His New Jam

by Shannyn Schroeder

  But she wanted to believe him.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the look on his face when they’d been interrupted. He’d been blindsided.

  But he said nothing to tell them off. He didn’t grab her and tell them she was his girlfriend. He’d said nothing.

  His lack of response was pretty telling, too. She slugged back another shot and collapsed on the couch.

  Hunter came back inside from the cold. Of course Sydney didn’t answer her phone. Why would she? She thought he was cheating on her. Anger surged through him as he walked back into the apartment. He needed to go after her, make her understand.

  Inside, the party continued. No one took any notice of what had happened with Sydney. The three women who interrupted his midnight kiss were still standing in the middle of the living room.

  He strode up to them and said, “Get out of my house and don’t ever come back.”

  Amy looked up at him with wide eyes. “What did we do?”

  He threw up his hands. “I told you all when you got here I was off the market, that I was seeing someone. None of you took me seriously. Listen to me now.” He made eye contact with each of them. “The best thing that ever happened to me just walked out the door because of your stupid games. I don’t ever want to see any of you again.”

  Kelly spoke up. “Damn. You’re serious.” She turned to the other two. “Guess we didn’t have it, girls. Let’s leave him.”

  Together they walked away as if they hadn’t just destroyed his relationship. He made his way through the apartment looking for Free or Adam to tell them he was leaving. He couldn’t find either of them. He glanced around. Would anyone notice if he took off, too?

  He grabbed Mike from marching band, who at least looked kind of sober. “I have to leave. If you see my roommate, let him know I’ll be back later.”

  “Will do. Great party, by the way. Lots of single women. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

  Hunter slapped Mike’s shoulder. “Enjoy yourself. They’re all yours.”

  And he meant it. No one else could capture an ounce of his attention. As he put on his jacket, he tried to think about what he would say to Sydney to convince her that she was the only one for him. He saw his sax sitting by the window where less than an hour ago he’d played side by side with Sydney.

  He grabbed it, thinking he might need all the help he could get, and left his own party.

  He parked in front of Sydney’s apartment and called her again. She still wouldn’t pick up, but he knew she was home because her car was parked behind him. He got out and rang the bell. Still no answer.

  Back in his van, he sat rubbing his hands together to keep warm. He eyed his sax. If she wouldn’t listen to words, maybe she’d listen to music. He climbed out and stood on the frozen sidewalk.

  He played the one song he needed her to hear: “Have a Little Faith in Me.”

  “What is that?” Trish asked from the kitchen.

  “What?”

  “That music.”

  Sydney shrugged. “It’s New Year’s. Everyone’s loud.”

  “Uh-uh.” Trish crossed the room and looked out the window. “Oh my God. It’s Hunter.”

  “Damn him.” Sydney’s head was even fuzzier than it had been a half hour ago even though she’d stopped drinking. When Trish came home, she gave her the abridged version of the story. “I thought he left when I didn’t answer the door.”

  “Honey, if you want to pretend to not be home, it’s not a good idea to park your car in front of your house.”

  “I’m not pretending anything.” Her heart hiccupped because she hadn’t faked any of it with Hunter. “I don’t want to see him.”

  Trish stood, holding the curtain aside. “What song is that?”

  Syd closed her eyes and listened. It didn’t take long for her to recognize it. With recognition came a fresh bout of tears. “ ‘Have a Little Faith in Me.’ ”

  “The dude’s gotta be freezing out there. It takes guts to not only come after you but to stand out there and play solo.”

  “Putting on a performance is no big deal for him.”

  “But this one’s for you.”

  Syd brushed away the tears.

  “I’m letting him in.” Trish opened the window and yelled, “I’m buzzing you up.”

  “No,” Sydney said.

  Trish went to the buzzer and pressed the button. “You need to talk to him. Even if it’s just to say fuck you. Plus, our neighbors are going to start getting annoyed.”

  A soft knock sounded on the door.

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  Syd shook her head. Trish was right. She needed to do this.

  Trish opened the door, offered Hunter a small smile, and said, “Good song.” Then she went to her room.

  Hunter closed the door behind him but didn’t come all the way into the apartment. Sydney stared at him. For a change, he was hard to read. He looked miserable, but angry and defiant, like he was ready for a fight.

  Too bad she wasn’t.

  He took a couple of steps forward and set his sax on the chair. He took off his jacket and laid it over the sax. Then he sat beside her on the couch, careful not to touch her.

  All she wanted was to curl into him and that made her mad all over. She was so damn weak.

