Play With Me - Brittany Cournoyer Page 0,22

back a groan as I stole another look at him and saw someone else had made their way up to the bar. Next time. I’d talk to him next time. In the meantime, I’d just play my ass off and show him, and everyone else, just how good I was.

Damn roadblocks. The next break, I was thwarted once again. Only this time, it was me who kept getting interrupted. First, it was by George, the elusive bar owner who rarely made an appearance according to Mina. He pulled the entire band to the side to let us know how glad he was that we were playing at his bar and how he’d like to make it a permanent thing every Saturday. It was something we’d have to discuss with Shapiro, our management company, of course, but Maverick didn’t seem to think it’d be a problem.

Once that conversation was over, I kept getting stopped by patrons gushing over how much they enjoyed our shows, and one woman even asked if I gave music lessons since her daughter had just joined the band. By the time I made it to the bar to get another water, Mina was the one to hand it to me with a sympathetic look. Of course, Foster was swamped at his end, so I didn’t bother trying to go over to him. Instead, I took a sip of my water and left it beside my music stand before making a beeline toward the bathroom.

After the set, I told myself.

I’d ask him once the show was over and they were cleaning up the bar. That’d give us more privacy anyway. Everyone else would be too busy with their own duties and not pay us any attention if we chatted for a few before closing. Mind made up, I went back to the stage to get ready for our final set. This was the one that included my solo, and when it was time, I decided to change it up by adding a few riffs and really show off my skill.

“Good job tonight, gentlemen,” Maverick said as we started to pack up.

“We always do a good job,” Baylor reminded him.

“It still needs to be said. See you guys at rehearsal. Whose turn is it to bring the food?”

“Mine,” Weston said. “I’ll grab some chicken.”

“And potato wedges?” I asked.

“Are you going to make your dipping sauce for them?”

I nodded. I had a recipe for a garlic dipping sauce the guys loved. I only made it on the occasion we had chicken and potato wedges. “As if anyone else’s will do.”

“Then I’ll get a large order.”

I laughed as they tried to get the recipe out of me, but I refused. Some things people needed to keep to themselves, like dipping sauce recipes for potato wedges. Instead, I steered the conversation toward white meat versus dark meat, and Baylor begged Weston to grab some boneless for him.

I could feel eyes watching us as we talked, and as I reached down to grab my saxophone case, I snuck a glance to see Foster’s eyes on us before he lowered his gaze to the bar where he wiped a spot.

Interesting.

It was time to put my plan into action, and as we bid everyone goodnight and walked out the rear entrance, I paused with a loud groan worthy of an Academy Award.

“I’ll see you guys later. I forgot my sunglasses.”

“Do you need us to wait?” Maverick asked.

I shook my head since I had driven separately. “Nah. Talk to you guys later.”

I turned on my heel and heard the guys chattering away behind me. I knew they were trying to figure out if I was telling the truth about my sunglasses, or if I was going back inside to see a certain someone. The truth was it was both. I’d purposely left my sunglasses clipped to my music stand for the sole purpose of returning. It was the perfect excuse.

I pulled open the door, thankful it hadn’t been locked yet, and was surprised to see Foster on the other side.

“Oh good, you haven’t left yet,” he said breathlessly.

My eyebrow rose as my lips pursed into a smirk. “Yeah? Were you looking for me?”

Since the area in the back was lit, I could see the way his cheeks colored and that my question made him flustered. “Uh, only because you left these, and I wanted to give them to you.”

I glanced down to see my sunglasses in his hand. “Oh, thank you. These are actually why I