by BB Miller
I sling my bass behind my back and flex my fingers. They actually hurt from playing so much, and it feels good. This grueling practice provides a much-needed distraction from my wandering thoughts.
No further texts from Tess has me confused. I’m glad she doesn’t feel the need to text me on the regular, but another part of me is annoyed I haven’t heard from her. I guess that sums up our relationship pretty well: a constant dichotomy. I never really know what to expect, and that’s both exciting and terrifying.
“That was insane. Who would’ve thought ‘Rough Love’ could sound like that?” Cam asks almost in awe as he joins me by the refreshment table.
“You almost forget it’s a song about fucking a stranger in an alley,” I add. He laughs and opens up a sports drink. Kennedy has officially banned all alcohol when we’re practicing. It’s probably something that should’ve happened a long time ago. Maybe if it did, we wouldn’t have lost Brodie. Maybe a lot of things wouldn’t have happened, but I learned a long time ago that you can’t change the past as much as you might want to.
The smug smile that Kennedy has been sporting since Tucker picked him up from the airport shows no signs of going away. He saunters over to us and picks up a bottle of water. He looks tanned, relaxed, and at ease with himself. It’s something I haven’t seen in a very long time. This mini vacation of his was obviously needed.
“That was . . .” His voice trails as he twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long swig. “I don’t even know what that was.”
“Inspired, mate,” Sean suggests, slinging his arm around Kennedy’s shoulder.
“That’ll work. How was the flight over?” Kennedy asks. We haven’t exactly had time to catch up since he got here. Practice started as soon as Kennedy and Tucker got to the Opera House, and Kennedy has played like a man possessed for the last three hours.
“Boring as hell. I hate those long flights,” Cam complains. “I still don’t really know what day it is.”
“Aw.” Kennedy nudges Cameron in the shoulder. “I missed you, too.”
“Sure you did. I bet you thought about us every day while you were sunning yourself on some private beach and fucking like you may never get a chance to again.” Sean helps himself to a drink from the table.
“It was a good few days.”
“Fuck. Please do not tell me the next album is going to be all sappy love songs,” Sean almost whines.
“There may be a couple on there.” Kennedy pops a grape into his mouth and pats Sean on the back before heading to the stage.
Mini break over. Time to get lost in the music again.
Cardinal: Hypothetically speaking: Do you use a specific body shop?
I squint, trying to wake the hell up. I have no idea what time it is. Too fucking early would be my guess, but I can’t ignore Tess. It’s been too long since I heard from her. If Sean ever found out I was sleeping with my phone beside me just in case she tried to get a hold of me, I’d never hear the end of it. I’m sure that breaks more than one of our drummer’s infamous Murphy’s Laws.
As in for cars or my actual body? Your mind in the gutter, Cardinal?
Cardinal: Ha. Your ego is the size of Australia. For cars, smartass.
Why do you need a body shop? And you think my ego is bad, spend a few minutes with the Brit.
Cardinal: Pawning me off on your bandmates already? And I said it was a hypothetical question. For research purposes only.
Warning bells go off immediately. As far as I know, Tess doesn’t own a car. She wouldn’t dare touch the Camaro, would she?
Did you drive my car?!?
Cardinal: Oh, look at that! A meeting! Must go.
If that car is scratched . . .
Cardinal: If that car is scratched what, big guy?
Thought you had a meeting.
Cardinal: I’m curious . . .
Curiosity can get you into trouble.
Cardinal: That’s what I’m counting on.
You really have a meeting?
Leaning back against the pillows, I stare at the screen in the darkness of the hotel room and wait. She’s driving me fucking crazy, but the feeling doesn’t appear to be mutual. Another twenty minutes go by and it becomes obvious that she’s done with me for now.
Tessa
I drop my phone on my desk as if it burns me, my guilt and panic overriding my need to flirt. The one time—one time—I’ve ever borrowed a car without permission and look what happens. I groan, rest my elbows on my desk, and drop my face into my hands. He’s going to kill me. And then dump me. And then kill me again.