  “Thanks for letting me in.”

  She snorted.

  “I know it was Trish, but you didn’t stop her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I knew those girls. I’m not going to lie. I dated all of them. But I didn’t invite them to the party.”

  “I heard your message.” Her voice was scratchy from crying and a lump was still lodged in her throat, making talking painful.

  “Do you believe me?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  She swallowed and pushed words past the lump. “Because this can’t work.”

  “What?” He moved closer and touched her thigh.

  His fingers were frozen and she felt the cold through her jeans.

  “Even if I believe you weren’t doing anything with those girls, how can we have a relationship if that’s what I think of you?”

  He held her hand and she wanted to cry again. She stared at the way his fingers slid into hers.

  “Sydney, look at me.”

  She did.

  “I haven’t lied to you about anything. I should’ve told you about those girls as soon as you showed up. I was going to tell you. When you first came to the house and when we were alone in the bedroom. But I chickened out. I knew you’d get mad and probably leave. I thought I could just keep them away from us and everything would be okay.” He licked his lips.

  “So you were trying to protect me?”

  “No. I was protecting me. And us. I didn’t want anything to mess with us because I love what we are together.”

  “We’re a mess.”

  “A little, maybe. I want that mess with you.”

  “You’ll get tired of my insecurities, my getting jealous when I see you with another girl, my fear of what people will say about me when they see us together.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “They won’t be saying anything about you. They’ll look at me and say, ‘How the hell did he get a woman like that?’ ”

  She laughed. He always knew how to make her feel better.

  “I’m falling for you, Syd, and it’d be a terrible waste to walk away from that.”

  “You’re falling—”

  He nodded. “In fact, I think I already fell. Don’t give up on us.”

  “Have a little faith?”

  He nodded and cupped her jaw. “I have enough to share.” He covered her mouth with his. His lips were cold, but his tongue hot.

  Kissing him brought all of her emotions swimming to the surface. He kissed her like he played his music, holding nothing back, and he made her want to do the same.

  She wanted to absorb everything he offered: his faith
in them, his love.

  He pulled back for a breath and leaned his forehead against hers. “Are you in?”

  “All in.”

  His lips met hers again. His kiss muddled her brain more than any amount of alcohol, but it filled her heart with happiness. Yeah, they definitely had a shot.

  If you liked His New Jam, don’t miss His Work of Art (available now) and keep reading for a sneak peek of His Dream Role, out next month.

  Be sure to also check out the first Hot & Nerdy trilogy, as well as Shannyn Schroeder’s contemporary romance series, The O’Learys:

  More Than This

  A Good Time

  Something to Prove

  Catch Your Breath

  Just a Taste

  Hold Me Close

  Chapter 1

  Just as Free Mitchell parked his car at the health club, his phone started buzzing with a text. He should’ve called Cary as soon as he’d known he’d be late.

  Are you coming?

  Parking now.

  Free ran around to the front of the building where he knew he’d find his brother waiting outside. Even after all these months, Cary still wouldn’t go in without him.

  “Sorry I’m late. I was with Hunter and Adam talking about the New Year’s Eve party.”

  “Let me guess—you had to wait on Hunter.”

  “Of course.” Free reached over and pulled the door open.

  As he walked through, Cary asked, “How’d it go?”

  “The usual. Hunter wants a big blowout like last year, but Adam and I don’t. Hunter said he’d limit his invites if Adam and I have dates.”

  Cary laughed. Like out-loud-drawing-attention laughter.

  “It’s not that funny,” Free said as they entered the locker room.

  “You haven’t had a girlfriend since last spring.”

  Free couldn’t argue because his brother would know if he lied. He hadn’t even had a real date since Kim broke up with him. He blamed being out of practice; he and Kim dated for over a year. In reality, he sucked at asking girls out.

  Cary changed quickly while Free waited. He never did a real workout with Cary. He was there just for the wow factor. As Cary grabbed a towel, Free adjusted the lapels on his coat and straightened his earflap hat. Showtime.

  Some costumes he wore required more props. Sherlock Holmes was simple. Unfortunately, many people didn’t necessarily get it, even with the overcoat and hat, so he carried an oversized magnifying glass with him to aid in his sleuthing.

  Truth be told, Cary no longer needed his help. Last summer, after the doctor told Cary he absolutely had to get off his fat ass and lose weight, Free offered to work out with him. Cary admitted that it wasn’t the working out that bothered him as much as the people staring at him.

  So three days a week for the past six months or so, Free dressed in outlandish costumes to draw attention away from his overweight brother.

