They sit on the hood of Paol’s car and stare up at the stars until late into the night, Paol’s head on Adam’s shoulder. With their arms wrapped around each other, the warmth of their bodies keeps the cool night air at bay. “I’ve always wanted to sing,” Adam tells him. “I do sing. I know I’m good at it—”
“You are,” Paol says, as if he needs the assurance.
“But I want others to hear me.” Adam sighs as he entwines his fingers with Paol’s. “What’s the use of having an awesome voice if no one else hears it? I like to sing and I like to play the guitar and I like to write songs, but it’s nothing if no one listens, you know?”
“Lewis will sign you.” Well, he will if Adam curbs his ego, and Paol knows that won’t be a problem so he isn’t even going to mention that little stipulation again. “Yo
