It Had to Be You, Georgia Clark [phonics reader TXT] 📗

his back like a satisfied cat. “I think our time together is coming to an end.”

You could set your watch to it. Darlene pulled into traffic.

Zach eyed the bagel in Zia’s hand and tickled Darlene’s neck. “Tell me you got ol’ Zachie some breakfast, Darlene, my darling?”

She swiped him away. “You didn’t reply to my email about the new arrangement for ‘At Last.’ ”

He met her eyes in the rearview mirror, eyebrows up. “The one you sent at midnight last night?”

“ ‘At Last’ is the first dance,” she pointed out. “It’s special.”

“I know, I know. Well, we can go through it now. We do have a three-hour drive ahead of us.” Zach ran a hand through his hair and yawned. “As long as I can work in a quick nap. Barely got a wink last night.”

“You’re so unprofessional,” Darlene muttered, changing lanes.

“They’ll put it on my gravestone. Here lies Zach. He lived unprofessionally.”

He did. Lavishly and without regret. With his flop of light brown hair, decent body, and that outrageously effective smile, Zach was cute. Less hot, more attainable. Very, very attainable. And so Zach Livingstone lived unprofessionally. Sometimes twice a night. He fixed Darlene with disconcertingly blue eyes through the rearview. “Bagel?”

Darlene sighed and plucked the bag between her legs. “Sesame. With scallion cream cheese.”

“My favorite!” Grabbing it, he smooched Darlene’s cheek. Scratchy stubble and warm, soft lips. The spot where he kissed her pulsed, sending a false alarm down her entire body. Flustered, she almost swerved into the next lane.

“Watch it,” she snapped, as the car next to them blared its horn. “Or that gravestone’ll become a reality.”

“Easy, Mitchell. I come bearing treats.” Zach leaned forward between the girls, presenting both fists. Zia tapped the closest. He opened it to reveal a fat joint. In the other, a lighter.

Zia laughed and high-fived him.

“You’re not smoking that in here,” Darlene said.

“Duh. We’ll get high at a rest stop and buy loads of terrible junk food. My treat.” Zach grabbed the car’s auxiliary cable and plugged in his phone. The swaggering, slippery groove of Salt-N-Pepa filled the car: “Shoop shoop ba-doop shoop ba-doop, shoop ba-doop ba-doop.”

Zach turned it up, seat-dancing in time with Zia, twisting left, then right, left, then right. “ ‘Here I go, here I go, here I go again…’ ”

As if Darlene could expect anything less from Zach “I Bring the Party” Livingstone. And it was always fun to hear him sing in an American accent. Giving up, she joined in—“ ‘Girls, what’s my weakness? Men!’ ”—pulling onto the West Side Highway.

Just over three hours later, the trio pulled into the service parking lot of Dave and Kamile’s wedding venue. It was a glorious May day in the Catskills. A warm breeze ruffled the apple tree blossoms, sending white petals floating through the clean, country air. Darlene was still climbing out of the front seat when a very enthusiastic blonde appeared out of nowhere, introducing herself as “Savannah Shipley, from the emails.” A small-town beauty queen not quite pretty enough to take State. She handed Darlene a form. “It’s an NDA.” Evidently, Savannah-from-the-emails was excited by this. “Nondisclosure agreement. We have a celebrity guest attending today’s wedding.”

Darlene skimmed the form and scrawled her signature. She’d performed at plenty of weddings with high-profile guests. They didn’t really affect her but for the fact the other guests were usually paying more attention to them than her, the person onstage.

Savannah thrust a form at Zia, beaming. “You’re a server, right? You’ll be circulating around our celebrity guest.” She bounced on her toes. “It’s Clay Russo!”

The name was vaguely familiar, but Zia couldn’t conjure a face. “Football player?”

Savannah’s jaw dropped. “Movie star.”

Zia didn’t really keep abreast of popular culture. The idea of sitting in a dark room for hours on end, staring at a screen, felt a bit oppressive. She’d rather be outside, in her body, in the air. She signed the NDA and handed it back. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“It’s better you don’t keep an eye out,” Savannah corrected. “He’s actually very private, and I think he’s going through a breakup, according to the tabloids, so we should all—Oh. Hello.”

Zach emerged from the back seat, yawning. “Gosh, I just had the most amazing dream.” He locked eyes with Savannah. “Or maybe it hasn’t yet ended?”

Darlene shuddered. Zach did land most of their gigs by flirting with female wedding planners or bro-ing out with male venue bookers. But seeing white male privilege in action was still gross.

“This is Liv’s new business partner,” she said pointedly.

“Welcome to the family.” Zach smiled. “Although surely you being here is a little unfair.”

The girl’s eyes pulsed in… was it alarm? “What do you mean?”

Zach’s smile was conspiratorial. “How does it look for the wedding planner to be more beautiful than the bride?”

Darlene mimed gagging to Zia and popped the trunk. “We have to set up.”

Savannah addressed Zach. “You’re the DJ, right? Do you need a green room?”

Darlene exchanged a look of incredulity with Zach. Not the first time he was treated like an artist, while she was treated like staff.

“I don’t need a green room.” Zach winked at Savannah. “But next time, feel free to offer that to Darlene too. She’s the actual talent here.”

The two musicians lugged their equipment to a small wooden stage overlooking the grassy field where they’d be playing cocktail hour. It was a pretty venue, typical for the area, but Darlene wasn’t taking in the lush trees and nearby pond. The thought of Zach seducing Savannah made her feel a bit ill. Reading her mind, Zach chuckled.

“Don’t worry. She’s not my type.”

“She’s the human equivalent of a vanilla cupcake.” Darlene plugged in the amp. “She’s exactly your type.”

Zach laughed and placed the mic stand center stage. “What, are you jealous?”

“Besides losing my voice or waking up with crab claws for hands, dating you is actually my worst nightmare.”

“A fair point, well made.” Zach plugged the mic into the mixer and started adjusting the levels. “How’s everything going with your EP?”

Darlene glanced over in surprise.