It had all started innocently enough. After indulging in Matt’s ginormous shower, I all but skipped down to his kitchen, loving every pleasurable ache he’d given me. I was on a Matthew Logan high, and I reveled in it.
After taking a last scan around the loft to make sure I didn’t forget anything, I spied the keys to the Camaro sitting on the kitchen table. My fingers twitched and all thoughts of hailing a cab flew out of my head.
The next thing I knew, I was running down the massive staircase to his garage. The glossy black paint, smooth leather seats, and deep throaty engine called to me. He gave me the key to the loft. Surely, he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed the Camaro, would he? Okay, maybe he would, but I couldn’t help myself.
I grin and look out my office window, remembering the thrill of turning the key the first time. That car is a freaking dream to drive. No wonder it’s Matt’s pride and joy. And now it’s been mutilated because of me.
With another groan, I flop back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, my grin vanishing and my blood beginning to boil again. I’d been in sheer bliss behind the wheel, until I’d realized I was being tailgated by someone on a beat-up dirt bike that looked shockingly out of place amongst the San Francisco traffic. It was impossible to tell gender through the rider’s black visor, but something about the way the person sat on the bike made me think it was a guy. It had been so long since I’d driven, he was making me uneasy, especially when he zoomed around me, almost scraping the bumper. The next block I found him behind me again, and I was getting seriously pissed.
By the time I reached my office, he was gone, so I put the jerk out of mind and went on with my day. I pulled into the basement-level parking garage for the first time ever and found a visitor’s spot I could use for the day. But I started feeling a little guilty around midday and resolved to return the dream machine to Matt’s during my lunch hour. And that’s when I discovered the long, ugly streak marring the sleek surface from the front wheel to the back. I don’t think the word has been invented to describe the sound that erupted from me at that moment. It was somewhere between a shriek, a growl, and a gurgle . . . a shorgle? Whatever. I think I almost gave the security guard a heart attack.
So here I sit, simultaneously wanting to hear Matt’s voice and dreading the inevitability of telling him I got his car keyed. The security footage showed that skinny little motorcycle shit cruising the lot before parking and walking suspiciously close to the driver’s side of the car, still wearing his damn helmet. I don’t know what I did to piss him—or her—off, but the asshole obviously carries a grudge.
Well. There’s no use crying about it now. I’ll just have to get it repaired before Matt gets back. He’s so finicky about his vehicles; he must have a particular body shop that he trusts. But when he replied to my text, I panicked and fell back on my usual snark. I hate that I won’t see him for three weeks, but I’ll need that time to get the repairs done, so maybe it’s a good thing.
My calendar chimes, reminding me that I really do have a meeting, so I gather what I need and get to work.
Abby has returned from her getaway with Kennedy and looks tanned, serene, and blissfully happy. It seems that nothing can fluster her this morning. The same can’t be said for me, especially when she fixes me with an appraising eye after our staff meeting. She waits until everyone except April has left, and then pounces.
“So, how is every lit
tle thing here?” she asks, a small smile gracing her lips. “I hear you’ve been expanding your musical tastes lately, Tess.”
Crap. I flip my hair over my shoulder and try for nonchalance. “Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that.”
“Hmmm, right. Spill it, Baker.” Abby leans forward, looking like the cat that caught the canary. “A little birdie told me you’re seeing a certain bass player.”
April grins. “What happened after he picked you up at the airport?”
“We went to dinner.” I tap my pen against the table. “Look, it’s not like I’m keeping it a secret, it’s just that it’s new. And we don’t really know what we’re doing. We just want to see where it goes.” I bite my lip, knowing that I may have screwed up everything with one rash decision. I wonder what my boss would think if she knew I’ve added grand theft auto to my resume.
“He looked like he knew exactly what he wanted to do the other night,” April observes with thinly veiled amusement.
