"So why don't you want to sing with me?"
Garrett's eyes cut over to Hannah. She sat on the couch in the living area of their suite, a glass of Crown and Coke in her hand, her feet and legs in his lap. He too had his own drink, but his was straight Crown. For an hour they'd been here, just talking. Hannah had yet to ask what he would consider a probing question, and she had just come up with a doozy.
"It's not that I don't want to sing with you." He ran his hand through his hair and set it on her leg, rubbing softly. "I just don't want anyone to think differently about you because of me."
She was confused. What did that have to do with anything? "I don't understand what you're saying, Garrett, and it may be because I've had three of these," she shook the glass, "in the last hour, but you
