'90s Playlist (Romance Rewind Book 1)

by Brighton Walsh

  “Dude, I know your name. I introduced you, remember?”

  He laughed and retracted his hand. “Duh. Of course. I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  He nodded, and his cheeks went even redder. His blush made her want to say twisted and depraved things to him. To unearth the old Rory and see how deep she could get that crimson to go.

  She reached her hand out toward him, a peace offering. “I’m Rory.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers. His palm was so big it practically dwarfed her knuckles, the pads of his fingers calloused and rough.

  Rory had liked it rough.

  She’d thought her sex drive had dried up, left her on some permanent vaycay. The return was like spring’s arrival after a long winter. She thought of James’s chafed fingertips scratching over places where she was soft and slick, and tingles flowed from her spine to her toes. Would he be rough with her? Or would his boy scout demeanor follow him into bed, too?

  “It’s nice to meet you.” James released her hand. She fought the instinct to scoot her chair closer. “Is Rory short for something?”

  Well, wasn’t he the perceptive one.

  “Aurora,” she said with a grimace. “Aurora Skye Stone.”

  “That’s an awesome name. Makes you sound like you were born to be a rock star.”

  Rory snorted and shook her head. “No rock star future for me. I’m just the unfortunate result of hippie parents who decided to curse me with their bad choices.” Another moment of unguarded openness. Rory threw a hard glance at the table.

  “Are you a local?” he asked.

  A seamless change of subject. Two points for James.

  “I’ve lived here six years, but four of them were spent on campus, which the townies would definitely deem as not being local. So I guess the answer’s no.”

  “You went to Pearce?”

  Rory tried to not think about the school a mile up the road, its hallowed halls tucked neatly behind archways of stone and a perimeter of tall oak trees she used to write poetry beneath. She tried not to read too much into James’s question either, the one that said he couldn’t understand why anyone who’d been a student at the venerable Pearce College was now doing nothing better than serving coffee.

  “I did.” She hoped the finality in her tone was enough of a full stop to end that line of conversation.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said. Realizing he’d touched a nerve, maybe? “I’m just surprised I never met you.”

  Rory glanced up, and was caught once again by brilliant blue. The earnestness in his gaze was a soothing balm to the poison of her regret.

  “I graduated two years ago.” And she hadn’t ventured much out of the halls of the English department, or away from her tight circle of friends, so it wasn’t likely that they would’ve crossed paths.

  Rory thought about the roommates and classmates she’d once surrounded herself with, people who’d cried and hugged her close at their graduation, saying how much they’d miss her and swearing they’d keep in touch.

  Guess they hadn’t been such a tight circle after all.

  “I suppose you’re a music major?” she asked. At James’s nod, Rory added, “What year are you?”

  “Senior.”

  “So you’re almost outta here, then.”

  “Yeah.” He rapped his knuckles against the table. “I can’t believe there’s only a month of the semester left.” There was a heaviness to his voice when he said it, a wistful expression she’d worn once too, back when a bright future after Pearce seemed possible.

  Her flight-or-fight took over. She stood and whisked the box of tea off the table.

  “It was nice chatting, but I’ve gotta close up.”

  “Right. Sure.”

  He stood as well and finished the last sips of his tea. Guitar case in one hand, he followed her to the counter, placed his mug in the bin and offered her another bashful smile.

  “Do you ever come to campus at all?” he asked. “I’m playing with a band at Puck’s on Friday.”

  Rory’s gut clenched. Puck’s was Pearce’s on-campus lounge, named after the infamous trickster elf in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She’d loved it for its high ceilings, Adirondack-style exposed beams and perfect acoustics, but performances at Puck’s were no longer her reality.

  Rory’s reality was in bags of Arabian brew, and counting the change in the tip jar.

  “I work on Fridays.”

  He took a step closer. Their differences in height gave him an advantage he clearly appreciated, eyes dropping to where the vee of her shirt met her apron. She caught him lingering over the taste of cleavage on display there, and his smile tilted up to one side.

