by Selena Kitt
“I didn’t want him to.” Rob’s hand slid over my knee, giving me a brief squeeze. In my surprise, my foot hit the gas pedal harder than I expected when we took off. Thank God the light had turned green!
Rob flipped through my CDs as I drove. The Attic was only fifteen minutes away, not far at all. My sense of direction was awful, though—hence Katie’s iPhone directions to the venue—and with Rob sitting next to me, I felt even more spacey than usual.
“Hey, look!” Rob pulled Trouble’s “Open Season” out from my collection. “Oh, and what’s this? Justin Bieber?”
“So?” I flushed. “That Baby-Baby-Baby song was catchy.”
“Janis Joplin!” He popped it into the CD player. “This’ll get us in the mood for some blues.”
Janis started to wail, and Rob sang along. I glanced over, feeling my chest constrict. Part of me was acting all casual, a twenty-something-year-old woman making small talk and dodging my little car through traffic. Another part of me was twelve years old, standing in complete awe, watching myself sitting next to Rob Burns, lead singer of Trouble, while he sang along to Janis Joplin and occasionally drummed out a beat on the dashboard of my Kia.
When I began to sing along with Rob, he raised his eyebrows in my direction. “Hey, you can sing!”
I winked, still singing, and he joined in again. The last verse came on just as I pulled into The Attic parking lot and we sang it together. I waited to cut the engine, deciding to show off a little at the last minute and leaned in to harmonize with him at the end.
“Nice!” His compliment made me flush, and we grinned at each other in the dark heat of the car. Our smiles faded, almost in harmony, as his eyes locked with mine. I hadn’t realized how close we were, just inches away really. I felt his breath on my face. He smelled like cranberry juice and I knew I probably still smelled like beer. I tasted it as I swallowed, seeing his eyes flicker to my mouth.
“Hey, Sabrina.” The sound was just a breath.
“Hey, Rob.” My own voice was a whisper as I tilted my face up, eyes searching his.
I watched his eyes and saw the decision flash through him in an instant as he leaned in and captured my mouth, his lips pressing mine, soft and light, an easy, casual thing. I made a small sound in my throat, my hand squeezing his arm, his shoulder. The kiss deepened, and I opened my mouth to him, his hand slipping behind my head, pulling me closer.
He broke the kiss first, but I kept my eyes closed, breathless, my whole body vibrating with sensation. His eyes were open when I looked at him. I couldn’t read his expression. It was like he was searching for something. I wished I knew what.
“Ready?” His voice came back, clear and strong, and I nodded, not quite believing I’d just been kissed by Rob Burns.
Chapter Four
I looked at my watch as we got to the door of The Attic. It was already eleven. I hoped my assumption—that they played all night—was accurate. If it wasn’t, I was going to have one disappointed rock star on my hands. The music vibrated the soles of my boots as we stood at the door paying the cover charge. Rob paid mine, despite my objection.
The place—dim, smoky and rocking hard—had dark paneled walls. They reflected little light, but the strange, painted tin of the ceiling attempted to make up for it. On a night like tonight, with wall-to-wall people, I thought this was what sardines must feel like. Rob grabbed onto my hand, pulling me through the crowd, moving steadily toward the music.
It was loud enough he had to lean in and yell, “Do you want something?”
He pointed toward the bar in front of us. I shook my head, waving him to the right, toward the music. I glimpsed the stage. It was through a door at the end of the bar and writhing bodies blocked the entrance.
I drew closer to Rob as we squeezed into the crowded room. People were seated at candlelit tables and many stood along the walls or between the tables, dancing and cheering. Jimmy, still on stage, played a smooth Texas blues like only one of the Voss brothers could.
Rob stopped, staring at the stage, eyes glazed, his mouth caught in a half-smile. It occurred to me his expression would have mirrored my own at the very moment Rob himself had stepped on stage that night.
“Hey! Rob Burns?” A waitress, carrying a tray of empty glasses, stopped to tilt her tawny head at him.
He didn’t look away from the stage. “Yeah.”
