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were back in the Beater, the awkwardness had passed, and all they were left with was the scandalous thrill of having pulled it off.
    Ridley settled into the seat next to Link.
    He turned up the music, pulling her close. “I’ve been waitin’ to do this since last night.” He leaned in for a kiss, and she felt an unexpected burst of happiness.
    God. I really did miss him, after all. Him, and this.
    “Your wait is over, darlin’.” She kissed him back, climbing halfway onto his lap in the process. It was going to be a long drive, and she figured she might as well get comfortable.
    Link couldn’t stop smiling, kissing aside. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?”
    “Couldn’t do it to you.” She kissed him again.
    He pulled away for a second, grinning at her. “Church college my ass.”
    She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve been a bad, bad girl, Wesley Lincoln. Think you can redeem me?”
    His answer was lost on his tongue.
    Or maybe hers.

  CHAPTER 6 
    Welcome to the Jungle
    T he good-byes were over. By the time John and Liv had boarded their plane for Heathrow and Ethan and Lena were headed for the Massachusetts Turnpike, Link and Ridley were on the way to New York City—the one-and-only setting of Link’s one-and-only dream. It had been a long time coming.
    “Remember last time we were in New York City?” Link stole a sideways glance at her.
    “You mean the time you pretended to be at church camp?”
    “Best band camp ever. Sneakin’ into clubs in the East Village. Crashin’ at youth hostels and YMCAs. Sleepin’ in the Beater.” He patted the dashboard.
    “How could I forget.” Ridley smiled. It had been an entirely magical hallucination, laced with powerful Siren mojo.
    “Makin’ it in New York, Rid. That’s right up there with signin’ a record label or performin’ at the VMAs.”
    “Slow down, Hot Rod. Maybe first you can just try to find a new band.” And I know just where to start looking , Ridley thought.
    Link was thinking bigger. “Who knows? This could be the first chapter in my autobiography. Rock On: The Making of a Carolina Icon .” He said it like he hadn’t already told her a thousand times.
    Ridley smiled. “And with any luck, maybe you can get your mother to ban your own book from the Stonewall Jackson High School Library.”
    Link laughed, settling in behind the wheel. “A guy can dream.” He turned up the music.
    Ridley shook her head. At least it wasn’t going to be called Meatstik, the name of his last band. And she had thought the Holy Rollers were bad. The Holy Rollers were the Rolling Stones compared to Meatstik, which was probably the reason that Link hadn’t been able to convince any of the members of his band to come with him to New York. Grable Honeycutt was going full-time at the Summerville Suds-It-Up, and Daryl Homer was just Daryl Homer. He’d probably still be sitting on his mother’s couch this time next year, unless his mother sold it out from under him the way she’d threatened.
    “My money’s on Daryl,” Link had said when the band first announced they were breaking up, right before graduation. “Plus, who wants a gold velvet sofa smellin’ like a Homer’s butt?”
    It wasn’t like any of them were leaving a great career behind. “(You’re My) Mystery Meat” and “(Feels Like I’m Chewin’ On) Indigestible Gristle,” Meatstik’s two most requested songs at the Summerville Community Center dances, showcased some of the worst lyrics Link had ever written, in Ridley’s opinion. ( “Butcher my heart, fillet my soul, and when I bleed, sop it up with your roll.” ) Actually, the very worst. And that was saying something, considering that Rid had sat through more Holy Rollers concerts than anyone.
    “Now that the band’s broken up, maybe you should try writing about something other than meat,” she’d said.
    “But meat’s what I miss the most,” Link had sighed. “Now that I’m not eating. And now that we’re