“What were you doing there, anyway?” I ask Kieran.
We’ve made it to his place—though “place” seems a hardly suitable word for the wonderland that is Kieran’s waterfront palace. We did some very enjoyable kissing in the Range Rover, but he didn’t try anything more, and I was grateful for that. Oded seems like a nice dude, but that doesn’t mean I want him seeing me get groped through the rear-view.
“At the show?” he asks me as he pours me a very large glass of water. “I heard you were playing there. Had a Google Alert set up for your band.”
He had a Google Alert for me, too?
“I never told you my band’s name,” I say with a frown.
He snorts. “I work in tech, Emerson. Give me a little credit.”
I grin, then admit, “I had a Google Alert for you, too.”
The smirk instantly returns. He slide
