Tunes

by KC Enders

  A cute girl with platinum blonde hair and a purple undercut is coming our way with a bucket of beers and a couple of glasses of water.

  “I did.” Gavin flashes our new waitress, Dahlia, a pearly smile and says, “Thanks, doll. We’ll take an order of nachos and some wings.” He tilts his head toward me and addresses me, “That good with you, babe?”

  Babe?

  I nod slowly, biting my lower lip to keep my snarky comment in check for the time being. “Sounds good, muffin.”

  His pouty lower lip twitches at that.

  “Great. I’ll get that right in for you. And I’m so sorry about the confusion.” Dahlia pops the tops off two bottles and tucks the opener into the bucket of ice before running off to put in our order.

  I look out at the ocean, watching the teal water rise and roll its way up onto the white sand.

  Gavin sets an open bottle of beer next to me and grabs his own, holding it out for a tap.

  I raise mine and stare at him just long enough that he starts impatiently swinging his bottle back and forth.

  “What did you tell them?” I nod toward the hostess stand. “What confusion and why the special ass-kissing treatment?”

  He stretches his arm, leaning into the table, loudly clinking our bottles together. Settling back in his chair, Gavin takes a pull from his beer and taps his fingers on the tabletop, matching the beat of the music coming through the speakers.

  * * *

  GAVIN

  How am I going to explain this bullshit, so Gracyn doesn’t think I’m a total ass? Or insane.

  I buy myself a little time, wanting to spin it just right, tapping out the beat of the reggae playing on the sound system. Gracyn and her grit are quickly weaving their way into the forefront of my thoughts. She’s mighty, maybe a little bit scary. But she’s got the whole give-and-take thing going on, and that is sexy as hell.

  Fuck it.

  “I told them that you were on tour with Gaga. That you were trying to have a relaxing week while the tour’s on hiatus.” I don’t look at her as the words tumble from my mouth. I can’t. As it is, I’m afraid my teeth are going to pierce my lower lip; I’m biting down so hard to keep from laughing my ass off. It’s a ridiculous story. Gaga doesn’t take time off mid-tour.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can just barely see her shoulders bouncing.

  “You’re kidding, right?” She laughs.

  The funky, punky waitress swoops in with our food, rescuing me from trying to defend my actions. The truth is, my sister’s a classically trained chef, and she went to school with the owner. We bonded while he was in school with Sasha over a bottle of bourbon while she worked on her dessert dissertation or whatever. And then he opted out of the fussy foodie world and headed to the beach for good weather and chicks in bikinis.

  “Anything else I can grab for you?” the waitress asks as she turns and starts tapping her pen on the table, mimicking my rhythm.

  Gracyn pinches her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger again and shakes her head, finally meeting my gaze, her eyes sparkling.

  “Nah, I think we’re good for a bit. Thanks.” I pop open another set of beers, passing one across to Gracyn. “Here’s to your relaxing week.”

  “You’re out of control.” She chuckles and taps me back. As she digs into the wings, she hits me with some get-to-know-you conversation. “Tell me about you. How long have you been doing this music thing?”

  “Playing or trying to make something of it?” I make the mistake of looking up at her just as she pulls a saucy finger out of her mouth.

  Goddamn, those plump lips.

  “Either. Yes. All of it.”

  I hand Gracyn a napkin because I’m not sure I can survive her licking another finger.

  “I’ve played forever, as long as I can remember.”

  “Just guitar, or do you have other talents?” She smirks.

  There are so many fucking ways I can answer her because that is a loaded question.

  Smirking, I give her a ridiculously appropriate response, “I play bass as well but prefer guitar. Piano, violin, cello. I can fake it on the drums, but I don’t love it. Ian is a hell of a lot better than I am.” I shrug and snag some nachos, adding a healthy dollop of sour cream before popping one in my mouth.

  The wind whips her blonde waves up and across her face, lodging a lock in a sticky bit of sauce. Somehow, all of her fingers are smeared with the spicy stuff, and the back of her hand is just about useless. I reach across the table and pull the silky strands from where they’re glued to her lips.

  The air shifts and changes between us, crackling with electricity and something else. Something I don’t think I’ve ever felt before, certainly not with my ex-girlfriend, Sarah.

  I lazily wind the pale blonde piece around my finger, letting it slide between my callused fingertips before tucking it safely behind her ear.

  A rosy blush covers her cheeks that I’m pretty sure has nothing to do with the sun.

  Looks like she’s feeling whatever this is, too.

  Chapter 3

  Gavin

  The way Gracyn converses with her entire body is fascinating. The way she laughs is just a little too loud. She comes across like she’s perfectly at ease, even when she’s hanging out with a jackass like me, like we’ve known each other for far longer than just the handful of hours we’ve spent together.

  Our waitress has cleared our plates and brought a fresh bucket of beers and some key lime pie for us to share, sliding Gracyn and me from the early-bird hour well through the regular dinner rush.

  Somewhere in the time we’ve spent getting to know the superficial things about each other, the sun has committed to setting, painting the sky an unbelievable palette of pinks and oranges and purples.

