Not that they needed lifting, but he was getting bored.
He had always enjoyed music—listening to it, playing it, writing it. It came naturally to him. During his time in rehab, Dylan had sort of punished himself by not playing it. He didn’t feel like he deserved to get any joy from anything. So when Mick had come to see him and brought Dylan’s bass with him, Dylan had refused to play it—told Mick to take it back.
And that had been his attitude since.
But maybe it was time to change that.
Rising from the couch, Dylan made his way across the house, toward his music room. He had a collection of bass guitars and several acoustic guitars. He looked around the room and his fingers began to twitch.
Yeah. It was time.
Picking up an acoustic, he sat on one of the stools scattered around the room and began to tune it. It had been over six months since anyone had touched these instruments, so he was fairly certain every guitar in the room needed to be tuned, but for now, he’d stick to this one.
No need to get ahead of himself.
He wanted to play. Wanted to hear the music, feel the music…or simply just feel.
It took almost a half an hour to get the guitar to sound the way he wanted it to, but once he did and Dylan began to strum, it was as if he was transported to the greatest place in the world. Everything around him faded away as the music came to him. He didn’t have to think about the notes, the chords, the movements—it was as natural to him as breathing.
Time stood still as he went from simply playing songs that were familiar to him to creating something new. Slow ballads, heavy rock, country tunes… His entire body rejoiced in the return of the music. Sweat beaded on his temples, his arms and hands began to cramp, and when he finally stopped, it felt as if he’d played a complete concert. A quick glance at the clock showed he just about had. Two hours had gone by, and he felt exhilarated.
Carefully putting the guitar in its stand, Dylan left the room and went to the kitchen to grab something cold to drink. As he downed a bottle of water, he went in search of his phone and found it in the living room. The light was flashing to let him know he had a text message. When he picked it up, he saw Paige’s name and smiled.
He pulled up her message and read it.
And then read it again.
As if sensing his disbelief, the phone rang—almost falling from his hands—and her name called out to him.
“If you don’t want to do it, I’ll completely understand,” she said instead of greeting him.
“I don’t understand what this means,” he said. “This wasn’t on the schedule, right?”
“It wasn’t. Ariel decided she wanted to kick things off with an impromptu get-together. Something low-key.”
Dylan chuckled. “The Beverly Hills Hotel is not low-key. But…it will be convenient.”
“How so?”
“I’ll be moving in there at the end of the week.”
“You will? Why?”
“My house is up for sale and I don’t want to be here while there are people coming through to look at it. We already have offers, but I won’t let anyone come in and look while I’m living here.”
“Dylan, how are you handling all of it? Are you packing up? Do you have another house lined up?”
He explained his theory and why he was moving into a hotel for a month. “I still don’t know what kind of house I want. All I know is I’m ready for a change.”
“So this party would be a major inconvenience with its timing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure—”
“Paige, it won’t be an inconvenience. I’ll be living in the same hotel as the party. I’m sure I’ll be able to come downstairs and socialize for an evening. Who knows? It might even be fun.”
She made a sound that Dylan would have to say sounded like a snort, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was enough to signify her disbelief.
“C’mon, Paige, admit it. It might be fun.”
“It’s a waste of time and money!” she cried. “We could be using those funds for something else to help the foundation! We don’t need a ridiculous cocktail party! I swear, it’s like she totally doesn’t understand what the point of this campaign even is!”
“If the client didn’t want it, I’m sure they’d say something,” Dylan pointed out.
“I think they’re dazzled by the celebrity guest list,” she muttered. “I thought I knew these people well, but they are easily swayed by the thought of rubbing elbows with the rich and famous.”
“And you’re not?” he said, poking her because he knew she wasn’t, but he liked getting her riled up a bit.
“Of course not! How could you even ask that? I’m more concerned with raising money for reading programs. I don’t need to have crab puffs with…with…Elton John! That’s not going to give me a reading program at the local library.”
“Elton’s going to be there?”
