by A. M. Jones
There isn’t a single shot I’d toss out. I love them all, and so will the readers. I grin as I study one of him shirtless. He’s smiling at the camera and posing like The Hulk. His chest is broad and scattered with hair that trails his stomach. I’d never know he’s heartbroken looking at this picture. Since figuring it out, there are moments I can see it all over his face, in his tired eyes, and in the slight slump of his shoulders.
I have about five mock covers I can’t choose between, so I post them for a vote in a group of book bloggers. They’re all important and help with promotion. It takes less than five minutes before reactions roll in, which makes me grin that much more.
The poll fills up, and I relax. Their input is imperative.
My phone chirps with a text message. I smile before I check it. Eli and I have been texting back and forth, but it’s a post on social media from my sister, Brenna. Camden is going to be an uncle!
I choke on my spit. Camden is Brenna’s younger twin. Since we’re the only siblings in a long string of my father’s wives, this can only mean one thing.
I dial her. “Hel—”
“What’s going on?” I ask before she finishes her greeting.
She laughs. “What do you mean, Taylor?”
“Don’t be cute.”
“Relax. Camden’s best bro, you know the one that got married last year? They’re pregnant.”
Of course, she’d be cryptic on social media to freak everyone out. “You’re sick.”
“We fell from the same tree. Get my text last week?”
She keeps me entertained with photos of hunks. I glance at the current one on my computer screen. Her texted hunk doesn’t compare to this one, but I say, “Yes. Keep them coming.”
Another laugh. “Duh.” She hangs up before I can reply, but I shoot a text to my father before he has a conniption fit or a heart attack. She keeps us both in tune with the younger generation.
My phone chirps again.
Dinner tonight? Adrian. My face flushes as my anger rises to the surface. I haven’t seen him since the night he called me an Uber cab. I talked to him last night, but I hung up as soon as I could.
Yeah, I’ll order take-out. If you pick it up. It’s time to hash things out with him.
Same place?
Yep.
I order spring rolls and chicken-fried rice, thinking I’ll hit the track at the nearest high school in the morning for a power walk. I order professional prints of the mock covers and some prints that don’t have special graphics or typography for pickup in the morning. Then I straighten my apartment by lining all of my boots and shoes in the corner of my living room how I like them. Yeah, it looks like a garden of Doc Marten’s but whatever.
After doing the same with my lipsticks in the bathroom, a knock sounds at my door. Adrian strolls in carrying dinner and kisses my cheek. I slam the door behind him. He puts the brown bag on the table.
“What’s wrong, T?” There’s apprehension on his face. Good.
“What did you say to Eli?”
He searches my face for a long moment before rolling his eyes and digs for food containers. The smell of fried rice permeates the space between us. “I was being a macho asshole.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he focuses on the food as if his wheels are turning fast.
“Let’s get something straight, right now. I like Eli. As a person. If I befriend him, which I have, that’s my decision and mine alone.”
He studies me for a few minutes and walks closer, pulling me to him, but I stay tense in his arms. “Okay, T. I trust you.” His finger traces my lips before he nips at them with his own. “I’ve missed you.” The evidence of how much prods against my stomach. He tucks his face into my neck, inhaling.
I shiver as my blood pumps, but I’m still furious so I grab his collar and jerk him close to my lips. “I’m not finished being pissed off.”
That spark shoots behind his eyes. He knows what’s coming. “I know, and I’m sorry we haven’t talked sooner. I’ve been busy on a site that needs to be finished by the end of the week and it’s all from scratch. But right now, I want to finish what you started Friday night.” His hand runs over my thigh and up my nightshirt to rub over the most sensitive area. An ache forms under his attention.
I smack his hand away. “Get to the bedroom.” Adrian loves being bossed most while he’s naked and he’ll be that way soon enough. I wish he’d turn it on me every once in a while.
