Darlene gaped at her bandmate. Why the hell had he just told his family they were in love?
“It’s true, isn’t it, darling?” Zach gave her shoulder another tight squeeze. “Beautiful, really. All this time playing together and what I was really looking for was right in front of me.”
This was absurd. No: humiliating. Half the restaurant was staring, unsure if this was a grand romantic gesture or a joke. Their gazes closed around her like a trap. Darlene tried to wriggle away. “But—”
“I know we said we’d keep it a secret while we figured out our feelings, but I’m sorry, I want the world to know.” Zach’s voice rose in declaration. “I’m in love with Darlene Mitchell!”
For the second time that evening, they were the center of everyone’s attention. Mark and Catherine looked speechless. Their blindingly white alarm at her presence beside their son exploded inside Darlene as fury and, embarrassingly, shame.
“Zach.” She kept her voice firm. “I have no idea why—”
“We work as a couple, yes, I know, it surprised me too. I’m me and you’re”—Zach glanced at her; Darlene glared back—“well, you’re you, aren’t you, darling? So sensible. Responsible. And it’s really rubbing off on me.” He addressed a passing man in a suit. “Put this dinner on my tab, will you?”
Catherine’s gaze lingered on Darlene, even as she addressed Zach. “That wasn’t a waiter, and you don’t have a tab here.”
“How long has this been going on?” asked Zach’s father. Mark had always been polite enough to Darlene, but now he was frowning, his entire body tense.
“Yes, tell us your love story.” Imogene made her voice swoony—she obviously believed this as much as Darlene did. “You’re just like Harry and Meghan.”
“You’re right,” said Catherine. “Especially how Meghan is so…”
Darlene braced herself, preparing for the worst.
“American.”
Zach slapped his hand to his forehead.
Darlene pushed herself from Zach’s grip. “I actually have to get going.”
Zach spluttered, “No, darling. Sit down, stay for a drink.”
“I have an early start,” Darlene replied, her voice edged. “Good night, everyone. Goodbye, Zach.” She moved swiftly back through the dining room, being sure to keep her head high.
Zach was on her heels. “Darlene, baby, wait!”
He followed her out of Babbo, onto Waverly Place, chasing her to the other side of the street.
“What the hell, Zach?” She spun on him, confusion solidifying into anger. “Did you lose a bet or something?”
“Darlene, I’m sorry. My parents threatened to withhold my trust unless I ‘got my act together’ and was in a ‘solid relationship.’ If they think you and I are together…”
Oh. Of course. “You get paid.”
“Exactly. On my twenty-seventh birthday, which is only a teeny-tiny five months away.”
“Five months?” She moved past him, raising her hand to hail a yellow taxi. “No way.”
“Please?”
The taxi pulled up. “You’re insane.”
“I’ll pay you!” He was back in front of her. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Ten thousand dollars? That would pay for half the recording costs of an EP. “Twenty-five.”
“Ha!” Zach saw she was serious. “Twenty.”
The cab honked at her.
Darlene barely heard it. “Twenty-five.”
“Okay, fine. Twenty-five thousand dollars for five months of dating. Done.”
The number billowed in front of her. It took her a few moments to catch up to it, and what had just happened. Twenty-five thousand. Dollars. It’d be the most amount of money she’d ever make in one go. Her tongue ran over her bottom lip, a nervous habit. “You better not be playing.”
Zach’s gaze was on her mouth. He caught himself staring and refocused. “I’m not.”
The taxi drove off. Darlene backed up. “No. No. I’m not some thing to be paraded around in front of your— Sorry, Zach, but it’s obvious what your family thinks about people like me.”
“They think you’re amazing. As do I.”
Zach was always the first person to tell bookers, clients, his friends how brilliant she was. A few weeks ago, someone had mistaken him for the singer and her for backup, and he’d gotten so outraged on her behalf the tops of his ears went red.
Still, she gave him a look. “And why would I want to help you?”
“Because I’m Zach! Your musical better half. And the trust will help me play music, with you, without getting a real job.”
Annoyingly, there was some truth to that. Other musicians had to plan around day jobs. Zach was always available. “Music is my real job.”
“Of course it is! And this will help me help you do that job. Please?” he begged. “I know it’s not the best plan.”
“It’s not a ‘plan’ at all! Who would believe you and I are a couple?”
“C’mon, Mitchell. We’ve got a thing going. Onstage,” he clarified. “That’s why we work so well together.” He took a step toward her, his eyebrows raised. “You know what I mean.”
Blood heated her cheeks. “Chemistry,” she allowed. “But that’s just a performance.”
“So is this! Think of it as the easiest, best-paid gig ever.”
That could very well be true. Her next question was one she’d wondered about. “Have you ever even dated a Black woman?”
“As a matter of fact I have. Safiyah.” His eyes went a little starry. “She was a premed student from Nigeria. We dated for six months after uni.”
“Oh.” Darlene didn’t expect this. Six months was a significant amount of time. Zach would’ve walked down the street with Safiyah. Heard any comments people made. He would’ve watched her get ready for bed.
“Safi was awesome.” Zach smiled at a mental picture in his head. “Smart and talented and sexy.” His gaze landed back on Darlene. “Like you.”
Weirdly, Darlene almost felt jealous of this smart, cool med student who put such a smile on Zach’s face.
Twenty-five thousand dollars would pay for an entire EP without bootstrapping it: quality recording, great production, marketing budget, a DIY tour, everything. And a well-produced album was the first step to becoming an artist. Her own songs. Her way.
She made her voice cool. “What would I have to do?”
“Nothing you’re not comfortable with. I’m not Harvey Weinstein, Mitchell: I’m not one of those guys. This’ll only work if you’re happy faking it. Strictly first base.”
