“How long have you been doing this?”
“All in all, about eight years, but I’ve taken breaks.”
“That’s a commitment.”
I liked Heather. It was so easy to talk to her. I realized she probably thought I was some artist living on tips, and I couldn’t rectify that right now. Working my occupation as a venture capitalist in the conversation would make me sound like a douchebag bragging about his job.
When her glass was empty, she looked at it regretfully. “I need to go.”
“I disagree.”
“Ryker....”
“You said you like to hear me play. I still have that one set coming up.”
“I know, but it’s late.”
It was barely nine.
“What’s your favorite song? I’ll convince the guys to play it.”
Her mouth formed an O. “Are you trying to trick me into staying?”
“Yes. I’d try to do it with food, but they only serve burgers around here, and they’re nothing to brag about. Don’t tell anyone I said that, or they’ll kick me out of here.”
“I’ll keep your secret.”
“So. Favorite song.” I slid off my chair too, stepping right in front of her. I needed to win her over. No way was I ready for my time with her to end.
“I really can’t. I’m sorry.”
For the first time ever, I was tempted to ditch the guys, just to spend time with her, walk her home, whatever. But I couldn’t let the guys down, and I had the feeling that Heather wouldn’t want me to. This was New York City. Letting a stranger walk you home could be dangerous.
“How guilty do you feel?” I asked.
She frowned. “Huh?”
“Guilty enough to give me your phone number?”
Her frown melted, giving way to a smile. She rattled off her number, and I immediately typed it on my phone. The guys called me on the stage.
“When are you picking up your guitar from the repair shop?” she asked.
“On Monday at seven. Why?”
“I’ll come with you. I’m paying for that.”
“Not what we agreed on earlier.”
She shrugged, smiling. “I was just pretending to agree. Thought you’d be more willing to play along after a drink.”
“See you on Monday, then. I’ll text you the name and address of the repair shop,” I said, walking backward toward the stage. Laughing, I realized she was just as good at getting her way as I was. I still wasn’t going to let her pay for it, but she’d just given me the perfect excuse to see her again.
Chapter Four
Heather
I swooned all the way home. On the train, I tipped a busker generously when she sang one of my favorites from Whitney Houston. It made me think about Ryker and wonder what they’d played after I left the bar. I hadn’t built him up in my mind; quite the contrary. Some delicious details about him hadn’t registered that first night, but there was no forgetting them now.