Her Hi-Fi Hunk: A Beach Avenue Babes Romance

by Knox, Abby

  Galen snarks, “He’s lying, he hates that nickname.”

  Jed is staring at me like I’m both the Queen of the Nile and also a piece of meat. I don’t hate it. It has been a while since any man has looked at me like that.

  Something about his expression is waking up long-dormant sensations between my thighs, tingling my nipples, and sending my heart hammering.

  Is this what a groupie feels like?

  No, it’s more than a star-struck groupie lust.

  But don’t get ahead of yourself, Dusty. He still messed with your head a little bit for years. Maybe he had a good reason to, but maybe he didn’t. Remember who you are.

  Jed’s sweet, shy smile makes these incredibly sexy crow’s feet when his smile reaches his eyes. His salt and pepper hair is close cropped but still has the hint of the long, wild waves he sported when he was a young up-and-comer.

  Everyone knows I’m Ozzy’s biggest fan. What they don’t know is Jed is also near the top of my “list,” the list of dudes who—if the universe shifted and I somehow got the chance—would be allowed to rip my panties off in a hot second, no questions asked. No foreplay. No wine and dine necessary.

  Marti pipes up with, “Funny story, I think you two may have talked on the phone once or twice and not even realized it.”

  When neither I nor Jed responds, Galen awkwardly adds, “Yeah, that’s right. Hey, Jed. Remember that night you were trying to remember the name of a song, and we called up our friend with the record shop in Sea Grove? Well, this is she. The one with the phenom daughter.”

  Jed’s cheeks turn a little pink.

  I bite my lip.

  We seem to have a silent agreement not to tell them that we already know.

  “It’s strange,” I reply, without taking my eyes off Jed’s lips, “How my record sales spiked after that phone call.”

  Did I mention Jed is still holding my hand?

  I don’t really want him to let go. How often in your life do you get to shake the hand of a god? Beyond that, what are the chances that a god is going to continue to squeeze your hand like he doesn’t ever want to let go?

  One in a trillion.

  So, it’s OK if I allow myself to feel a little starstruck right now.

  Right?

  Jed suddenly lets go, and it feels like my soul is going to leap out of my body to follow him.

  Just when I feel like the moment is over, he picks up a bottle of Pinot Grigio that’s been chilling in Marti’s cooler and says, “Dusty, it’s time we have a date. Go for a walk with me?”

  Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

  My internal organs are having the same reaction as a teenage girl on the Ed Sullivan Show upon seeing The Beatles for the first time.

  Outside, I’m simply saying yes.

  Yes, this is really happening. Yes, I’m going for a stroll with Big Daddy. No big deal.

  I try not to let my voice tremble as we make chit-chat while walking up the beach, our bare feet pressing in sync in the hard sand.

  Maybe I would look more calm and collected if I would just shut up. But I can’t.

  “Galen and Marti are in trouble, big time,” I say with a wry smile. “I can’t believe they’ve never told me their neighbor was Jed Masters.”

  “I asked them not to tell anybody,” he says, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be, big guy,” I say, elbowing Jed in the ribs. It’s like elbowing a brick shithouse. “Wow, you’re a little beefier than I imagined. Everyone says celebrities always seem shorter in person, but you’re taller and…bigger.”

  “Beefy…that makes me feel like I need to go on a diet,” he says with a smirk.

  “Don’t you dare!” I blurt out, and he laughs.

  Oh shit.

  "I just mean…I’m pleasantly surprised…despite being mad at you…I’m babbling now.”

  He chuckles again and the sound reverberates down my spine. “We need some of this wine about now,” he rumbles.

  Thank god.

  “Shit, I don’t have a corkscrew, do you?” I say.

  “Nope. No keys, either.”

  “Oh, we can just walk back…” I start to suggest, but I trail off when I see that Jed is removing his belt.

  I have no fucking idea what he thinks he’s going to do but on the outside chance he’s going to tie me up with it, I get a little excited.

  Really, Dusty? What’s he going to tie you to? A conch shell?

  Jed pulls off his belt completely in one smooth move, and the swoosh sound it makes as it slips through the belt loops of his jeans is so hot, the lips of my pussy flutter and contract with lust.

  He’s going to show me his dick. Do I want to see his dick right now? Too soon? Unconventional, but who am I to question an artist?

  Oh but wait.

  He’s not showing me his dick. He’s using the prong of the buckle to screw into the cork.

  “There’s no way that’s going to work… Oh.” My jaw drops as he holds the bottle out to me.

  “You don’t require a wine glass, do you? Because for that, we will have to go back. And I really don’t want to go back just yet,” he says.

  That is the goddamn sexiest move I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.

  He laughs again and I realize I said that out loud. Mortified, I grab the bottle and take a big gulp from it.

  “If that’s all it takes to get you going, then I’ve got a lot more where that came from. You should see me open a beer bottle with my nipple,” he says with a wink.

  I blush as I laugh and hand him the bottle. I have no words.

  Walking and fidgeting with my fringy scarf is about all that’s keeping me from thinking things that fill me with the overwhelming urge to climb this man like a tree and relieve the delicious ache between my legs.