“First base?” Hand holding. Kissing. Maybe some touching. That seemed feasible.
“Yes.” Zach placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and took a step closer. Closer than they’d ever stood before. Closer than friends. “Like this.” His blue eyes were soft and serious. No mischievous spark in them. “Do we have a deal?”
She could smell him: a hint of red wine on his breath, and something that was uniquely, undeniably Zach. It all smelled… yummy. She spoke before she could second-guess herself. “Okay. But so we’re clear, I’m doing this for me, so I can cut an album. And if you screw me over, I will destroy you.”
“Understood.” The warm pad of his thumbs brushed her collarbones, moving in a slow circle. “Don’t look now, but my family are currently spying on us from the front of the restaurant. I said don’t look!” he said, as Darlene went to swivel around. “We’ve been having an argument about me deciding to come clean about our relationship. And about the fact that I only just broke up with Lauren. Who didn’t mean anything to me,” he added quickly as she pulled back an inch. “I promise.” Tentatively, he skimmed his fingers down her arm. Like a boyfriend would. Affectionate. Loving. “Now, you’ve forgiven me, and I think we should kiss.”
“Now? Here?”
“Well, we are in love, right? Just a little makeup kiss. Are you okay with that?”
Zach’s proximity was having the oddest effect. She was trying to stay alert and rational, but her bones felt like butter left in the sun. Focus! This is just acting. This is not real. “Fine.”
“Bang on.” His smile was surprised and just a little bit wicked. There was still a foot of air between them. “Come closer.”
She moved a half step forward.
“Closer.”
She couldn’t make her feet move. This was Zach: the bane of her existence, the most annoying person in the world. But he was, objectively, attractive. And she was pretty sure he felt the same way about her. She inched toward him, until they were almost touching.
“Put your arms around me.”
She put her hands on his hips, middle-school-dance style.
He tried not to laugh. “C’mon, Mitchell. Pretend I’m someone you actually like.”
After a long moment of hesitation, Darlene circled her arms around his neck. Their bodies pressed against each other. Zach’s hands dropped to her lower back, sliding against the slinky material of her dress. A bright wave of heat shimmied up and down her entire body. None of this was permitted. None of this should be happening. And that excited her.
“Ready?” His voice was husky.
Darlene tilted her face up to him. Her heart was beating so ferociously there was a good chance it’d burst out of her chest. “Yes.”
Slowly, inch by inch, Zach lowered his mouth onto hers. At first, Darlene kept her lips shut, unable to relax and stop thinking: Zach is kissing me, Zach, Zach Livingstone, right now, in the middle of the street! But Zach persisted. His mouth moved over hers, kissing her top lip, her bottom lip, her top lip again, his lips warm and confident against hers.
She couldn’t fight it anymore.
A barrier inside her broke. She opened her mouth and started kissing Zach back. Really kissing him back.
And that’s when things got kind of nuts.
Her fingers dug into his hair, his stupid flop of perfect hair. It was just as soft and thick as she always thought it’d be, which made her feel angry and turned on in equal measure. She fisted the strands and tugged, wanting him to feel it. He let out a groan of pleasure, pulling back to flash her a look of surprise. Not kissing was way worse than kissing. Annoyed, she dropped her hands to his shirt collar and yanked him to her, kissing him hard. He kissed her back deeply. His hands were on her back, pulling her body onto his. The feeling of the power in his hands, those hands that could pick up any instrument and make it sing, made her blood run white-hot. She pressed her teeth onto his bottom lip, sucking and biting down. Zach mumbled something like, “Jesus,” and she said something like, “Shut up,” opening her mouth wider. Zach groaned low in his throat, squeezing her ass. The feeling of his hands on her butt and the moan in his voice unlocked something even wilder in her. She backed them up against a brick wall. Their kiss turned desperate. His hands cupped her jaw, her hips, the back of her head, hot muscle pushing against her rhythmically. She couldn’t get enough, would never get enough. She needed more, more of his mouth, his body, his hair, his hands, which were everywhere, sending waves of pleasure everywhere, all crashing cymbals and crazed piano held together by the throb throb throb of a low, insistent bass, that was getting louder, and faster, reaching a peak—
A car alarm sounded, close, noisy. It jerked Darlene out of her body. Back into her head.
She froze.
He froze.
She was back, in the West Village, on Waverly Place, her arms around Zach. Zach. She inhaled hard and pushed him off her.
He almost fell over. “Um, wow. That was…” He looked absolutely stupefied. “Who are you, and what have you done with Darlene Mitchell?”
She couldn’t answer. Could not speak, think, process at all. She was a blank sheet of music. An empty stage.
What the hell had she just done.… with Zach?
Zach adjusted something in his pants—she would not think about that, no she would not—and looked over his shoulder. “And I guess we had a bit of an audience.”
Only now did Darlene remember that the Livingstone family had witnessed the entire make-out. Crowded at the restaurant entrance, Mark’s eyes were slit with suspicion while his mother looked somewhere between stunned and scandalized. Imogene looked genuinely amazed.
Darlene stared back, feeling caught out. She spent so much of her life listening to her father lecture her about how she presented herself. Darlene knew respectability politics were bullshit, but she did like to be in control. Unless she was kissing Zach, apparently. Which was only for money: a lot of money. It didn’t matter what his family thought: she was the one getting the upper hand in this situation. She’d negotiated the terms, she’d only do what she wanted to. She was playing him. Darlene ignored the wild thrum under her skin and took another step back, away. “I’m getting a cab. Go finish loading the rest of the gear.”
First base only. She would never kiss him like that ever again.