The last guitar notes faded into the bar's stuffy air, and Ashley Ford looked down avoiding everyone’s eyes. The session had sucked for the second day in a row, and everyone knew why. Knew who was to blame. She stared at the guitar in her hands, running her fingers down the long neck, and strumming a few chords. The instrument still worked fine – she was the one who was out of tune.
She'd come in late on "Cruel-hearted Man", sounded half-asleep on "Cherry Pie", and stumbled over the lyrics to "Baby Been Gone Too Long" – a song she'd written, and could sing in her freaking sleep. What the hell was going on?
Rob Porter, her co-singer and the other half of Sweet Talk, stood up and checked his watch, then looked around the room. "That's it for today. We'll break now, and see y'all at Bootleggers Sunday night."
Heads bobbed, and a murmur of interest swept the room. Instead of playing in their usual Nashville bar, they were opening for We Were Angels, a hot new band that was climbing the charts. It was a great opportunity for Sweet Talk, the kind that could introduce them to hundreds of potential fans, and maybe even a new recording contract.
If she didn't screw it up.
The backup players hopped off their stools, stretched, and started to scatter. Out of the corner of her eye Ashley caught Rob casting a smoldering look across the room. She followed his gaze to the bass player they’d borrowed for the show. He was just Rob's type – sexy, male, and available.
A hand landed on her shoulder. She leaned towards it instinctively, and Rob's arm wrapped around her, his hand resting on her bicep. Pleasure skittered across her skin from the point of contact and she shivered. His denim-clad leg brushed against her arm, and her nipples tingled.
What the hell? Ashley pulled away, and rubbed the knot forming between her eyes. Rob turned to her. His brow furrowed with concern, and she attempted a smile. It must have come out like a grimace because his expression darkened. He tilted his head in question.
Please don't ask me what's wrong. I'm running out of excuses. She sure as hell couldn't tell him the truth – that in addition to her downward-spiraling career, her sudden attraction to her gay best friend and co-singer was morphing into a full-blown obsession.
She attempted a smile again. It must have looked better this time because he smiled back. "So what will it be, Ash? Fried chicken from the Musicman Grill or mac n' cheese from Mama's Kitchen?"
Southern comfort food. He was trying to cheer her up. She shook her head. "Nothing for me. I'm not really hungry."
Rob's eyes narrowed, and Ashley prayed that none of her inner turmoil showed on her face. She put her guitar on the stand. "I need to run some errands. Pick up some new strings before Abe's Music closes."
Rob squatted down in front of her bringing them to eye level. She started to look away but he grasped her chin with two gentle fingers, and turned it towards him. Her gaze fastened on his mouth, and her heart thumped painfully in her chest... Just a few inches forward and she could kiss him.
How would his lips feel?Warm and soft? Firm and hot? And if she slipped her tongue between them... She closed her eyes to remove the temptation.
"It's okay, Ash. We'll do better next week."
She shook her head with a bitter laugh. "We, Rob? We're not wasting everyone's time by playing like crap."
Rob gently shook her chin, and she opened her eyes. Although he'd been nothing but supportive over these past few months Ashley dreaded the day she'd see disappointment in his warm brown gaze.