“Wow! Awesome!” She smiled, trying to catch his eye. When he glanced at her, flashing a quick grin, she rewarded him. “Hey, why don’t you sit up front with Uncle Joey?”
I did a double take. Here I’d been thinking we’d have to find a place to stand against the wall! The blonde smiled at me, but now her expression changed. I felt like she would have ripped my hand from his given the chance.
“That’d be great!” Rob grinned, his eyes widening when he looked at me. He looked exactly like Katie had earlier tonight when Rob informed us we were getting All-Access Passes and I fought the urge to laugh out loud.
The waitress led us through the crowd to a table right in front of the stage. The vibration of the music rolled through me, up my feet and legs, right into my pelvis, a rocking pulse. I pursed my lips against a smile while the waitress made introductions.
“Uncle Joey, this is Rob Burns—from Trouble!” The blonde beamed, leaning in to yell the words. I couldn’t tell if her increased volume was because the music was so loud or because Uncle Joey was going deaf. An old man, his grey hair and mustache a subtle contrast to his dark skin, lifted a wrinkled hand at Rob and smiled, eyes bright.
“You’re Uncle Joey Winters!” Rob exclaimed, shaking the man’s hand so hard I worried about the old guy for a second. Rob slid into the chair next to him, still grasping his hand. “I can’t believe it! You’re Uncle Joey Winters!”
I stood there, forgotten, grinning and hugging myself. Voss finished a song and the crowd cheered, whooping and hollering for more the way you can only do in a blues club. The waitress tried to get Rob’s attention, asking if he wanted anything, but someone behind her called for a drink and she was forced to move away from our table.
I slid into a chair next to Rob, smiling at the dark-skinned woman on my right. She smiled, but her attention was focused on the stage. Rob and Uncle Joey were able to talk more freely now that the music lulled. Voss tuned his guitar and he took a shot of what looked like whiskey from one of five full shot glasses sitting on a stool on stage.
“Yeah, I loved his stuff!” Rob clapped the old man on the shoulder. He must have felt me move in next to him, my thigh brushing his, because he turned to me, still grinning. “Sabrina! This is Uncle Joey Winters! This is the guy who single-handedly kept blues alive around here in the 70’s!”
I laughed. “I live here, Rob. I know all about the jam sessions in the house on 29th Street.”
“Oh, right.” His face fell for a moment, and I squeezed his arm and winked.
I reached over him to shake Uncle Joey’s hand. “I’ve seen you play. You’re amazing! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sabrina.”
Uncle Joey smiled and gave me a nod as Voss started another song. His guitar skills were legendary, and his music was just Uncle Joey’s style, right out of Memphis in the 60’s. A lot of acts they’d had in here lately appealed to a younger crowd, less Delta blues and more blues-rock and blues-funk. From the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Joey nodding and tapping his foot to the beat. Rob leaned back and watched Voss in amazement, his eyes on the guitar strings as if watching magic.
Jimmy rolled with one of his tribute songs to his brother, Raymond. I liked rock concerts, but for me, blues clubs were so much more intimate and intense, the audience calling out in response to the music as it moved them. This was one of my favorites, and I whooped along. For me, the words were irrelevant—it didn’t matter what they were singing, it was the rough sound of the voice, the sweet licks of the guitar, as if my body were being played along every riff.
Blues music made me want to take my clothes off.
I
shrugged my jacket onto the chair and strung my purse over it, the song moving me in my seat. There was just no sitting still for music like this. It radiated a rhythmic kind of heat and Jimmy’s guitar was like dark lightning in a summer sky. I danced in my chair, eyes closed, arms raised above my head, letting the music move down the front of my body and seep into my hips, like thick honey. I felt Rob’s hand on my thigh and just smiled in response, not opening my eyes.
When the song ended, I leaned back with a sigh, looking at Voss on the stage. He downed another shot, raising the glass as he turned to the mic, like he was making a toast.
“Well, folks, are you having a good time?”
The room stomped and howled in response, Rob and I included. Our eyes met and we both grinned.
“More!” Rob’s voice surprised me, and I jumped at the sound. He was flushed, eyes bright as he squeezed my leg—my thigh this time. I felt his calluses through my fishnet stockings, a sensation that made my hips rock toward him, an involuntary response.