  “Maybe you could get the night off?” he asked. “I’d really like to see you again.”

  Not as sweet and innocent as she originally thought, then.

  Rory’s tension dissipated, like steam hitting cool evening air. She gave him a wicked grin and sauntered backwards toward the door.

  “I’ll bet you would.”

  He laughed, gaze skirting to the floor and back up again. Oh, the things she could say to this boy. The things she could do. She’d forgotten how good seduction felt, and she slipped back into it, like a language she’d once spoken fluently. Rory pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, making sure James was watching as she slicked it over her top lip.

  He licked his own lips in response. Stared at her for a beat, then swallowed.

  “I’ll let you finish cleaning up,” he said gruffly. “Thanks again for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome.” Rory leaned back against the front door in a sultry move, then pulled it open for him. “For the tea.”

  He chuckled and went through the archway, then turned around and pointed a finger at her. “Friday at Puck’s. I hope you’ll be there.”

  “Good night, Mr. Griffith.”

  She closed the door and locked it. Reaching for the broom, she made quick work of sweeping up the floor. A few minutes passed before Rory realized she was still smiling.

  Smiling was dangerous, as was this strange bubbly feeling in her chest, one she vaguely remembered.

  It was hope. Something she’d forgotten she could even feel.

  Something she’d stopped allowing herself to feel.

  She shook her head and went back to work, but the ghost of a smile lingered.

  Chapter 2

  “Mr. Ryan, can I take tomorrow night off?”

  Rory tried to look as nonchalant as possible as she stood in the hallway of her boss’s home. There was no way he was going to say yes. Fridays were their busiest nights at Josephine’s, especially this close to the end of the semester. Students and locals took over the place, staying until closing and playing the board games they kept a supply of on the shelves in the back. To make matters worse, the new hire, Gretchen, was barely out of training. She couldn’t be left alone, but Rory thought she’d ask anyway. That way when Mr. Ryan said no, she’d at least have an excuse—someone else to blame when James came by the café again and asked why she hadn’t showed.

  If he came by the café again.

  Her stomach plummeted. Why did the idea of not seeing him again bother her so much?

  Mr. Ryan paused in his endeavor to find some singles in his wallet and jogged into his kitchen. Drawers rolled open and slammed closed.

  “Friday night, huh?” he asked absently. “You got a hot date or something?”

  Rory huffed out a laugh. “No. Just something on campus. A show at Puck’s I thought I might go see.”

  Although if it happened to turn into something more afterward, she wouldn’t complain.

  She glanced down the hall at Kaleb and Noah. Definitely not the kinds of thoughts she should be having with two elementary-school-aged kids less than three yards away from her.

  Mr. Ryan hurried back from the kitchen, triumphant with a wad of bills in his hand. Mrs. Ryan was usually the one who paid Rory on the afternoons she babys
at—the second part-time job Mr. Ryan had offered her when she’d first been hired at Josephine’s and nervously scanned the schedule, asking if she could pick up any additional shifts. But Thursdays were his wife’s girls’ night out, and he obviously had no idea where extra cash was.

  “That sounds like fun,” he said, counting out the remainder of Rory’s pay and handing it over. “I think we can manage without you for a night. I’ll ask Gretchen to stay on a little later.”

  “Great.”

  Crap. Now she was actually going to have to go through with it.

  “Thanks Mr. Ryan.” She waved at Kaleb and Noah. “Night, boys.”

  They waved back at her as she left, calling out goodnights and thank yous for playing catch and helping them with their homework. As she began the short walk back home, Rory mentally swat away her nerves. So what if she was about to set foot back on campus for the first time in years? No one there knew who she was anymore. No one who cared and would ask her questions about what she was still doing hanging around this nothing little college town.

  And she was going to get to see James.

