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bass
doesn’t exactly have a role in the marching band. You could play
drums or sax or…”
    Tyler jolted back in
the seat again. His sage-green eyes widened behind his lenses and
then narrowed. He eyed her closely, as if waiting for something
more epic than her dwindling list.
    Aria strove to modulate
her enthusiasm. “Clarinet… anything…”
    His suspicious
expression faded. “Okay. Drums.” He looked her up and down, and his
green eyes held a glint behind the artsy-guy glasses. A glint she
couldn’t read. “ And bass guitar.” He said it with certainty.
As if he knew he’d get his way.
    She’d said
‘ Clarinet.’ Pride made her poke back a little. “Do you even own a bass guitar?”
    “Electric and
acoustic.” Tyler slid forward, something intense in his gaze,
something that made her heart race. “And that’s the deal. I march
in time with you. You teach me.”
    She had him. Her lips
curved up. Mighty Lizard Marching Band—member number 87. Welcome.
Leaning forward, she held out her hand, holding his gaze with hers.
“Deal.”
    Her favorite country
music filled the silence as Tyler’s hand dwarfed hers. Rough. Big.
Guy hand. The key-reach he must have. The singer on the
radio hit the chorus. Words of love, passion and sex filled the
airwaves, filled the small room, filled her. Tyler tightened his
fingers. Heat. Sparks. Tingling moved from her hands to her lips.
Oh. Her fingers curled involuntarily inward.
    Tyler grinned.
    Noise from the mass of
students coming in from the parking lot pulled her from the weird,
electric moment. She was just excited to get a new member. Plus, he
was cute. She shook free of Tyler, turned off the music and
followed the sound of bitching as her bandmates took their
seats.
    Overheated, sunburned
faces turned her way. Aria gestured behind her and tried not to
sound smug. “Musicians, this is Tyler. Number 87. Tyler. Meet the
Mighty Lizard Marching Band.”
    Her kick-ass fellow
musicians gave him a half-ass wave. Their real passion and focus
was on shaking free of their polyester uniforms.
    She got it.
    Aria patted Tyler’s arm
so he wouldn’t feel unwelcome. There was no give in the muscles,
and she barely stopped herself from tightening her fingers on his
biceps. The strength. The stamina. Nice. Forget bass. He’d play
drums and sax in the band before she was through with him. Maybe
tuba. “Let’s get you a uniform. I think we have one tall enough.
What are you? 6’1”?”
    “6’2”.”
    Oh, yeah. He could
carry any instrument. She had to keep him away from the football
team so Coach wouldn’t steal him.
    ***
    Tyler returned Baylee’s
wave but didn’t join her. Aria was directing two guys, Ethan and
Dylan, to drag shipping boxes to the center of the room.
    “It’s too heavy, Aria,”
Ethan said.
    “You’re strong enough.”
Aria patted Ethan’s straining arm. “You guys are the best for
always helping out.”
    Tyler tensed. Who the
fuck were they? He could lift twice the boxes those two were
dragging. She should have asked him.
    Aria handed him a
folded pile of polyester and gestured to an empty seat. “Tyler, you
can sit over with the percussionists. Any seat you like.”
    Tyler ignored her
suggestion. He shook out the folded clothes and checked out the
uniform. The black pants dragged the floor. Half the jacket was
black and half was green, the two colors separated by a slanted
yellow L. For fuck’s sake. The Mighty Lizard Band was not
stylin’.
    Aria clapped and
addressed her band. “You’re in for a treat.”
    Images flashed through
his mind, involving her, a Malibu beach, and vanilla ice cream.
He’d let the treat melt over his fingers onto her stomach which
would be bared because she wore a bikini. One she wouldn’t keep on
long. Heat. Sun. Aria. He tightened his fingers on the
polyester.
    “The girls’ new
uniforms are here.” Zeal lit Aria’s voice, and she spaced out the
words, weighting them with importance.
    The girls in the