“I got a song or two left in me tonight, I think.” Jimmy set the empty glass behind him on the stool. “Anything you want to hear, pretty lady?”
Rob’s hand on my thigh was distracting and it took me a moment to realize Voss was looking at us. I glanced up, surprised. He couldn’t mean me? But Jimmy looked right at me and winked. I put my hands to my cheeks, feeling them burn.
“Lost in You?” I called out, so everyone could hear, even though I was sitting only six feet from him.
“You gotta give a pretty lady what she wants.” Voss smiled and turned to cue the band.
The room agreed in unison, whooping and jeering.
Rob slipped his arm over my shoulder, pulling my chair closer to his.
“You seem to have a way with musicians,” he murmured against my ear.
“Do I?” I shivered as his breath moved the hair on the back of my neck.
His gaze fell to my mouth again and I knew he was going to kiss me. His lips met mine just as Voss began making his guitar sing—a long, slow wail. I slid my arm over Rob’s shoulder and across the back of his t-shirt, kneading the muscles there with my fingers. His tongue found mine and I moaned. Voss’ voice was like liquid smoke and between the music and Rob’s mouth on mine, I was completely carried away.
When I broke the kiss, Rob’s eyes met mine in the dimness.
“Dance with me?”
“Now?” He looked around in surprise. There were a few people dancing alone or with a partner, but not many. There was no real dance floor.
I nodded, standing and starting to dance by myself, glowing in the heat of Voss’ guitar. I stretched my hand out to Rob, enticing him. He watched me, his gaze roaming over my body as I undulated in response to the pulse of the music before he stood and pulled me to him. I felt his denim-clad thigh between mine as we swayed, his hand against the small of my back, pressing me hard against his chest.
The throb and swell of the music moved us against one another, a delicious chafing. Jimmy’s voice and the slide of his guitar urged me to melt into Rob’s body, the flush between us turning to fire. Under the pressure of his hands, the surge and ripple of him, the room disappeared. Our bodies clung together, the sweltering flow of the music all around us.
Rob pulled me close, his mouth against my ear as he sang the words, “Need you more every day, hooked on you, don’t want nobody else…”
The realization hit me—I was dancing ten feet from Jimmy Voss while Rob Burns held me and sang the same song into my ear. The motion felt natural, easy, but the thought made my knees weak. I clutched him, and he moved to kiss me again as we danced, his tongue playing over mine, his mouth sweet, dark, velvet heat.
When the song ended, I didn’t want to let him go. I kept my arms around him, cheek against his chest, eyes closed, breathing in his scent.
“Well, folks, I’ve been up here going on two hours now. I think it’s time to give Uncle Joey his stage back, whaddya say?”
Clever, I thought, looking at Voss. There were no arguments from the crowd with that segue. Everyone cheered and stomped for Uncle Joey as he stood, slightly hunched, and lifted one hand in acknowledgment to the crowd. He made his way onto the stage as Voss made his way off.
Rob squeezed me hard, kissing my forehead, a chaste thing compared to the past few moments. “This is so awesome. Thank you, Sabrina.”
I pressed my hip against him as I turned, pulling out my chair. “My pleasure.”
Uncle Joey sat at the piano and started banging out a boogie beat. He looked small and ancient sitting with a homemade harmonica holder around his neck, but the man could play like nobody’s business.
Rob caught the waitress and ordered us two beers. I just tapped my foot to the music, enjoying the feel of his arm and thigh against mine as we listened to the music. When the waitress put our drinks on the table, Rob paid her. She leaned down to whisper something into his ear.
Rob’s mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “No, but thanks.”
I raised my eyebrows but didn’t say anything, twisting the cap off my beer and taking a swig as I watched the waitress swish away.
“To accidents.” Rob tipped his beer toward me and clinked the bottleneck against mine.
I laughed. “Interesting toast.”
“Should I say, happy accidents?” He smiled around the rim of his bottle as he started to drink.
“Hey, mind if I join you?” We both looked up to see Jimmy Voss standing behind us, pointing to the chair Uncle Joey had vacated.