  Compounding my overwhelm is Jed’s scent—a mix of cedar and desert sage. Its effect on me is clouding the fact that I should be annoyed with him right now. The spicy, earthy, masculine scent coming off of him, combined with the ocean breeze, is only making me want to dry hump him over top of those sexy, raggedy, boot-cut Levi’s.

  “God, why do you have to smell so good?” I say, closing my eyes and deeply inhaling as we walk together.

  Jed chuckles, with a hint of embarrassment.

  “I dunno, you’ll have to ask my housekeeper; she puts those essentials oils and shit in the laundry. Maybe that’s it.”

  “Don’t ruin the illusion with facts, Jed. Next time a woman compliments your scent, just say thank you and then maybe kiss her.”

  Jed stops walking. “Next time? Kiss…her? Her who?”

  Busted. He’s not going to play that game with me.

  “Well, you see…” I start, buying myself some time to decide on what word salad I want to toss right now. JFC, what am I supposed to say? What woman doesn’t want to be kissed and pounded by this man? He can take his pick among…all of the women!

  “…not that you need pointers on how to pick up women… I just mean if you were interested in kissing me…which you probably aren’t, otherwise you would have done something other than emailed me once a week to order records…”

  “I am interested,” he says.

  I’m still walking, but he’s just standing there, watching me walk. If I stop and go back, he’s for sure going to kiss me.

  I turn around and say, “Do I want that? Yes. Do I want a fling with a super-busy rock star? No. I’ve had ridiculously bad luck in men and I’m not interested in a one-night stand.”

  When Jed catches up to me, his face has changed. Half of my scarf has fallen off my shoulders in the breeze, and he’s catching it and pulling it around me.

  “Suppose you tell me all about your bad luck and I’ll tell you all about mine,” he says, in a gravelly, serious tone that tells me, without the exact words, that he’s not interested in a one-night stand either.

  Chapter 7

  Jed

  By the time we’re done sharing our life stories
, I’m ready to hunt down Walter myself and make him pay with his own hide.

  Making his girlfriend raise a baby with no electricity or running water…not to mention he was probably running around on her, as these charismatic types tend to do. But I didn’t float that theory out loud; it would only trigger more anger and it wasn’t good for Dusty.

  She brings out the protective nature in me that’s been displaced for a while now. And it doesn’t scare me. Nothing would make me feel more like a man than to stand in the way of anything that would harm Dusty, or her amazing daughter.

  “Dusty, I regret not telling you sooner that I was…that I was…”

  “My sugar daddy?”

  The words punch me the gut.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you. I wanted to make sure you stayed in business. There aren’t enough places in the world like what you have.”

  She nods. “It’s true, I am one of a kind.”

  She smiles and holds her arms out wide like she’s got angel wings. She doesn’t need them though; she’s already perfect.

  “It’s a long route to take just to ask me out on a date,” she says.

  “I wasn’t comfortable pursuing something until the divorce was final. It’s my own little quirk, I guess. Most people don’t get it.”

  “Jed. Do you even know who you are?” She gapes at me.

  “I’m too aware sometimes.”

  “You can have any woman in the world. You can’t tell me you don’t have groupies clamoring for you everywhere you go.”

  I shake my head and take her arm in mine. It’s a little presumptuous, but she doesn’t pull away. “Nope. Never really got into the groupie scene. Not for me. Too much risk. Too much drama.”

  Dusty’s body stiffens.

  “Well, you don’t want to get involved with me then. There’s probably going to be some drama with Walter getting out soon.”

  “I can handle his stupid-ass drama,” I say, and it comes out a little more aggressive than intended.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know if you can handle me,” she says.

  That right there must be my cue to go for it.

  All those songs I’d written about love and heartbreak don’t mean a damn thing if I don’t press my lips on this deeply sensual woman right this second.

  I take a firm hold of her scarf at the opening with both my hands and lean in. Dusty’s soft lips sear me like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

  Her skin is soft as petals and scented with jasmine. Dusty doesn’t mess around when she decides to kiss someone. She accepts my tongue without urging. The taste of her is better than warm Texas peach cobbler after Sunday dinner. With vanilla ice cream. And a little bit of sea salt just to put everything over the top.

  I’m hooked. Immediately.

  I’m still clutching her scarf closed, so Dusty’s hands finally come to rest on my waist and she hooks her fingers in my belt loops. Like she already owns me. Which she does.

  Chapter 8

  Dusty

  Jed Masters can kiss.

  This is no surprise.

  His lips are as true as his music. Strong and assertive but also full of yearning and heartbreak on a whole other level.

  And like his music, he leaves me wanting more.

  When our lips part, I breathe in his scent again and count to three to calm myself.

  “You seem at a loss for words,” he says. “Should I be worried?”

  I shake my head. “The fact that you’re you and I’m me, and how the hell is this happening to me…it’s like feeling very small and insignificant when you’re gazing up at the stars, do you know what I mean? It just hits me in waves."

  He looks down at the sand and then out at the sea. “Well, It was worth a shot.”