I squirm in my seat, my thighs rubbing together. “Looks can be deceiving.”
Abby finally takes pity on me. “Okay, okay. Believe me; I understand how complicated it can be. Kennedy says Matt’s pretty tight-lipped about his past, but also that he’s one of his best friends. He seems like a really nice guy, Tess. And the chemistry I saw between you two during Parker’s concert is off the charts.”
“The chemistry isn’t the problem.” I grimace. “I know I usually blab all about my private life, probably too much. But this is different. I need to work a few things out in my head, you know?”
“I do know.” Abby glances out the window, a secret smile on her face. She turns back to us. “Okay, then. Let me know if you want to get together to watch any of their streaming concerts coming up.” I know this is her way of telling me she’s available any time I feel the need to talk. Which I appreciate, but I have something else I need to do first.
After another round of midday meetings, I retreat to the quiet of my office. I’ve barely had two minutes to myself since I texted Matt. I haven’t heard from him since then, a fact I’m trying not to read too much into. I need to get this car thing fixed—now. I slap a stack of dream request folders on my desk, grab my cell phone, and quickly pull up Conner’s number. He should have the information I need.
“Conner Baker,” he answers, his rich baritone echoing down the line.
“How’s the Emerald City this fine afternoon?” I smile. “Is my newest nephew behaving himself?”
My brother chuckles. “Rainy. And yes, he seems to be, although he’s making Vi crave sweets. Do you know she ate an entire apple pie last night by herself? One minute she’s lamenting that she’s gonna look like a beach ball after he’s born, and the next she’s asking for ice cream to go with the pie.”
“I’m assuming you don’t point that out to her, though.” Vivian, my sister-in-law, is usually one of the sweetest women on the planet. But pregnancy hormones can make her turn from a Disney princess to Attila the Hun in a heartbeat. Scary doesn’t do her justice.
“Hell no.” I can almost hear his shudder through the phone. “I like my balls where they are, thank you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be there on Christmas Day,” I say wistfully. The baby had just started to kick when I saw them last.
“It’s okay. I know how it is with new jobs. It wouldn’t be an issue if we could fly down, but Vi doesn’t want to be that far from her doctor if Junior decides to come early. You better be available for my freak-out call when she goes into labor, though.”
“I promise. But it’s not like you haven’t done this before, you know,” I reply. “Just make sure you have someone ready to catch you this time.” When Lacey was born, Conner had made it through the delivery like a champ, and then promptly passed out just when a nurse was going to hand the baby to him. He’d made quite an impression on the hospital staff.
“Very funny. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“What was the name of the shop Dad used when he was restoring the Camaro?”
“Chet’s on Elm in Oakland,” Conner answers readily. “Chet is the owner. It’s still there, although I think Chet only works part-time now. His son is taking over. Why?”
“I have a friend who needs a repair on a classic Chevy. I couldn’t remember Chet’s name, but I knew he was good.”
“One of the best.” I can hear papers shuffling in the background. “He costs a pretty penny, but he’s worth it.”
“Thanks. I’ve got to go, though. Love you. Kiss Vi and Lacey for me.”
“Will do. See ya, sis.”
Chet is just as I remember him from the times Dad used to take me with him when I was a kid. Short, round, and gruff, but with a supreme appreciation of beautiful classic cars. He assures me that the scratch isn’t as deep as I feared, and that he can easily have it back in shape before Matt returns. My brother was right, it won’t be cheap, but I can trust Chet to treat the car as dearly as Matt would treat it himself.
I swing open the door and toss my keys on the kitchen counter. Since I’ve spent the last few nights at Matt’s, I’m at home tonight in the hope I can spend some time with Jada. However, the silence in the apartment tells me that plan is a bust. A note on the counter confirms it. She’s in the middle of a major server upgrade and is stuck with her fellow computer geeks. Ah, well. I guess it’ll just be some crap TV and the laundry machine tonight.
