The decade-long friendship between two rock goddesses is thrust into the spotlight after their mutual desire strikes a perfect—and very public—chord.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from For Our Next Song by Jessica James, which is out now.
For Glitter Bats keys player Jane Mercer, writing music helps tune out her self-doubt from a strict upbringing. Composing also distracts from her longtime feelings for her bandmate and best friend, Keeley, who Jane can’t pursue if she wants to keep her bisexuality out of the media. But when an incompetent percussionist quits mid–recording session on one of her major solo projects, there’s only one drummer to call to make the deadline.
Keeley Cunningham is determined to do what’s best for the newly-reunited Glitter Bats—including conceal her incurable attraction to Jane by keeping her distance. Still, when Jane asks for her help in the studio, Keeley drops everything to fill in. They collaborate harmoniously… until their repressed feelings crescendo into a massive argument about the band’s future that leaves them barely speaking.
As music forces Jane and Keeley into increasingly close proximity, the lingering tension finally ignites into the romance they’ve both been craving—and it’s hot, emotional, and fundamentally secret. But after an intimate moment is caught on camera, they’ll have to decide if their duet can survive its debut—both on and off stage.
“Ready to run it?” Jane asks into the talkback, her voice a little rough. I startle, swallowing hard.
Instead of showing how much being this alone with her is rattling me, I place my hands on my hips and smirk at her through the plexiglass. “I was born ready, Mercer.”
Jane cocks her head. “Prove it, Cunningham.”
A thrill buzzes across my skin, but it has nothing to do with her words. It’s just the thrill I get every time I play the drums . . . or so I’ll keep telling myself to get through this session without melting onto the floor.
I nod at Jane, and she presses play on the digital sample. I listen to Past Jane count off the tune and begin playing what she asked.
It’s an eighties-style power ballad, so I don’t have to do much— the wailing guitar that Riker recorded will do the heavy lifting— but I listen carefully to Past Jane’s cues, the click, and the instrumentation, doing my best to fill out the sound.
All of my nerves melt away as the serotonin rushes in with every thrum of the kick. Something deep in my soul just knows how to find the beat, and no matter what kind of music I’m playing, drumming just makes sense the way nothing else does. It settles my brain when everything else is loud. And it’s why I’m so in demand in the studio, and why I love playing live with musicians across genres. The rhythm flows with the blood in my veins, pulses with my heartbeat.
The track ends quickly enough, and Jane doesn’t say anything for a long moment. I peer over at her through the glass and see her shoulders shaking.
Shit, is she crying?
I rise to get out of the booth, but when Jane looks up at me, she’s laughing.
“Fuck, Mercer, was it really that bad?” I ask through my relief, even though I know it wasn’t. I played exactly what she asked. Her reaction is just confusing the hell out of me.
She shakes her head, then leans into the talkback mic.
“No, that was perfect . . .” She trails off, laughing again. “It’s just . . . do you know how hard I tried to get Trevor to do that? Three days, Keeley. Three of the longest days of my life.”
“I told you I was ready.”
She sighs. “I should have called you two days ago.”
My chest swells, and I soften my voice. “I wish you would have.”
She clears her throat, running her hands over her braid. “Well, thank you for showing up now.”
“Anytime, Jane. I’m always here for you,” I say. Then, realizing what I could reveal with those words, I clear my own throat. “But that was just one take, and I want to make sure it’s nice and clean. Let me run it a few more times and give you some options.”
“Thank you, seriously,” she says. I lean down and take a sip of my water, then resettle on the drum throne. It’s not my own, and it’s a little wobbly, but I do my best to keep my balance and stay focused. Soon enough, I hear the familiar, soothing tone of Past Jane in my ears counting me off again.
We spend the next two hours like that—Jane giving me notes, me trying different things. After the tenth take, she nods.
“I think that will do it.”
“You sure?” I ask. The last thing I should do is linger, but I don’t want to lose this moment with her, even though it’s all business.
We’ve been so busy since our last show, and I’ve missed my friend. That’s all.
Excerpted from FOR OUR NEXT SONG by Jessica James, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2026