  Far more importantly, the music piped in through the substandard speakers has been replaced with a small reggae band. Small but soulful, their beat undeniable and potent.

  Savoring my last bite of the pie, I watch Gracyn from the corner of my eye, appreciating the way she welcomes the music, allowing it to move through her. Embraces it with the subtle motion of her head, the sway of her shoulders. The tapping of her purple-painted toes.

  Pulling myself up from the chair, I excuse myself to the restroom and stop by the band on the way back to the table. “Hey, man, you got some of the classics on your set list?”

  The front man fixes me with a look I can’t quite decipher. “Whatchu got in mind, man?”

  “Uh, ‘Young Girl’ or something similar,” I say.

  He pushes his dreads over his shoulder and narrows his eyes at me, making me second-guess my request.

  “Your stuff is great. I just … you see that girl over there?”

  He follows my nod to Gracyn, and a broad smile stretches across his face.

  “I got you, man. I give you a little lead-in and get her warmed up, a’ight? Then, I slide into your beat.” He grasps my hand and pulls me in for the manly chest-bump-shoulder pat that tells me he’s truly got my back.

  I grab a couple of shots of tequila from the bar and make my way back to the table.

  Gracyn cranes her head back, raking her gaze up my chest. “If I shoot that, things could get out of hand.”

  We’re both more than a few beers in, but she’s in no way shitty, and she’s certainly not hiding the fact that she’s checking me out.

  “You just need to get up and move a little, work off some of the alcohol.” I hand her the shot, bracing for the jolt I know is coming as our fingers touch.

  Her eyes widen, and her breath hitches. Just like mine does.

  We each tip back the tiny glasses, emptying the golden fire down our throats, our focus never straying.

  I reach for her hand, pulling her up out of the chair and into my chest. I can practically see the electricity crackling between us. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her close to me while propelling us through the tightly arranged tables toward the minuscule dance floor.

  My m
an in the band launches into a sultry island beat, and Gracyn starts moving her hips, her shoulders, that ass. She’s naturally fucking sexy. No pretense, no bullshit. Just pure and honest grace in motion.

  The string lights crisscrossing overhead cast a soft glow on her sun-kissed skin, highlighting her delicate collarbone and illuminating the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the scraps of her bikini top. Her movements, almost serpentine, are consuming every one of my thoughts. She slides her hands into her hair, lifting it off the back of her neck. My hand presses firmly into her lower back, just above the swell of her ass, holding her against me. Her hips rock and sway, grinding through the rest of the song and solidly into the next.

  And the next.

  And the one after that.

  The air is thick and sticky on the dance floor, bodies pressing in on one another. The sweet smell of alcohol and impending hook-ups swirl around us, and I swear to God, all kinds of bad decisions will be made tonight. But I don’t want that—not just that anyway.

  Since I dragged Gracyn out on this dance floor, the only communication between us has been with our bodies. And, as good as that silent conversation is, I want to know even more about her. She’s smart and witty, but I want to know what she thinks about, what she reads, what she knows. All I have is a first name and a vague idea of where she’s going to school.

  Most of what we’ve talked about has been centered around me—music and my on-hold college plans. My parents’ undeniable support of me checking out of my education to play in a bunch of beach bars and me hoping beyond the odds to get a break and make it. What dude doesn’t love being the center of a gorgeous girl’s attention?

  But I want to know her deepest thoughts and the things she’s passionate about.

  “You want to clear out of here? Grab a roadie and walk?” I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

  The scent of coconuts and sweat, sweet and salty, invades my senses, and I have to force myself not to take just a tiny taste.

  Gracyn presses in even closer to me and responds, “I do. Let me run to the restroom first. I’ll meet you at the stairs.” She slides her hands across my chest, her touch igniting a trail of desire across my skin, before she twists away from me and saunters toward the back of the bar.

  It takes every last bit of concentration I have to make it across the floor to catch our waitress and pay the bill. A lot of talking myself down and some hopefully subtle adjustments along the way keep me from following her and finally tasting those lips.

  * * *

  GRACYN

  Again, why didn’t I bring my phone with me?

  The restroom grants me the respite I need to think clearly, away from Gavin’s intense eyes and oozing personality. Away from the pull I feel toward him.

  Lis’ voice resonates through my head; her solid advice would be to leave things as they are. See if I see him again this week. Cows and free milk, you know.

  But it’s spring break, and there’s something about this guy. I don’t want the night to end. Not yet.

  I splash some cool water on my cheeks and assess the reflection that stares back at me in the ancient mirror hanging over the sink. The edges of it are black and spotted where the silver has oxidized, framing the hot mess I’ve melted into over the course of the day.

  Maybe I should listen to Lis’ advice rattling around my head. I could have the hostess call me a cab and just go back to my condo. It would be the safe and conservative choice.

  And how sick am I of being conservative?

  Pulling, twisting, and piling, I contain my sweat-dampened hair at the nape of my neck with one of the bands that’s perpetually around my wrist. I try to tame a few pieces that won’t quite stay back, but it’s no use. Shaking the wayward strands off my forehead, I blow out a quick breath and chuckle softly, my mind made up.

