Page 10 of Heartbeat Highway (Love Along Route 14)

L ily

The karaoke bar is half-restaurant, half-stage. There’s a silver-and-black curtain hanging on it and two microphones, looking empty and alone. There are dark corners everywhere, and neon signs of encouragement. It’s the epitome of cool, but that does nothing to cool my nerves.

Bo rubs my back, and all it does is twist my insides further. “You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. We can just listen.”

I bark a laugh. “To whom? We’re the only ones here besides the staff.”

“If you’re nervous, we offer two private rooms in the back.” A very attractive Black woman with gold woven through her dark hair smiles at us. Correction—she smiles at Bo. “Since it’s not prime time, we’ll offer you a discount. Fifty dollars an hour.”

“What time is Dan coming?” I ask. Not that I’m excited for Dan and the rest of the band to arrive, or to spend any time in K’s proximity whatsoever.

Still, I feel so guilty for dragging Bo with me.

What if he does miss this concert? He and the rest of the band only rose in popularity a few months ago, and Bo was able to cut back on his freelance hustle.

Which means that if he doesn’t play, he doesn’t get paid.

I don’t know much about his finances, but surely he needs this gig, this job.

I certainly would. Law school is expensive, and while my parents are helping me out, I’ve racked up more than my share of student debt.

Every time I get an email from the financial aid office, I wonder, is this really worth it?

Which is horrible. I’m going to be a lawyer, like Alicia Florrick. That’s the dream, or was the dream.

I pull down the hem of my skirt, staring at the stage, picturing myself up there. Feeling free again, letting the music move through me, making me limber, making me feel alive.

Bo checks his phone and shrugs, but his spine is unusually tense. “He hasn’t gotten back to me yet. I’m sure everything is fine.”

I don’t share this conviction. This whole day feels like a wash, like I should go to sleep, wake up, and I’ll be back in my apartment, before any of this happened. Then I wouldn’t get Bo in trouble.

Though, would that mean I’m still with K?

“What would you be more comfortable with?” Bo asks me.

I look around the karaoke bar. K would have hated it here. Bad acoustics , he would complain when he didn’t hit the right notes. Or drinks are watered down. Service is bad .

But I like this place. I’ve always liked these kinds of places. They remind me of the bars where I grew up in Wisconsin. Neon on the walls, soft leatherette couches, twangy music in the background. It smells like fried food and old liquor.

Some of the unease in my stomach lessens.

I nudge Bo’s shoulder with mine. “I’ll sing if you will.

” Bo has a sexy, raspy voice, very Bradley Cooper in Star is Born.

To him, though, he’d much rather be hiding behind his drums. He doesn’t just play drums, either.

He also knows guitar and piano, but his first love is percussion.

It surprises me how his dad rags him to be a frontman, only to sing and not play, when I know Bo is happiest with his drumsticks in hand.

“Please?” I clasp my hands in prayer and give him my best pleading puppy face.

Bo laughs, his handsome face crumpling. He has this dimple on the left side that only comes out when he laughs really hard. I’ve always wanted to kiss it.

Which would be inappropriate. He’s my best friend. He’s the only reason I’m surviving today. By myself, I would be a total and complete hot mess, likely sobbing alongside the road in the middle of nowhere. I’d get picked up by backwoods folk and adopted into their cult.

To be fair, Los Angeles probably has more cults per capita than Tennessee, but still.

“Fine.” He kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering a second too long, long enough to spread warmth all down my spine. “Today’s your day, Lil. If you ask me to sing, I will.”

“Perfect.” The hostess’s smile covers her entire face. “Why don’t you take a private room? We don’t bite out here, but it’s no trouble.”

“Done.” Bo hands over his credit card. “Open a tab. We’ll have one of everything.”

The hostess arches one perfectly tweezed eyebrow, but tucks the card away and then grabs a couple of menus.

We follow her down a short corridor with bathrooms on one side and three black and gold painted doors on the other.

She leads us to the furthest one from the main room.

Inside there’s a small stage, another matched pair of microphones, and a large, cozy-looking booth.

The bench is covered with black leatherette, and there’s a disco ball twinkling overhead. It’s kitschy and wonderful.

“Do you need help operating the equipment?” she asks Bo.

I don’t think she means it as a double entendre, but there’s a kernel of jealousy burning deep in my gut at the way she’s looking at him.

I get it. Really, I do. Bo looks like a chiseled Noah Kahan, with tattoos sliding over his shoulders.

Not that I stare at them when he’s swimming or accidentally walk into his house when he’s shirtless.

I mean, I don’t stare a lot.

There’s another pleasant surge of heat through my core at the thought, but this isn’t the time. This isn’t the place.

“We’ve got it covered.” Bo slings an arm around me and pulls me toward him. It’s brotherly, I know that, but the hostess takes it as a sign of belonging. Or maybe that’s just what I want her to think. “Thanks.”

“I’ll bring you two some drinks. Preference?”

“Your wildest cocktails,” I say, my tastebuds tingling. And not just for alcohol. “Is that okay, Bo? Before your concert?”

He shrugs. “I won’t drink much. And there are still hours to go. Let’s have fun. What the lady wishes, the lady should have.”

“Concert?” The hostess is suddenly interested again. “Are you a musician?”

“Drummer. Don’t get any ideas about my singing ability.”

“He’s selling himself short.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken until they both turn their gazes to me. “He has a great voice. Sex on a stick. He just doesn’t like being the front man.”

“Hm.” The hostess smiles again, and there’s something secretive and knowing about it. “You two are a really cute couple.”

I step away from Bo abruptly, a surge of shame rushing through me. “No, we’re not—”

“Sure.” The hostess nods, the smile not leaving her lips. “I’ll be right back with those drinks and some appetizers. The song catalog is on the table. We have some great duets.”

My cheeks burn as she exits the room, and I hide my embarrassment by flipping through the song catalog, seeing but not really reading the names.

It takes Bo a moment to join me.

“What do you want to sing?” he asks softly.

His body is so close to mine, and there’s a delicious warmth that surrounds me.

Not for the first time—if I’m honest and there’s no reason not to be right now—I wonder what it would be like to feel the weight of him over me, those sure and strong drummer’s hands skimming over my body, finding notes on my skin.

I flip through the book until my finger finds the perfect song. I stab the page with a ferocity I usually hide. “This one.”