I spend the next few hours cleaning clothes and watching C-list celebrities try to dance. But what I’m really doing is stalling. I was shocked that Matt gave me a spare key to his place. I am more shocked at how much I love staying there, being around his things, and sleeping in his giant bed. The effect this man has on me . . . it’s disconcerting as much as it’s exciting. I’ve never felt this way about a man before, but I’m not going to fight it anymore. The thought is liberating.
Assuming he’ll still speak to me after I tell him about his car.
Looking at the clock, I realize it’s time to stop postponing the inevitable. It’s around dinnertime tomorrow in Australia, so hopefully I’ll reach him. I nervously tap out a text.
I have something to confess.
Minutes pass. I’m about to give up for now and roll over when my phone chimes softly.
Matt: Does this have something to do with your sudden interest in body shops?
In my defense, my judgement was impaired by all the sexing you did to me before you left.
Matt: Cardinal . . .
I take a deep breath and let my fingers fly before I can stop myself.
I borrowed the Camaro. I couldn’t help myself. Someone keyed the driver’s side while it was parked in my office’s garage.
There’s nothing from him for a full two minutes, so I keep going, trying not to imagine him punching holes in a wall or something equally ragey.
Not to worry, though. I’ve already taken it to my dad’s trusted body shop. It will be as good as new before you return, I promise. And I’m sorry for being so presumptuous. I never should’ve borrowed it.
Matt: What body shop? Exactly how much is your little joyride going to cost me?
My eyes shoot open. That’s what he thinks? Without thinking, I hit the call button.
“Joyride?”
“Tess . . .”
I snap as soon as I hear him rumble my name. “Is that what you think? Look, buddy, I know I shouldn’t have borrowed your precious car. And I’m sorry. You probably won’t believe me, but I’ve never done something like that before. However, it wasn’t my fault that some little asshole keyed it.”
“Tess.”
“And making you pay for it never crossed my mind. My parents taught me responsibility, believe it or not, and that mistakes come with consequences. I will be paying for my little ‘joyride,’ don’t you worry, probably in ways I can’t imagine.”
“You don’t have to pay for it,” he says quickly, but I barrel on.
“Of course I’ll pay for it. I’m responsible.�
�
“You just said it wasn’t your fault that someone keyed it.”
“I’m the one who took it without permission.”
His soft chuckle inflames me, and what little grasp I have on my internal filter evaporates. “I know you probably think I’m one of those desperate groupies that immediately leap on any opportunity to take advantage of rich rock stars, but I’m not. Yes, I fucked up. But it’s my responsibility, and I’ll pay for it. I’m an independent woman who is perfectly capable of fixing my own problems. I didn’t tell you so you would pay for it, you idiot. I could’ve simply fixed it, returned it to your garage, and you’d never be the wiser. I told you because it was the right thing to do.”
“You know, as irritated as I am right now, I kinda want to fuck you into next week.”
All my breath leaves me in a whoosh. My indignation vanishes and my heart skips a beat. “You do?”
“You have no idea.” His voice is like warm honey that I want to drizzle all over myself. “Tess, I know you wouldn’t take advantage of me. I was trying to make a joke. I should know better than to try to be funny via text. It loses something in translation.”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, regretting my outburst. “You accidently hit one of my buttons. I hate it when people, especially men, think I need to be rescued, as if I’m incapable of righting my own wrongs.”
“I will never make that mistake.” He clicks his tongue. “We seem to do a good job of pushing each other’s buttons.”
“That we do.” I take a deep breath, remembering the longing in his eyes as he held me before he left. “I miss you.”
I smile at his soft groan. “Miss you, too. I wish I had more time right now.”
“Where are you? Did I interrupt?” I ask, finally registering the background noise on his end. It sounds like he’s in a lobby or something.
“Nah. We’re done for the day. Sean is dragging us to some extreme restaurant he heard about. They serve stuff like ants and crickets and other shit I’m sure I don’t want to imagine. I think Cam will kill him if he can’t get a burger or something.”