“No, he’s not going to be there! I was making a point. Something like this is frivolous and not necessary and—”
“I think you’re wrong,” he said lightly and sat and waited for her outrage.
“Excuse me?” He could almost picture those big eyes going wide.
“Look, here’s what this is about—you have a cocktail party and you invite a ton of people who have money. You introduce them to the cause, and even if they are not directly involved with the campaign, you give them enough of a push to convince them to donate to the campaign. So really, if you think about it, it’s a great idea. With any luck, you’ll cover the cost of the party and have a sizeable donation to make to Literacy Now. See? Not frivolous.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was racking her brain for some comeback.
“Either way, count me in. I’ll be moving in Friday night, and the party is Saturday night, so I’ll have time to come.”
“Oh…well…good. That’s great,” she said, but there was something in her voice…a hesitation. She sounded uncertain about something.
“Was there something else you needed, Paige?”
“Um…”
“Because it sounds like you’ve got something else on your mind.”
“Fine. Please don’t get mad at me for this.”
Dylan let out a weary sigh. All his good vibes from playing music seemed to fade away. Someone was still concerned about him and what he’d do in a public setting. “It’s all right. I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to have to stand guard and make sure I don’t do anything to make a scene or make a spectacle of myself, right?”
“Um…sort of. Just…there was some concern about you being in that setting and how it might be…rough for you, that’s all. So it’s not that anyone’s afraid of what you’ll do to embarrass anyone or anything like that. It’s truly concern for your well-being. I swear, Dylan.”
Well, that wasn’t so bad, he guessed. Still not great—people thinking he still couldn’t control himself yet—but there were worse things in life, he guessed.
“It’s okay, Paige. Really. It’s not a big deal.” He paused. “So I guess you’re stuck with me as your date,” he said playfully.
“Date? What? I mean… No. No! It’s not like that. I swear. I don’t expect you to date me! I mean that would be crazy. Insane! You don’t date women like me…pfft… That’s just… I’m certainly no supermodel or anything so…really… It’s no big deal.”
Okay. Wow. That was not the reaction he had expected from the normally cool and collected Paige. Should he comment on it?
She cleared her throat and went completely quiet, and Dylan figured by bringing any more attention to her little…outburst, he’d embarrass her. So he let it go.
“I appreciate everyone’s concern and I’ll plan on seeing you Saturday night, okay?”
“Sure,” she repli
ed, sounding relieved.
“We don’t have anything else planned for this week, do we?”
“No. It was the photo shoot today. And I want to thank you for all you did.”
“Me? I don’t think I did anything except smile for the camera.”
Paige laughed softly. “You were prompt, you brought me lunch, and you kept everyone talking and engaged in between shoots. So really, thank you. You were a big help.”
Well, damn. That was probably the first time anyone had ever thanked him for acting…normal. The thought of it made him smile. “I’m glad I could help. And don’t hesitate to ask for help at any of these other…stops. I really don’t mind. I’d rather be useful than just stand around.”
“I appreciate it, and again, thanks.” She paused. “So…um…I guess that’s it.”
“I guess so.” Funny, he felt reluctant to end the conversation.
“Yeah.”
Hmm… “What are you doing tonight? Anything exciting? Not working late, I hope.”
She laughed again. “No. Not working. I’m home with my feet up and playing Scrabble on the computer.”
“Really? People do that?” he teased.
“Well, I do. You got me thinking about board games today, and since you obviously can’t play them alone, I got on my computer to see what I could find. And you’re right. It’s very relaxing.”
“Glad I could help. I think there’s even virtual chess. You know…if you’re interested.”
“Really? I’ll have to look that up.”
Dylan couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. “So you and your grandfather used to play, huh?”
“All the time. We used to have the best conversations during our games. It was our special time together.” She let out a wistful sigh. “I miss him so much, and even though it’s been, like, fourteen years, I still remember how much those games meant to me.”
“Like I said earlier, it’s a great memory to have.”
