Here With You (A Laurel Heights Novel) - By Kate Perry Page 0,28

you saying?"

"I don't know." Susan smiled wide. "I just like you. I'd have thought you'd be a big phony, but I think you might be good for her. She's one in a million. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I think so," he said even though he wasn't sure.

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "Good," she said, patting his chest. "Have fun tonight."

She retreated into her room.

Nicole's door opened. She looked hot in tight jeans, dark red boots, and a sweater. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she'd put on a little lipstick—not that it covered the surly downturn on her mouth.

"You look eager," he joked. He tipped his head toward the door. "Come on. I promise it'll be fun."

She slipped into her jacket, grumbling under her breath. Then she said, "Did I hear you and Susan talking?"

"Yeah." He grabbed a cap and his coat before escorting her out of the apartment. "She's a nice girl."

"Where's your car?" Nicole asked when she saw the town car waiting at the curb.

"Parked." He opened the door for her and gave the driver the club's name. "I thought it'd be better, in case we decided to drink."

"Responsible of you. Where are we going?"

"A little club. A friend of mine is playing there tonight."

"You have friends?" she asked as she slid into the car.

"Trey's not picky."

Nicole curled onto the back seat, looking around with wide eyes. "I've never been in a limo."

"It's just a town car."

"In my world, it's a limo." She ran a hand over the leather seats. "You must be used to this though."

He shook his head. "We travel in a bus most of the time. It's a luxury bus, but nothing is luxurious when you have six unshaven guys around you twenty-four/seven."

She faced him. "And when you're home?"

"My parents' house?"

"Is that what you consider home?"

"It's more home than my apartment in L.A." He smiled ruefully. "I'm at my apartment so rarely that I have a hard time finding the bottle opener."

Nicole frowned at him. "That's sad."

"It's certainly pathetic." It wore on him, especially since he'd become less than enchanted with music.

They arrived at the club. He got out and held his hand out for Nic.

She stared at it too long before she put her palm in his. Her grip felt hesitant and he hated that, so he held her hand firm and sure. When she looked at him askance, he said, "The neighborhood is sketchy. I'm protecting you."

She rolled her eyes. "It's the Tenderloin, not Libya. I think I'll be fine."

"Is holding my hand so awkward?" he asked as they walked into the bar.

"Yes." She faced him, but she didn't withdraw her hand. "Are you saying it's not?"

"It's different." He held their entwined hands between them, looking down at her fingers wrapped in his. Yes, it felt strange, but new-strange rather than bad-strange. It was like trying on a pair of new boots—they felt a little stiff but you knew they'd be your favorite pair soon. "But you have to admit that it feels nice."

"I don't have to admit anything."

He grinned. "You're in a mood. Come on. I know what'll help."

He dragged her to an empty bar stool and seated her on top. He pulled his cap lower over his forehead and caught the bartender's attention. He ordered two beers and then impulsively requested two shots of whiskey as well.

Nicole raised her brows as the bartender slipped the shots across the counter. "I'm not partying hard tonight," she said as she lifted it.

"One shot, to warm us up." He lifted his glass.

She touched it to his and tossed it back, grimacing and taking a sip of her beer. "We've never had drinks together, much less shots."

"That's not true." He set the glass down. "Remember the time we raided your parents' liquor cabinet?"

"Of all the liquor, we picked Chartreuse because of the neon green color." She laughed. "I still think Chartreuse is disgusting. Why did my parents even stock it?"

He loved the sound of her laughter. He'd sample it into a song, only he wanted it all to himself. "It was a blessing that we hated the taste. Think of the hangover it'd have caused."

"The band is good." She turned around so her back was to the bar and beat her hand against her thigh in rhythm to the music. "The lead isn't bad. His voice isn't as good as yours, but he can play the guitar."

"You think my voice is good?"

She made a face at him. "Don't fish. You know