When the door opens after I knock, Eli’s big smile greets me. He lets me in and I can’t help but look around. Afternoon sunlight streams across a dark wooden floor, lighting his studio. The whole apartment is wide open except for a huge bookcase that splits the space with a bed on one side and a living area on the other. String instruments must be his idea of decorating along with several different sizes of amps. A drum kit sits in the corner. The apartment is tidy, but lived in. I hope he didn’t clean for me. But I’m comparing him to Adrian’s disgusting home. I test the waters by sniffing the air. Nothing gross, but also nothing that says Eli’s hiding something gross. Adrian would’ve sprayed his cologne so thick, I’d taste and gag on it.
I swallow hard when I realize we’re alone.
“Welcome to my humble abode. The guys cancelled practice on me, but they should be here in a bit and we can head out.” He waves me to the couch. “You want anything to drink?”
“I’m fine for now. Thanks.” I sit to dig in my messenger bag and hand over the prints.
He plops next to me with a grin, smelling like an orange grove. “I get to see first?”
I nod. “Besides the few who’re helping me select the final cover. I can’t choose.”
He thumbs through them, stopping to look over each one with a drawn brow. After flipping to one of the mock covers, his eyes widen. “Wow, I look wild.” I laugh as his umber-colored irises dart to mine. This is the first time I’ve seen his eyes this close. The sun makes them brighter and warmer like caramelized bourbon sauce except for a small darker spot in his left eye. “I mean that in the best way possible. They’re amazing, Taylor.”
Warmth at his praise spreads to my neck from my chest. “Which one do you like best?”
He flips through them one more time before showing me one.
I smile. “Good choice.”
He places them back in the folder and tries to hand them to me. “I hope they help sell books.”
Pushing it back his way, my gaze never leaves his. “They’re yours.” I stare at the mahogany dot that looks as if it’s floating in whiskey. I always thought I loved green eyes on men with chestnut hair, but I change my mind.
“It’s rare.” He fiddles with the folder tab.
“Huh?”
Another grin. “The dark brown spot in my eye. You’re making me self-conscious staring at it.”
“Oh, don’t be self-conscious. They’re gorgeous. I wouldn’t describe it as brown, either.”
He laughs as his eyes twinkle with amusement. “Of course, you wouldn’t. How—”
The door opens and in walks two men I recognize. They both regard me with open curiosity.
“You guys should see this.” Eli flutters the folder in the air. The drummer snatches it from his hand. “This is Milo and Jack. Guys, this is Taylor.”
“Drama queen’s running late. He said for you to check your damn phone.” Jack tells him before turning to me, “Nice to meet ya.”
Milo smiles at me. “We’d tell you how much this guy,” he throws his thumb at Eli, “talks about you, but I’m sure you’ll hear it soon enough.”
I glance to Eli and remember the bassist and his mishap when he caught me staring in the window of Jimmy’s Bar. What has he told them about me?
Eli sends me a contrite look and grabs his phone. “I apologize in advance.”
I swallow at his words and wipe my hands on my shorts.
“Eli… I hate to say this, but it’s not right.” Milo shows us a cover print. “I think it needs more weapons and bodies
.”
“These are something…” Jack holds a plain print of Eli beating the air with a club. “This is what you started with?”
I nod and he continues, “Awesome. You’re hired.”
Milo nods. “Yeah. Can you make my muscles bigger? Maybe give me a Batman tattoo?” They laugh, but he mocks indignation. “I’m serious. I’d get one myself, but I hate needles.” He rubs his arm as if imagining it.
Then his statement draws their attention to my tattoos. Feeling their eyes appraising me, I meet Eli’s gaze straight on. I’m unsure of his attitude towards my body art. At first, I could’ve sworn it bothered him, but he can be flirtatious.
I get overwhelmed when the door plows open, startling us all. The blond bassist takes in the scene. Just like the other night, he’s sporting skinny jeans and checkered-print Vans. A huge belt buckle with a cowboy on it adorns his tiny midsection. He catches my eye. “There she is.”
Everyone waits to see what he’ll do. He squints at Eli for a long second before returning to me with a grin. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Hi,” I manage.