  The remembrance of their attraction returned, goosebumps rising on her arms along with it. Rory had to laugh. It was a teenager’s reaction in comparison to the way she’d once acted around a guy she wanted.

  An infatuation. That was all this was. She wanted his adorable smile and those flushed cheeks. To hear him sing again, and maybe feel those warm, calloused hands on her skin. To see what kind of music and lyrics they could come up with when she had her hips circling above him and his body arching underneath her.

  Maybe the old Rory could make a comeback. A one-night-only return to her former self.

  Then she’d go back to her regularly scheduled programming.

  * * * * *

  It was a surprisingly warm evening when Rory began the trek in from town.

  She didn’t relish the walk—her Chucks were wearing kind of thin—but Hammond Falls didn’t have any public transportation and her school ID had long since expired, so trying to finagle her way onto the Pearce transit bus wasn’t an option. At least those stubborn, ugly, grey patches of snow had finally disappeared. This time of year always reminded her of her favorite Rainbow Brite movie, the one where winter took the form of a petulant child who didn’t want her fun to end, no matter what the calendar said.

  Tonight, however, the temperature was hovering near sixty, so warm in comparison to how it had been that it almost felt balmy.

  Her messenger bag slung over her shoulder, Rory passed the last of the restaurants and hotels that lined Main Street and began the ascent along the residential area leading toward Pearce. Colonial-style mansions sat back from the road, their sprawling yards and massive size proof of the opulent wealth that had built this town, statuesque beacons for the students who didn’t have to attend Pearce on a scholarship and the gamblers who came up from New York City. Hammond Falls’ biggest claim to fame was its racing track, and come summertime the town capacity tripled, the sidewalks crowded with Manhattan’s most posh residents, dripping with cash and snotty attitudes.

  It had been a shock for Rory after during her first summer here, especially since her outward appearance wasn’t something you’d find underneath the elegant, wide-brimmed hats worn to one of the town’s many lavish Sunday buffets, not to mention the fact that most of her clothes had become threadbare from overuse. But people like that responded to a subservient nature, and Rory had discovered that despite the myriad of piercings in her ears and multi-colored braids hanging from her head, a bunch of well-placed yes sirs or no ma’ams could earn her enough in tips to cover groceries for a week.

  She’d also discovered she liked Hammond Falls better in summer, when campus was nearly empty. Fewer memories that way.

  When she reached Pearce’s entrance and the long block of stone bearing the college’s name, Rory allowed herself a moment to pause beneath the trees. One look at the waning sunlight filtering in through the canopy of leaves overhead to let herself remember the liberation and thrill she’d felt when she first got here.

  It was a Herculean task. The memory was quickly blocked out, blackened by the one that soured everything.

  “Good news, Rory—we’re finally doing it! Alaska, here we come!”

  As if ‘finally’ was a term that gelled with that particular bit of information from her parents.

  Music carried on the light breeze, James’s voice ringing out, deep and clear. It brought Rory back into the present. She didn’t want to miss any of his set, and the past needed to stay in its shallow grave where it belonged.

  Rory hung a right at the red-brick academic buildings and followed the road into the thicket of trees where Puck’s was nestled. A line of students trailed out of the one-story building and onto the grass.

  Doubt struck her for a moment, her lungs suddenly tight with the feeling that she didn’t belong, but a quick sweep of the crowd assuaged her fears. She still looked like the girls here. Dressed in a tight-fitting army surplus top and frayed vintage cords, her hair wound into pig-tailed braids and clipped up with old barrettes, she fit right in.

  Dredging up her old badass confidence, Rory skipped past the line with a wave that made it seem like she knew someone waiting at the front, and ducked underneath an arm to easily slip inside.

  Sometimes being short had its advantages.

  Inside, the wide open space was filled with students, the conversations loud and the music even louder. Surrounded by his bandmates, James was standing in the middle of the stage, his presence commanding in another open flannel over a grey T-shirt and ripped jeans. A sheen of perspiration shined on his forehead from the heat of the lights and the effort of playing, but it didn’t make him any less attractive. If anything, Rory wanted him sweatier. Wanted the wet press of their bodies and the penetrating fullness of his body inside hers.

