My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

cameo in a video. Strings attached. I don’t do strings.
    Grady’s assistant, Kai, made it very apparent last night she is neither of those. After that connection we had in the music room, basically a jolt of electricity that temporarily disabled my synapses, she barely looked at me. She pretended it hadn’t happened. Brushed me off. Girls don’t brush me off. No one brushes me off. I know that sounds arrogant, but it is what it is. I get the sense that she’s not so much playing hard to get as much as she actually is hard to get.
    Going back over the piece, I realize a page is missing. I bend down to retrieve it from the floor.
    “Grady?”
    That hot, sweet molasses voice calls from the door. I hesitate about sitting all the way up because I suspect she’ll dart off as soon as she sees me. She was not just prickly last night. She was full-blown cactus. I’m not used to that with girls. Especially not girls who want to be singers. Hello? I’m a walking, talking, fucking opportunity to most of them. Does she not know I could be her big break? It’s like she doesn’t care.
    I think that’s what I like most about her so far.
    I sit up before she can leave the room. Her eyes go wide before she narrows them, and I can’t tell if she’s giving me the no way signal or if she’s trying to convince herself.
    “I’m sorry.” Her rich voice smothers the words like gravy, weighing them down in the way I teased her about last night. “I thought Grady was—”
    “Grady is.” I push the hair out of my face before slumping a little on the piano bench. “He’s talking to Emmy.”
    “Oh, that’s right. They have a date today.” She smiles and glances down at the handwritten invoice in her hand. “I needed to ask him something, but it can wait. His penmanship . . . geez Louise.”
    Is she for real? Geez Louise? I haven’t heard that since repeats of The Andy Griffith Show. I want to hear what else she’ll say if she sticks around a little longer.
    “I’m fluent in Grady.” I motion for her to give me the paper. “I bet I can interpret.”
    “Really?” Doubt crinkles her eyebrows, but she hands it over. “Worth a try.”
    The first thing I notice at the top of the stationery pad is Grady’s full name. Bentley Gray. Yeah, I’d go by Grady too. I glance at the slashes and marks bleeding all over the paper in my hands.
    “Yeah, it says double-check the payment schedule on this student.”
    “Wow.” She shakes her head, the dark, silky braid swishing over her shoulder. “I never would have guessed that. Thanks.”
    She turns back toward the door. She’s leaving. I’m not the kind of guy who typically encourages girls to linger, but . . .
    “So you sing?”
    Wow, Gray. Brilliant.
    She looks back over her shoulder and around the room like there might be someone else I’m addressing.
    “Yeah, you.” Just in case she thinks I’m talking to my imaginary friend. “You sing?”
    Everything about her screams reluctance at the top of its lungs. The glance she gives the door, like it’s her salvation. The way she taps the invoice against her leg a few times before turning to face me. The gate she locks over her eyes before she looks back at me.
    “Yeah. I sing. I mean, I’ve been dancing more than singing lately, but I sing.”
    “What kind of dancing?”
    “Well, I do ballet, tap, modern dance, hip hop. You name it, I did it growing up. Right now, I teach a hip-hop class to fourteen-year-olds.” She snorts, twisting her wide, full lips into a half grin, half grimace. “And, yes, it’s as much fun as it sounds. I’ve been doing some small stuff in a few music videos. Nothing major.”
    “But you really want to sing?”
    “I want to perform, to do it all. Dance, sing, act.”
    “Ah, one of those, huh? A multi-hyphenate.”
    “Are you mocking me again?”
    “Mocking you? No, of course not.”
    She narrows those tilted eyes at me and puts a hand on one slim hip.
    “Okay. Maybe a little.” The