Rock Star's Girl (A Hollywood Dating Story #1) - Jennifer Farwell Page 0,20

at him.

“What’s the honest one?”

Danielle returned to their table with their food before she could answer. With Emily and Cory sitting side by side at a table that had really only been meant to have one chair on each side, and their dishes having to be placed beside one another, the oversized plates nearly overlapped.

“This is going to sound kind of bad,” Emily said, spearing a tomato from the salad that had come with her meal. “I didn’t really even know you guys were still a band. I mean, I remember that one song from a few years ago.”

“Yeah, that song. It’s everyone’s favorite.” Cory tried to look serious.

“Hey!” she protested, and he chuckled. “I just thought I’d be honest.”

“That’s kind of cool, actually. Which song do you know?”

“Um, the one with that tongue-twister of a chorus.” She wracked her brain for the song title but came up with nothing.

“Tongue-twister chorus, hmm? I’m not sure I know it. Sing it for me?”

“You’re funny.” She slugged him gently on his shoulder. “Besides, I only sing in my car.”

“Bathrooms have better acoustics. Try the shower.”

“You want to explain that to my neighbors?” she asked.

“Okay, try my shower.”

“Keep dreaming.” She took another bite of her food.

“You know I had to try.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Emily finished her mouthful of salad. “So what’s happening with you guys now?”

“We spent the last year in the studio, and now we’re getting ready to drop a new album in a few months. The first single should hit radio in about six weeks.” He put his fork down on his plate and reached for his drink.

“Are you excited, or is it all the same old thing now?”

He laughed. “It’s never the same old thing. Each album is a chance to prove that the last one wasn’t a fluke. You cross your fingers that it’s a hit so you can keep on making music.”

“I’ll have to listen for the new single on the radio.”

“It won’t have a tongue-twister chorus. Just warning you.” His eyes twinkled. She could tell he enjoyed ribbing her.

“That’s a shame.” She pretended to sigh. “Guess I’m not going to know which song it is, then, or be able to sing it in your shower.”

He raised his eyebrows. “We definitely can’t have that. I’ll give you a sneak peek sometime, then there’s no excuse.”

“For me not to know the song?” she asked.

“For you not to sing it in my shower.”

She laughed. “I’ll buy the album when it comes out, I promise.”

“No you won’t.” He shook his head.

“I won’t?” she asked.

“Nope, because I’ll give you a copy.”

“I thought you wanted to sell the album, though, not give it away?”

“If it means you’ll be singing in my shower, I’ll risk the loss.”

“Incorrigible,” she told him. He looked entertained.

“So that’s me,” he said. “Now what about you?”

“My band is imaginary. They only accompany me in my car. We don’t have hit songs, but we do some pretty fabulous covers of Justin Timberlake.”

“And what do you do outside of your car?” he asked. “I mean, when you’re not being kept busy by that job of yours that has you worrying about work on the weekend.”

“Uh oh, you want my bio.”

“Long walks on the beach?”

“Nope, only beach volleyball.” She thought about her other hobbies. “I do a lot of yoga and go to shows when I can. I read a lot, too.”

“That explains it,” he said.

“Explains what?”

“Your intellect. Makes you stand out a mile away, since it’s a little rare in this town.”

“You like book nerds?” She gave him a doubtful look.

“Never dated one,” he admitted. “But I like you.”

“Do you read?” she asked.

He looked across the patio, in the direction of the bar. “I think so. That sign over there says ‘Cuervo,’ right? So maybe just Spanish.” He shrugged.

“Alcohol bilingualism. Impressive.”

“You’d be blown away watching me in a wine store. My French is dead-on, too. Mer Soleil, La Crema, Dom des Aspes. J’ai soif.”

“Très bien.” She laughed, trying to conjure up what little she remembered from her high school French classes. “Are you a wine connoisseur?”

“Not really. I just like to kick back with a glass and a book sometimes.”

“Okay, but for real. What do you read?”

“Complete trash for the mind. Ondaatje, right now.”

Her head snapped up. “Do you mean Michael Ondaatje?”

“That would be the one. Someone suggested I read Coming Through Slaughter. I didn’t realize it wasn’t about the 80s metal band until I was fifty pages in. I figured I should just finish it,