“Sure!” Rob jumped up, pulling the chair out. “Please, sit!”
I hid a smile behind my beer bottle. “Hi, Jimmy, great set.”
Voss gave me a nod, his dark eyes flickering to where my flesh was exposed between black fishnet thigh-highs and mini-skirt. I was strangely dressed for a blues bar. Rob took his seat again, his gaze on Voss. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.
“I’m Sabrina.” I jerked my head toward Rob. “This is Rob Burns. He’s the lead singer of Trouble. And of course, we know who you are.”
“He doesn’t know who Trouble is!” Rob nudged me hard under the table, reminding me so much of Katie I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Sure I do.” Voss took out a cigarette and lit it. He ran a hand over his hair, a deep, slicked back black. “Couldn’t turn on my damned radio without hearing ‘Can’t Break a Broken Heart’ every half hour or so for about a month.”
I laughed. “You listen to popular radio?”
“What, you think I only listen to blues?” He blew smoke from the side of his lopsided smile. “Gotta check out the competition. Our number one hit, ‘Bad Dog Blues,’ played on a ton of popular stations once upon a time. You were probably still in diapers then, honey.”
I stuck my tongue out. “I was in high school, thank you very much. I’m not as young as I look.”
Voss signaled the waitress before winking at me. “Music to my ears.”
I flushed and pretended to be interested in a bad painting of Sonny Boy Williams on the wall over Voss’ head.
“So, you can sing, pretty boy, but can you play?” Voss turned his gaze to Rob.
“I’m a crappy guitar player.” Rob fingered the napkin under his beer and flushed. “I play just enough to write songs. But I really admire what you do.”
“Thanks.” Voss turned to pay the waitress for the beer and two shots she set on the table, but she waved it away, telling him it was on the house. He drank the shots fast, hissing after each one, and then twisted the cap off the beer.
“So, I’m curious.” Rob watched him down half the beer. “I’ve heard you’ve gone to open tuning—with a capo?”
Voss set his beer down and raised an eyebrow at me. “And the boy said he couldn’t play!”
“I know a lot,” Rob replied, looking sheepish. “I just don’t practice enough.”
“Nah.” Voss nodded toward the stage. “I tune her just like everybody else, son. But I’ve foun
d the capo does some good work on the right fret.”
I took a sip of my beer and turned to watch Uncle Joey. People whistled and hollered for more, so he started banging on the piano again. He looked like he was having a great time.
“Cool!” Rob’s voice brought my attention back to the table. “That’s like playing every song in ‘E’! No wonder your sliding licks work the way they do!”
Voss nodded, signaling the waitress again.
“Trade secrets, musicians only.” Then he glanced at me and smiled that lopsided smile, amending himself. “Musicians and pretty ladies.”
Rob and Voss started talking guitars and slides and licks and I tuned them out again. I liked watching, Rob’s eyes shining as he talked music with one of his idols, Voss smiling and looking at him like any elder would some young buck—tolerant, patient and a little amused. Voss finished off four more shots, following those with two more beers as they talked. I was still nursing my first, but Rob was on his third.
“So, pretty lady, do you sing?” Voss flicked open his lighter and lit another cigarette. It just added to the image of the raspy-voiced blues artist.
“No.” I lied. “Only in the shower.”
“Now that I’d like to see.” Voss leaned back in his chair, tipping the legs up.
“Don’t let her fool you. She’s amazing.” Rob, who I thought had forgotten about me while they were lost in conversation, turned to put his arm over my shoulder.
“No, I’m not!” I gaped at him, pinching his leg under the table.
“So, pop star, wanna come up and sing something with me?” Voss offered, but he was still looking at me.
“Me? Really?” Rob’s jaw dropped.
“Sure.” Voss stabbed his just-lit cigarette out. “I’m due up there in half an hour. I’ll call you and the pretty lady up for a song.”
My heart beat in my throat so hard I couldn’t even talk.
“Hell, yeah!” Rob accepted. “We’d love to!”
Voss got up, downing the rest of his beer and tossing some money on the table for the waitress despite her insistence the drinks were on the house.
