He shakes his head. “We’re better together in the booth than out of it.” Though they still grab drinks when the mood strikes. That’s how he discovered Trace and his band, the Outlines. After working late one evening, he and Rhea went to the pub around the corner from the studio for eats and ales. Dylan had his back to the band. But halfway through the first song, he knew without looking, or even that he was looking, Trace was the guy to sing Joyride. The tonal quality of Trace’s voice, the way his fingers flew over the strings of his Strat, and how he carried himself onstage. The way he worked a crowd. Everything about Trace reminded Dylan of his own musicality.

By the end of the night, Trace took home Dylan’s card, and Dylan took home Rhea.

Maybe a night out with Rhea is what he needs. After his paperwork.

“I’ll text her. She might join us.”

“Sounds good. Catch you later.”

Dylan tops off his drink and Chase heads to the door. He stops and turns around with a snap of his fingers.

“By chance did you ever hear from her?”

He shoots Chase a blank look. “Hear from who?”

“Joy,” he says simply.

Awareness moves swiftly through him at the sound of her name. Joy is anything but simple. He swirls the lowball on the slate countertop, stares into the amber liquid. He shakes his head.

“Pity. I thought for sure the song would have knocked some sense into one of you when the track dropped.” Chase shakes his head. “Message her,” he says before the door shuts behind him.

Message her.

No harm in that. He’s already broken a couple of their deals—he knows her last name and didn’t keep what happened on the road, on the road. Why not break one more? Seek her out.

Correction. Seek out a happily married woman.

Message her? Yeah, not happening.

Yet that’s exactly what he thinks about doing when he looks over at his laptop and the stack of draft contracts waiting for him on the dining table. Suddenly he has no interest in legalese. Not tonight.

Settling into a chair, he wakes up his laptop and launches Facebook. He brings up her profile, the one that now shows married as her relationship status. She also added Larson some time ago to her Joy Evers profile name. That bit more than it should have when he discovered the change.

Before he can bypass or overrule his own actions, he clicks the message icon. The Messenger app launches and he starts typing.

Hey, how’ve you been?

He stops. That won’t work. His profile name isn’t his name. She won’t know that it’s him. She’ll think his message is spam.

He deletes it only to start typing again.

Hello, Joy. It’s me, Dylan. I’m on social media.

Lame.

Delete.