  Cary sat down at the first machine to work his legs, and Free leaned against the adjacent machine. For a change, the room wasn’t crowded and no one took notice of them.

  “What are you going to do about Hunter?”

  “I’m going to prove him wrong. I’ll find a date for the party.”

  Cary extended his legs and brought them back. “See if she has a sister, okay?”

  The workout routine continued on in the same manner, Cary working various muscle groups and chatting. They talked about work and the holidays and Free became bored.

  When Cary got on the treadmill, Free wandered around, trying to find something of interest. Two muscle-bound guys came out of the locker room and sneered at him.

  One said, “Who do you think you are?”

  Channeling the arrogance of his father, as he did every time he needed to portray Holmes, he answered, “I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Sherlock Holmes.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and waited for them to respond. The first guy elbowed the other and they called a few friends over.

  A ball of nerves plummeted through Free. He’d never been much of a fighter and he knew he couldn’t hold his own with the first two, much less all their friends. He looked at the group and said in his best British accent, “I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room.”

  To his surprise, all the guys started to laugh. Sure, he was insulting them, and he was pretty sure they understood that, but they still laughed. Free pulled out his magnifying glass, nodded to them, and walked back toward the treadmills.

  Cary slowed his pace. “Problem?” he asked, tilting his chin toward where Free had come from.

  “Nope. Just my winning personality creating more fans.” He leaned against the rail of the treadmill while Cary jogged and watched the TV in front of them. Cary had it tuned to the financial reports. He didn’t need to hear the anchor or have closed captioning on. He simply watched the numbers scrolling at the bottom of the screen. The red-and-green digits soothed him like a lullaby to a baby.

  When Cary stepped off the treadmill, Free followed him to the locker room. “I’m going so I’m not late for rehearsal, okay?”

  “Sure. See you later.”

  He walked out the front door of the health club, but instead of heading to the parking garage around back, he went to the coffee shop down the street. For the last month, there was a woman who came in at the same time he did. Samantha—he loved places that made it easy to learn everyone’s name. In light of Hunter’s challenge to get a date, and Cary’s laughter at the thought, Free decided that today would be the day he would speak to her.

  He entered the shop and a warm blast of air hit him. The shop wasn’t usually busy at this time and today was no different. As he approached the counter, Samantha was in front of him, digging through her purse. The cashier watched her with impatience just short of rolling her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry. I know I had cash in here.” Her long, light-brown hair created a curtain across her cheek. “I can’t believe they stole it again.”

  For a change things actually worked in Free’s favor. He wouldn’t need to force an introduction. He pulled out money and said, “Here. Let me.”

  The cashier smiled brightly at him. “Anything for you?”

  “Large black. Thank you.”

  She charged him for both coffees and Samantha stared at him with her wide, pink-lipped mouth hanging open. He had the sudden urge to feel those lips against his.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed. “I can pay you back.”

  “No big deal.”

  From the other side of the counter, the barista called, “Samantha.”

  Free pointed over his shoulder. “Your coffee’s ready.”

  She took a step, then paused. “How did you know?”

  He winked at her. “Elementary, my dear. I’m here at this time three days a week. They call your name every time.”

  “Hey, Sherlock.” The barista thought he was funny.

  Free followed Samantha to the other end of the counter and grabbed his cup.

  Samantha smiled. Her whole face brightened as she looked up at him, her amber eyes shining, and said, “Thanks again. I appreciate it. I’ll get yours next time I see you.”

  “Until then.” He gave her a tip of his hat and turned to leave. If he had his way, he’d be sharing a cup of coffee with her by week’s end.

  Photo: Nicole Morisco

  About the Author

  Shannyn Schroeder is a former high school and middle school English teacher. She holds a BA in English and MAs in Special Education and Gifted Education. After having her third child, she decided to stay at home. She’s since worked as an editor for a couple of e-publishers and currently works as an editor for an education company that publishes online current events assignments. She juggles writing around the kids’ schedules.

  In her spare time, Shannyn loves to bake and watches far too much TV, especially cop shows. She started her first book on a dare from her husband and has never looked back. She came to reading romance later than
many, but lives for the happy ending, and writes contemporary romance because she enjoys the adventure of new love.

  Readers can visit Shannyn online at www.shannynschroeder.com and follow her on Twitter @SSchroeder_.

  LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2015 by Shannyn Schroeder

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  LYRICAL SHINE and the Lyrical Shine logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  ISBN: 978-1-6165-0956-9

  First Electronic Edition: November 2015