“Crockett, this is Taylor,” Eli introduces us. Crockett holds out his hand, and as I grab it, he tugs me off the couch.
I stumble forward and over the coffee table, spilling car and music magazines to the floor. Some weird noise shoots from my throat as four sets of hands steady me. My face heats as a chorus of obscenities are directed toward Crockett.
“Sorry, darlin’, I don’t know my own strength.” Crockett makes sure my balance is good before letting go. Remorse shines from his baby blue eyes as he bends to meet my gaze straight on. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to pull you off the couch.”
“It’s fine.” I’m sure I look a little more than freaked out. My hands tremble and my face is on fire.
“Now that I’ve made a fool of myself, let’s take pictures.” Swooping his arm through mine, Crockett gathers my bag. “You good?”
I blink at him and nod, suppressing the urge to do a sweat check. Since he’s called me out, my anxiety’s getting worse and my upper lip feels a little dewy.
“Taylor, you have that powder stuff?” Eli asks me.
“Yes.” I dig it out of my bag, happy to focus on something.
To my surprise, he takes it from me and hands it to Crockett. “Powder them up, we’ll meet you at the van in a sec.”
Crockett grins like he just met Santa Claus as he snatches the pressed powder from Eli with inhumanly long fingers. When his band mates leave, Eli pulls me to his kitchen made galley style by the peninsula running the length of it. “You want a beer?”
“Please.”
He grabs a familiar growler from his fridge—a dark jug from The Filling Station—a place to take home draft beer without buying a whole keg. In other words, it’s a craft beer lover’s candy store. “Sorry about them. Especially Crockett. He can be a little intense.” He fills two glasses and hands one to me. “Yazoo’s Summer Ale,” he tells me.
I chug it halfway, grateful for the locally brewed beer. It’s fresh from the tap as if he bought it on his way home from work. Eli watches me with an amused grin. “No, it’s okay. They’re fine. I like they feel comfortable enough to be themselves.”
After guzzling the rest, I rinse the glass and leave it in the sink just as Eli finishes his beer. “Ready?” he asks on an exhale, filling the small space with a waft of beer aroma.
I nod and study the mini poster on the fridge with a woman in the middle of Eli, Jack, Milo, and Crockett. Maddie and the Rebs.
Eli notices and gives me a smile, but his eyes and lips are tight. “Now you know what our band name was.”
I can’t take my eyes off the woman who could be mistaken for a supermodel. “She was signing autographs at Jimmy’s the other night.”
“Yeah. She caught a label deal and went solo. You know, living in Nashville, I’m surprised you don’t recognize her. A song of hers hit it big last year, still plays on the radio. Unplugged Moments.”
I gasp, knowing which one he’s talking about. It’s one of those overplayed, mainstream pop-country songs. When I go to the grocery, it’s playing. When I pump gas, it’s playing. When I’m waiting to get my teeth cleaned, it’s fucking playing. Gag. Never have I listened to it voluntarily, but I’ve used it in a book I wrote last year as a minor annoyance to one of my secondary characters. I hold my mouth to keep in my laugh, but it makes its way out in a snort. “I’m sorry, but I hate that song.”
His eyes tighten but he keeps staring at the poster. “Same here.”
The tone in his voice and the look in his eye says it all. “You loved her.”
His chest heaves and his Adam’s apple bobs as he watches me. “Still do. She’s my wife.”
Blood rushes to my head. “You’re married?” I laugh, but it doesn’t sound humorous like I want. “Of course, you are.”
“We’re separated. Court ordered while we get legal stuff straightened out.”
“Legal stuff? Does it have anything to do with the band?”
“It has to do with everything. My shop, songs we wrote.” Looking down with a drawn brow, he continues, “songs I wrote.”
I don’t ask anything more, probably because I don’t want to know. “I’m sure you’ll work things out.”
His gaze glazes over. “Maybe.”
“We should get started before the sun goes all the way down, but I need to use your restroom.”