  Shit, she was hard up. How long had it been since she’d last gotten laid?

  Too long to calculate.

  Weaving through the room, Rory made her way to the bar. No underage drinking was allowed at Puck’s, so the drugs of choice were water, soda, and Pixy Stix. Shelling out a dollar, she stuffed it into the Student Activities jar on the counter, grabbed a handful of sugary sweets and turned back toward the stage. That huge, sunbeam smile of James’s was plastered on his face as he jammed through a rock version of The Rainbow Connection.

  A man who loved grunge and The Muppets? Jesus Christ, what was he doing to her? That same lightness Rory felt on Sunday came over her again, a happiness that tugged at her lips until she had to grin.

  It was the perfect moment for James to catch her eye.

  His smile grew even wider, and he used a moment when he should’ve been taking a breath to mouth the word Hi.

  Rory’s heart did not leap into her throat. It didn’t.

  Hi yourself, she mouthed back.

  When they finished the song, James hunched down at the edge of the stage and beckoned her toward him with a curl of his finger. She hung back, one eyebrow peaked. Entranced by his voice or not, Rory did not ‘come’ for anyone. Well, not unless their fingers were someplace much more exciting than the air. But then James pouted and pressed his palms together in prayer position, mouthing the word Please. It was such an endearing motion, and Rory liked the idea of making him beg.

  She pushed through the throng of people until she stood at the foot of the stage.

  “Another well-performed song, Mr. Griffith,” she said. “You definitely don’t disappoint.”

  “Well, Kermit the Frog is one of my idols. I have a poster of him on my dorm room wall.”

  “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I’m kidding.” But he deadpanned it, so Rory couldn’t tell if he really was kidding, or doing what she’d asked.

  Either way, she was enjoying it.

  “I’m glad you got the night off,” he said. “Can you stick around for a while?”

  “Is that an invitation t
o hang with the band after the show?”

  “It is. Well, with me anyway. If you want.”

  Another blush. Another grin. Fuck.

  One of James’s bandmates called out his name. He glanced over his shoulder and held up his hand, then turned back to Rory with an apologetic tilt of his head.

  “Looks like these assholes expect me to keep playing. Geez, it’s not like we’re performing or something.” He stood back up, coming to his full height again, towering over her. His broad chest stretched the confines of his T-shirt. “Any requests?”

  She licked the edge of her Pixy Stix and tipped her head back, letting the sugar coat her tongue. James’s gaze was trained on her throat as she swallowed.

  “You know what I like. Surprise me.”

  A wicked grin was her only response.

  He said a few quiet words to his bandmates, counted a one, two, three, into the mic, and launched into Pearl Jam’s Elderly Woman Behind the Counter In a Small Town.

  Emotion welled up inside her and clenched like a fist around her heart as James sang about familiar faces, former selves not changing and small towns predicting your fate. It was like kryptonite, what this music could do to her. Grunge had the power to make her feel alive, and the teenager inside her who’d fallen in love at first note when Even Flow hit the airwaves was squealing and holding up a lighter. But that teenager was a part of herself that Rory had lost touch with over the years, boxed her up and stored on a dusty shelf in her mind.

  Wasn’t that poetic justice? Music that once made her so feel free now only served as a reminder of how confined her life had become. The lyrics hit home so hard it would’ve made the sugar in her stomach turn to acid if James didn’t look so strikingly beautiful up there, his smile like it was only for her.

  When the last verse faded out, the crowd stomped and whooped. Rory concentrated on James while he and his band finished their set, a mix of songs by Līve, Bush and Candelbox, interspersed with folksy rock originals. The audience started to clear out the second they were done, no doubt ready to trickle into town, spending their evenings partying and getting shitfaced.