  I nudge him playfully. “I didn’t say you couldn’t try again.”

  I half expect him to laugh again, but instead I’ve snapped something inside him. He lets go of my scarf and cups my face. He lands a kiss on me that could set my ovaries on fire, if I still had them.

  He is just a man. A huge, larger-than-life man with a broad chest that I’d love to straddle and mark with my juice…but still just a man.

  My man.

  “Wanna take this bottle of wine back to your place?”

  Unexpectedly, he stiffens.

  I’ve taken it a step too far, I guess.

  “Of course,” I say. “What was I thinking? I can’t just invite myself over to…”

  He protests, “No, Dusty, it’s not that, it’s more complicated than that.”

  I know exactly what that means.

  When a man says it’s complicated, it means I’m potentially a new side piece.

  “One second you’re a one-woman, old-fashioned man, and the next minute you’re something else,” I say, backing away. I knew it was too good to be true.

  I speed walk back up the beach to re-join the little party that has grown by three or four more people, all the while Jed is following me, full of explanations.

  I feel so stupid I don’t even want to hear them.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I can’t spend the night with someone until I’m married,” he says.

  I huff, “Well that’s a new one.”

  By the time we reach the party again, there’s a bonfire on the beach and everyone is a little too happy to see their superstar neighbor.

  Jed quickly gets imposed upon to grab his guitar and lead an impromptu singalong around the fire.

  I beg off, telling Marti that I’m tired and I’m heading off to the guest house.

  There’s no way I can stay and listen to him play his songs after the way I embarrassed myself.

  I’m going to stay in the guest house and then bug out first thing in the morning. Now that the glasses are safely stowed away here, there’s no reason for me to linger.

  Chapter 9

  Jed

  I’ve been roped into playing tunes around the bonfire on the beach by the small group of neighbors.

  Ordinarily, I would not mind. But I’ve drunk half a bottle of wine (that I don’t really like—I’m much more of a beer man) on an empty stomach, I’m starving but I don’t want to eat because I’ve pissed off my woman.

  What I really want to be doing is taking back the last 90 seconds of my conversation with Dusty.

  I’m half-heartedly noodling through their requests of some of my songs as well as a few of my choosing. It’s all so ingrained in my mind and in my fingers that I actually find myself writing a whole new song in my head while I’m playing another.

  The song is making me itch to get the hell out of here.

  “Excuse me, Galen, I gotta go take a whizz,” I say.

  I hear Marti giggle, “She’s in the guest house.”

  But that’s not where I’m headed.

  I leave behind the Shiner and trudge back to my house with my guitar, picking out the melody on the strings as I go.

  When I reach my house, the song is fully formed.

  I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, and I don’t wanna fuck this up.

  I gotta try this out on someone else before I play it for Dusty.

  So I call up my friend Stephanie.

  Some people say she’s a goddess, other people say she’s a witch. I call her my son Watts’s godmother.

  She answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, Jed, what are you writing?”

  This psychic ability of this chick gives me shivers. And not in a sexual way, just in a spooky way.

  “Steph, how do you know I’m up late writing music?”

  “Because it’s midnight and the only reason your old ass is still awake is you’re writing a song.”

  I mumble something about my ass not being as old as her ass.

  She laughs. “Your soul is older than mine. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

  “Whenever you talk like that it sorta freaks me out,” I say.

  “Just play me the song, old man.”

  I put h
er on speaker phone so I can strum the chords I’ve worked out in my head and I sing the lyrics I wrote down in my notebook when I first walked in the door.

  When I finish, there is an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the phone.

  “You still there?” I ask her.

  She replies. “Jed, I’m only going to say this once. Lock that woman down.”

  “How do you know…”

  “Don’t be stupid. I know. Something is different. Do you realize you’ve found your muse?”

  My voice cracks. “I do.”

  “Are you with this woman right now?”

  “Not right this second, I’m sure she’s asleep…”

  “That’s not what I mean. Are you committed or does she think you’re just fuckin’?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far.”

  “Well then why are you wasting your time talking to me? Go to her right now, and unfuck whatever you fucked up. And play her that song. And if she’s not yours after that, tell her Stevie sent you. That should work. She’s a fan of me.”

  “How do you know…”

  “Jed! Go! Now!.”

  Chapter 10

  Dusty

  I dream I’m in my childhood bedroom at my parents’ house.

  I’ve just been grounded for sneaking out to see Walter, an older boy who they deem as nothing but trouble.

  I know they’re right.

  But still, when I hear the pea gravel tinkle and scatter against my bedroom window, I open it.

  I let him inside my room, and he’s as stealthy as a snake. He convinces me to escape with him out the window. But it’s too difficult because suddenly I’m nine months pregnant. I look down in wonder at my belly, but then when I look up again, I’m giving birth in a tent surrounded by strangers. I wake up sucking in my breath in a panic attack. And that’s when I realize the tinkling of tiny rocks against a window is not part of the dream. The sound is actually someone tapping on the guest house door.

  Oh fuck.

  There’s no way Walter found me. Has he?

  I leave the light off inside and creep over to the window and look over toward the door.