With a jerk, he snaps back from where ever his mind went and points to the back corner of his apartment. “Sure. That door.”
Eli’s aftershave hits me in the face when I’m alone in the bathroom. I look to my shaking hands and clench them into fists. When the apartment door opens and closes, I lean against the sink and splash cold water on my reddened cheeks.
I know he’s heartbroken, but this is a whole new level I wasn’t expecting. I barely know him, so I’m not sure why I feel so crushed. I feel for him, maybe? There’s more to the story, I’m sure. I shake my head. Not my business.
What is my business—and what I need to decide right now—is what do I want from Eli? I want to be friends with him, yeah, but why? Is it because he resembles my character—a hero I made up? No. That’s not it. Not once have I compared him to Jaxon since having a conversation with him. Eli’s considerate, charming, and puts me at ease.
I want to see where this newfound friendship can go.
Now that I’ve admitted this to myself, I can also admit nothing good can come from any kind of relationship with a married man. And Adrian… I glance at myself in the mirror and see my mother. I jump as a nervous laugh comes from my throat and splash more water on my hot face.
“Shit! Fuck! Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Taking a deep breath and looking into the mirror again, it’s me staring back, tattoos and running mascara. “You’re not his type,” I whisper to the mirror. If I can just remember his disdain when he first laid eyes on me, I believe I can keep anything inappropriate from happening. I fix myself the best I can. Upon vacating the bathroom, I run into Crockett leaning against the wall.
His eyebrow cocks high on his forehead. “Shall we add Tourette’s to your list of eccentricities?”
I widen my eyes. “Fucking hell!” I shoot him a wry smile.
He laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I knew I liked you.” He glances at my cleavage before roaming my corset. “But you must let me borrow your style sometime.”
“Only if I can borrow your skinny jeans.”
He pushes me forward and looks at my rear. “Honey, you should not restrict this ass in skinny jeans. I’d give anything for that au-naturel jiggle.”
“Fine, I’ll just take the belt buckle.”
We both laugh as we depart the apartment.
Dragon Park is small compared to most parks, but what makes it unique is the huge sculpture of a dragon and the illusion it creates, weaving in and out of the ground. It’s scaled with mosaic tiles that make different mu
ral images throughout. Eli’s idea for a shoot here was brilliant.
“Not a grin. A cheese, you know?” I suggest. Eli tilts his head and flashes both rows of teeth. “That’s it.” I snap the shot with Eli in focus as the others are in line beside him out of focus while they perch on the highest point of the dragon. The setting sun gives them all a glow even as it glitters off the small tiles. Perfect. I do this with each band member at one time or other.
I set them in various poses, sometimes sitting, other times not—sometimes with instruments, sometimes not. They do a great job of joking around and most of the time making me laugh as I shoot them in their natural states of being. They also take turns taking pictures of each other with my camera.
After the sun sets, leaving a lightened sky, I flip through images. My favorite so far is an image of them standing on top of the dragon. It was fun watching them climb to the top of it. “These are great. I can’t wait to edit them.” They gather close for a peek. It’s strange having them in my personal space. I swallow, shaking the impending feeling of panic. “I’d like to get shots of you guys playing, so I’ll be at Jimmy’s on Friday.”
“Sounds great,” Eli says.
“Think of a band name yet?”
They glance at each other. Jack speaks with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, “I still vote Three Guys and a Queer.”
Crockett bursts with laughter before saying with exaggerated attitude, “I told you, Jackie boy. You don’t want me stealing your thunder.”
Milo snorts to hold his laugh. “We can always call ourselves Jack. You know, like Santana?”
Eli scoffs. “That’s because Santana’s badass enough for his band to be named after him, but we can always give Jack a signature name.” He smirks in a knowing way.
“It needs to be something catchy like Dimebag Darrell,” Crockett recommends and grins. “Eightball Jackie.” Eli and Milo laugh as Jack narrows his eyes and puffs his cigarette with impressive zeal.