  Fuck conservative.

  The crowded deck slows my progress, and for a single panicky moment, I’m afraid my opportunity to be a little reckless is gone. But, from the top of the stairs, I spot Gavin off to the right, phone in his hand.

  He looks up from the screen, and a lazy smile stretches across his face. “You ready?”

  Am I fucking ever.

  “I thought about bailing, leaving you out here and taking off,” I sass.

  His shorts stretch tight across his ass as he squats down to grab the plastic cups nestled into the sand by his feet. He pulls in a deep breath and nods, pouting his lips. “But you didn’t,” he states, not even gracing the comment with a question mark.

  “I like talking to you. You’re”—I bob my head back and forth, thinking about how I want to say this—“not what I expected.”

  “Seriously? I thought you were going to say you’ve got a thing for my ass.” And, with that, his smile is back.

  He hands me a cup of frozen fruity goodness with, most likely, tequila. I take a giant swallow, and as the brain freeze stabs behind my right eye, I realize there’s a lot of tequila involved.

  Chapter 4

  Gracyn

  We’ve covered most of the easy questions, but I’m not done. Well, I’m done fighting the sand for a while. It was so much easier, walking down the beach before I had all those shots, and beers, and food.

  I sit my drunk ass down on the still-warm sand, take a healthy slurp of my drink, and ask, “What’s the best book you’ve read so far this year?”

  Gavin turns back to look at me from several yards away. It’s not like I announced that I was taking a break. He walks back, careful not to kick any sand up as he approaches, and settles himself next to me.

  “What makes you think I’m a big reader?”

  “You have that look about you,” I proclaim, waving my hand at him like it makes all the sense in the world.

  His arm brushes against mine as a low chuckle rumbles through his body. “I look like I read? All nerdy and shit?”

  “Reading doesn’t make you nerdy. There are whole Insta pages dedicated to hot guys who read. Answer the question.” I bump my shoulder against him, prodding him.

  “Hmm … so you troll hot guys on Instagram?”

  “I do, but that’s beside the point. What book? You’re so totally stalling.” My straw squeaks loudly as I push it around in the Styrofoam cup.

  “I just finished reading The City of God.”

  I’m a little embarrassed by the way my jaw drops at the title.

  “You don’t have to look so shocked. I read a lot—a ton actually. I had started The Emperor of Maladies, but it was hard to digest that in the van with the guys bullshitting the whole way down here. Is that hot enough for you?” He leans in and bumps my shoulder back.

  The breeze picks up, sprinkling sand across my outstretched legs.

  “It is. Though I’d rather witness it in real life.”

  I squish my feet back and forth, burying them in the sand. As hot as the sun was earlier today, the air is cooling, and a shiver wiggles its way through my body.

  “Cold?” Gavin asks as he scoots back a tiny bit and drapes his arm around me, pulling me into his side.

  Not actually cold, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to do anything to discourage him from wrapping me up and pulling me close.

  “So, you read some pretty deep stuff. No escapism for you?”

  He is obviously so much more than I thought.

  “Less escape, more trying to make sense of things. If I read around a subject or theme, it tends to help me make sense of my own shit.” Gavin shifts subtly. I probably would have missed it if I wasn’t leaning in so close to him.

  “What are you trying to work out?” I sift sand through my fingers, somehow nervous about what his answer might be. I don’t know a thing about the first book he mentioned, but Lis has mentioned that the other refers to cancer.

  “The City of God begins as a defense of Christianity after Rome was sacked and delves into the nature of God and ultimately man’s purpose. It expounds on the profound questions of theology—t
he suffering of the righteous, the existence of evil, the conflict between free will and divine omniscience.

  “And who hasn’t been touched by cancer in some way? Sometimes, you really need to know your opponent, what you’re up against, in order to keep fighting, you know?”

  “I’m so sorry. I … you look great. I’d never have guessed you were sick.” The words fly out of my mouth in a whoosh before I stop and think of what I’m saying.

  This time, the shift is more obvious, Gavin’s muscles tensing and tightening. He pulls away from me and leans back, his hands planted firmly behind him. “What would make you assume I was sick?”

  I shrug and dig my hands into the sand, needing something to fidget with. “You said you were trying to make sense of things. Add in heavy religion and a book about cancer … I just assumed.”

  Brows raised, Gavin stares toward the water and huffs, “This sure as hell isn’t where I thought this conversation was going.”

  He looks like he’s fighting an inner battle, and that’s fine. I mean, who am I to ask him to spill his deep, dark shit? I’m certainly not planning on sharing my skeletons.

  “So, the cancer stuff is just interesting. It’s a huge part of our world, and I think it’s relevant,” he says, looking at me from the side of his eye. “I’m not sick, and as for the other, I guess I was feeling a little shitty when my girlfriend bailed on me after I decided to take time off from school to see where the music might take me, see if I can make something of this.” Gavin sucks in a deep breath and blows it out. He slowly adds, “We were together for three years. Obviously, I thought there was more to it than she did.”

  He pushes his brows together, staring at the moon’s reflection on the ocean. “I might have felt a little like the righteous one, doing all the suffering.”