mention that he looked extra adorable with that hopeful twinkle in his eye. I pushed my pride aside and forced the bratty tone from my voice as I tried to make him understand.
“Wyatt, it’s not that I don’t like it. Honestly, everything you’re doing is seriously inspiring and if this were just the two of us messing around, I’d be game for following you wherever the music takes us, but this is a songwriter competition.”
“I know,” he interrupted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a one-man show. We’re collaborating. That’s how songwriters come up with their best stuff.”
“Wyatt . . .” I groaned. “Can’t we just stick to you being the singer and me the songwriter?”
“Where do you think music would be if everyone stayed in their lane?” he argued. “Think of all the great duos out there. There’d be no Syd without Nancy!”
“Syd and Nancy?” I exclaimed. “That’s a terrible example!”
“Okay, you’re right.” Wyatt took his fedora off and ran his hand through his messy hair before replacing it. “What about Sonny and Cher? Or Ike and Tina?” He shook his head when he saw my frown. “Hold on, I can think of someone better. What about . . . er . . . John and Yoko?”
I scoffed. “You might as well throw Bonnie and Clyde in there while you’re at it.”
“I’ve got it!” Wyatt shouted. “Beyoncé and Jay-Z.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. “Touché.”
Wyatt grinned, taking my agreement as concession. “All hail Queen B.”
I laughed, unable to fight his infectious enthusiasm. “Okay, you might have a point about collaborating. I really like a lot of your ideas, but I’m trying to do what you said.”
Wyatt cocked his head to the side in question.
“I’m trying to ‘do me’,” I said, making air quotes that made him crack up. “I’m serious, Wyatt.” I waited for him to get the last of his laughter out before continuing. “This competition means everything to me. It’s not easy for me to put myself out there, but I know I need to if I’m going to stand a chance, and that means I have to be authentic and so does my music. So, if we’re going to do this together, you need to promise to respect that and not steamroll me.”
I watched Wyatt’s lips quirk up in a slow, sinful smile that made my stomach tighten. He took a few steps toward me until we were standing face to face. “I think I can live with that.”
I fought the nervous jitters I always felt when he was too close and extended my hand, grateful to at least have my guitar between us. “Then welcome to the team.”
His sideways smirk turned into a full-on dazzling smile as he clasped his rough hand around mine. My whole body tingled at his touch. And why did he have to smell so good? His cologne was irresistible. Or maybe the scent was all him. I didn’t know, but I needed to find a way to stop noticing everything I liked about Wyatt or the only collaboration happening would be our lips.
Oh no! The fact that I’d just let that thought enter my mind was not good.
Music, I reminded myself. Just focus on the music.
“Should we get started?” I asked.
Wyatt smirked, like he’d been reading my mind. “Ready when you are, Penny Layne.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Layne
Thankfully, I’d been right about the music, and Wyatt for that matter. We worked brilliantly together. And now that I’d stopped resisting his ideas we were really getting somewhere.
My song sounded better than ever.
When Wyatt suggested we put a Buckingham-Nicks twist on it I couldn’t stop grinning. Watching Wyatt Nash don my scarf and impersonate Stevie Nicks was priceless, but it actually gave me a great idea about how to break down the chorus.
“What if we try it like this?” I suggested, making a quick note on the sheet music before singing the lyrics. “Bending, swaying, torn open, I am bent, not broken, I am bent-bent-bent, not broken.”
“Yes!” Wyatt exclaimed. “Finger-picking the chorus is epic! Let’s start from the top again.”
I was breathless with laughter by the time we finished the song. Wyatt had sung the last bit strutting around the room like Mick Jagger. Despite his comedic efforts, we’d nailed it. And I couldn’t deny that I was having the time of my life.
Even with Lola, I never laughed this much. With her, I played, and she sang. We stayed in our lanes. With Wyatt, I don’t even think we had lanes. We traded off instruments