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remember?”
    “Me, too,” he said. “At least when school is in session. I guess I’ll have to have a couple to see if your Marys taste as good as your cooking smells.”
    Oda poured the tomato mix into tall glasses, adding a healthy splash of vodka to each. “I’m not the cook,” she confessed, handing him a drink. “Your guitar player is.”
    Quinn experienced a surge of annoyance as Oda went into the other room with the tray of drinks. Everyone seemed to think this was a done deal, but he wasn’t going to accept a musician just because it was convenient. He wanted only the best in his band.
    He followed her into the living room, which was big and open, furnished with a couple of Papasan chairs, a low table, and a big ottoman. The sparse room was bathed in a soft glow by the late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the wide windows. The walls were covered with matted photographs, city shots, mostly, although there were a few pictures of Dan. Naturally, since Denise was the photographer, a student at the New York Institute of Photography.
    One of the chairs was occupied by Ty. In the other was a girl. When Quinn saw her, he paused with his drink halfway to his lips.
    She was sitting with one leg curled underneath her, a beat-up acoustic guitar in her lap, her fingers twisting a string around one of its tuning pegs. Her hair was shiny black, hanging to her waist in a riot of corkscrew curls. Her face was a stunner, with high cheekbones and eyes that were almost too big, wide set and soulful, their color a striking light green. Her mouth was full, her lips a soft, clear pink.
    When she looked up at Quinn, he caught the full voltage of her laser eyes. “I guess you’re Quinn, the keyboard player?” she said shyly.
    “And I guess you’re Shan, the guitar player.” She bobbed her head, the black curls dancing around her slim shoulders, and turned her attention back to Ty.
    Great. Quinn took a big gulp. Now she’ll think I consider it a done deal, too. It was rare that he was at a loss for words, but this girl had caught him off guard. She was a babe, all right. A serious knockout, in fact. He turned to Dan.
    “Nice fake. You did that on purpose,” he accused, whispering so Shan wouldn’t hear.
    Dan smirked. “You’re the one who decided she’d be a shaved whale in a flannel shirt. I told you she was cute.”
    “Yeah, you said cute . You didn’t mention that she was a fucking goddess .”
    “I don’t think she’s your type,” Dan said, “but wait’ll you play with her.”
    “I plan to play with her, all right. And we can skip the audition!”
    “We’re looking for a guitar player,” Dan reminded him, frowning. “Behave yourself.”
    A timer went off and Shan set her guitar aside, unfolding herself from the deep chair. Quinn moved out of her way as she headed for the kitchen. She was slim and very slight, he saw as she paused to look up at him. The top of her head barely reached his chin. “I’m sorry about last night,” she said to him. “Thanks for letting me feed you to make up for it.”
    “No problem,” he said, zapping her with one of his high-caliber smiles as Dan and Ty exchanged knowing looks. “It gave us a chance to check out the Grotto. You’re a regular?”
    Shan nodded. “It’s a nice gig, and the money’s great.”
    As she moved past, Quinn met Dan’s eyes, grinned wolfishly, and did a quick about-face, following her into the kitchen.
    Shan was peering through the glass pane on the front of the oven. He gave her another once-over. She was dressed in that hippie bohemian look he hated: faded jeans ripped at the knees, an Indian shirt with little mirrors all over it, and a silver ankle bracelet that tinkled as she walked. She had a tiny silver stud attached to her nose, too. Starving artist style.
    Not his usual type at all, but for this girl he’d make an exception. “Can I help?” he asked.
    “No thanks. Linguine is my one specialty,” she said, beginning to grate