for this town.” To his credit, he looked impressed. “Sweltry does music reviews, right?”
She nodded again, wondering if he was genuinely interested in what she did or if he was simply being polite. “Among other things. I don’t write the reviews, but I know the guy who does.”
“Next time you talk to him, please thank him for me. Sweltry gave my band’s last album a great review.”
Great. He was a musician. If Wednesday night had taught Emily anything, the last thing she needed was to get involved with another boy in a band.
“So, you’re a musician, then?” She struggled to keep the disappointment from flooding her voice.
“I’m a singer.” She may have imagined it, but the look on his face seemed expectant of something.
“Huh,” she mused, trying hard to sound indifferent.
“What?” he asked. She could tell that wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for.
“What, ‘what?’” she answered, feigning ignorance.
“Is there something wrong with me being a singer?”
“Not if it makes you happy,” she said. “Just so you know, though, I’m not.”
“Not what? Happy?” He looked slightly confused, and, she had to admit, absolutely adorable.
“A singer.”
He gave her a curious look. “I know that. You just said you were a writer.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just that if you’re a musician, and especially if you’re a singer, you should probably be flirting with another singer right now, or an actress. Maybe a model.” She paused when their margarita and chips appeared in front of them, then leaned in to sip from one of the two straws that peeked out of the giant glass.
“What makes you say that?”
“Experience.” She took another sip and looked him squarely in the eyes, silently daring him to tell her she was wrong.
He sat back in his chair, laughing. “You’re probably right, but I’m not flirting with a singer, actress, or model right now, or sharing a drink with one. Does that count for anything?” He held her eyes with his and leaned forward again, taking a drink from the other straw.
“Not really.” She watched him try to contain another laugh while swallowing.
“You have something against singers, I take it?”
“Well, singers, guitarists, bass players, drummers, keyboardists, and possibly cellists, so I wouldn’t take it personally.”
“Drummers, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Even bongo players?”
“Especially bongo players.” She picked up a chip and dipped it in the bowl of guacamole.
“While you’re at it, don’t forget about anyone who plays an accordion.”
“Why’s that?”
“Equal opportunity. If you’re going to slam us, don’t limit yourself to alt, rock, and country. Polka’s pretty badass too.”
She knew he was teasing her and could tell her wariness amused him. Finally, she could only shrug. “No offense.” She looked down at their margarita and stirred its melting ice cubes with her straw. “I’m not a big fan of musicians.”
“I’m getting that. Why is that, anyway?”
She kept her eyes down. “I know too many of them,” she offered.
“Me too. Funny.”
Emily felt the corners of her lips move while she fought a smile. She knew Cory had seen the change in her expression when, appearing encouraged, he stretched out one of his arms and laid it to rest on her shoulder. She didn’t move away.
“I thought maybe I’d switch it up a bit and hang out with a stunning writer. Is that okay by you?”
She smiled in spite of herself. “I guess mass amounts of tequila must work in your favor. So what’s your band’s name?”
“Blistering Twilight.” He watched her while he answered.
She nodded and took a sip of their drink, aware he was waiting for her reaction. From what she knew of Blistering Twilight, they had at least one album that had made it to the number one spot on Billboard and a few singles that had hit the top of the American Top 40 charts. She wondered if he expected those two words to be the magical key to getting her to retract everything she’d just said about musicians.
A long silence followed while she pretended to be incredibly thirsty. Finally, he spoke. “You don’t look impressed.”
She released the straw from her lips. “Are you used to girls looking impressed when you tell them what band you’re in?”
“I’m actually used to girls knowing what band I’m in before they meet me.” For a split second, he looked the slightest bit sheepish.
“I guess I’m not your typical girl.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He took a sip from their glass, moving the hand that was on her shoulder to play with a strand of her hair. “So now that my occupation