“Less specific, but I think we’re on the right track,” I said offering him a high five.
“All right. Let’s take notes.”
We brainstormed on our bench, throwing out suggestions and one-liners in rapid succession before pausing to snack on pretzels and people-watch. Justin was funny, good-natured, easy company. Which surprised me because he was high-energy too. He frequently jumped up and paced when a new idea hit him. And he wouldn’t sit again until he was sure I’d written it down. Or until a dog passed by. He must have stopped midsentence five times to pet a dog. The last one was a white French poodle. Her owner was a flirtatious college-aged girl with long brown hair and a winning smile who looked a bit dazzled by Justin.
“What’s her name?” he asked, petting the dog behind her ears.
“Miss Sweet Susie Sassafras. Sassy Sue for short,” she pronounced. “She’s a sweetheart.”
“Say that three times fast,” he joked.
The young woman giggled like she’d just heard the funniest joke ever. I watched the interaction from a couple of feet away and found myself slipping into my familiar role of observer. It was what all good writers did. We pulled away to take notes and build stories. But just as my brain wrote me out of the scene to create an unlikely love match, Justin turned to me with a radiant grin. And just like that, I was part of his story.
When the young woman and her dog walked away, Justin nudged my shoulder and grinned. “Sassy Sue might be the best name ever.”
“She liked you.” I immediately winced at the note of jealousy in my voice.
“Dogs love me.” He opened the pretzel bag and shook the leftover cinnamon into his mouth. “But I feel like I’m riding a serious sugar high right now. Between love songs, sugar pretzels, and Miss Sassafras, it’s like I’ve eaten three bowls of Cap’n Crunch and now the roof of my mouth is raw.”
“I wasn’t talking about the dog. The dog’s owner liked you. The girl. And you’ve got cinnamon on your face,” I said, pointing to his mouth.
“Where?”
I leaned in without thinking and swiped my thumb over his bottom lip. Justin captured my wrist, then brought the digit to his lips and sucked. I went still as I stared into his eyes.
“Um…” I cleared my throat and glanced at my watch. “Did you drive here?”
Justin grinned. No doubt he knew he’d gotten under my skin and was loving it.
“No. I took the bus.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “Why? I told you I’d pick you up.”
“I came from the coffee shop. Tegan, Johnny, and I played this afternoon. It was really fun. We had dueling guitars and a bongo drum. We took requests and played oldies for the yoga moms and after-school crew.”
“Sorry I missed it. I still would have picked you up.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t want you to. It would require explanation and I don’t want to tell my friends about you or your proposal until I can hash out a few details that don’t make it sound like I’m leaving them out to pursue a solo gig.”
“It’s not my proposal. I’m just the messenger. And there will be a contract involved to ensure you don’t get screwed.”
“Or to ensure I sign something I can’t get out of that fucks my chance at a real career later. I can’t afford a lawyer. I’m using every dime I have for rent and studio time.”
“I told you that you can you use my studio.”
“Yes, but that would require an explanation too. And like I said, they don’t know about the offer.”
“When will you tell them?”
He gave me a sharp sideways glance. “I saw Charlie this morning. He mentioned that he wants to represent or manage Zero. I don’t know much about this stuff, but according to Tegan…and Charlie too, he has a big social media following and might be able to help us. I didn’t say anything to the guys yet, but I know they’d be all for it. I wanted to talk to you first. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a good idea. You’ll have to rein him in a bit, but he’s very creative and I think he’s up to the challenge.”
Justin nodded thoughtfully. “Cool. One more thing. I haven’t contacted your friend yet, but…I want Zero to write and perform a song on the soundtrack too.”
That stopped me. “You know I have no say in that.”
“Yeah. I’m just bouncing an idea off you. I was talking to Charlie and—”
“Charlie,” I sighed, massaging the bridge of my nose.
“It’s not a bad idea.”
“But you have a lot to gain by just writing the one song,” I reminded him.
“Who cares? When you have nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. I don’t care about money. I just want to make music. As it stands, if I write a song with you, I’m choosing me for a short-term gain versus my band and a shot at something bigger than a possible one-hit wonder.” He raked his hand through his hair and gave me a lopsided smile. “I know the contract isn’t in your control, but I don’t want to discuss it with them until it’s real and Zero is in on the project. I don’t want to get their hopes up and disappoint them if I can’t deliver. I’m good at not following through on promises and…I don’t want to do that anymore.”