volume and said, “Your lyrics are amazing. Your voice is strong and distinctive. Your guitar playing—I’m assuming that’s you on guitar?”

He nodded, barely able to breathe.

“You really slam that thing, which, I hope you take that as a compliment because it’s meant as one.”

“But . . .” There was always a but.

“But nothing.” She shrugged, that simple statement bringing some of the sweetest relief he’d ever known. “It’s all there. You’ve got a really strong foundation. It’s like that car you drive. It’s got all the makings of a classic; it just needs a little spit and polish and a fat wad of cash to push it over the edge.”

He looked at her in wonder. It was a compliment delivered like a fact. Nothing effusive about it. No, Ohmigod, Tommy—you are the most awesomeness! like all the other girls had said, if only to get on his good side.

For that reason alone, Layla’s compliment meant more to him than the opinions of anyone else who’d heard his music so far.

Ever since the contest began, his rock-star dream had taken a backseat as he became more and more determined to impress Ira through his business savvy. But as soon as it was over, he’d get back in the studio. Layla’s comments confirmed it was a dream worth pursuing.

He could finally exhale.