“Mmm,” she said, and it sounded far sexier than it should have.
“I should probably go. I’m starving, and I need to find something to eat.”
“You haven’t had dinner yet?”
“Nope. I was tuning and playing guitar and lost track of time.” He looked at the clock and saw it was almost eight. Not terribly late, but it seemed like lunch was a lifetime ago.
“Well…go find something and I’ll see you on Saturday night.”
“Yeah, okay. Great. I’ll see you then.”
“Have a good night, Dylan,” she said.
“You too.”
* * *
Three days later, Dylan tossed his jacket on the hotel room bed and sighed.
He’d done it.
He’d walked away from the home he’d owned for the past eight years.
He kept waiting to feel…something. The Realtor had done a final walk-through with him and kept saying things like “I’m sure you’re going to miss this” and “This must be hard for you,” but in truth, he wasn’t and it wasn’t. Right now, he felt as if a giant weight had been lifted off his shoulders and the house was really the last major tie he had to his life prior to rehab.
There was still the band and Mick, but the house held the most bad memories for him. From this point on, he knew Riley, Matt, Julian, and Mick would be there to encourage him to stay the course. And it felt pretty damn good.
As he walked around, he noted how it was going to be a little strange going from living full-time in a 7,500-square-foot house to an 800-square-foot hotel room. Lucky for him that Shaughnessy had spent so much time on the road that hotel living wasn’t going be a total shock. It wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t permanent. He’d lucked out in scoring one of the recently refurbished suites. It was modern with a hint of vintage glamor, which he found he liked.
The furniture was oak and had touches of mohair and leather, and the room offered an amazing view of LA. He moved from the living room into the bedroom and knew he’d made the right choice. A standard room would have been fine, but with the two-room setup, he would have plenty of space to relax. He ran a hand over the king-size bed and smiled. The rest of the furnishings were nice to look at, and he was sure they were comfortable, but his main requirement had been a king-size bed. He enjoyed sprawling out, and should he decide to invite someone up to join him for the night, he knew they’d appreciate the extra space.
Paige’s face immediately came to mind, and he cursed himself. Maybe he needed to find someone to hook up with—and soon. He had to stop envisioning Paige in these scenarios because that wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. And the sooner he distracted himself from that fantasy, the better.
He kept on moving and checked out the luxurious marble bathroom. There was a shower and a Jacuzzi.
And there were images of Paige naked in both of them.
“Dammit,” he hissed.
Yeah, he definitely needed to find a distraction because this was starting to get a little out of hand. Hopefully at the cocktail party tomorrow night, he’d be able to find someone he was attracted to and could get over this drought he was in. Memories of his last failed attempt at getting laid played in his mind, and more than anything, it pissed him off.
“I used to be able to have sex with little more than the crook of a finger,” he murmured as he walked out of the bathroom. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”
Speaking of hard… Yeah. The image of Paige in the shower was instantly replaced with the image of her in his bed. Walking quickly, he went out to the living room, where it wasn’t hard to imagine her bent over the sofa.
His cell phone rang and he reached for it like a lifeline. “Hello!”
“Hey, buddy! You’re sounding a little frantic. You okay?”
It was Riley. Thank God. If ever there was someone to put him on level ground, it was Riley Shaughnessy. Sitting down on the sofa, Dylan kicked off his shoes and relaxed. “I’m good. I’m good. The phone startled me. I moved into the Beverly today and was checking the room out.”
“Right. Mick told me you were doing that. You know you could have come and stayed with us, Dylan. We have a guest room. The door’s always open here.”
“And I appreciate it, but I know you and Savannah are busy with your own things and your daughter. Also, I figured Savannah might not appreciate another kid under her roof.”
Riley laughed. “Maybe. But I want you to know if you get tired of hotel living, you’re more than welcome here.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Really. So what’s going on?”
“Not much. I got your message the other day and finally had some time to sit down and call you. How’s the community-service gig going?”
Dylan told him all about what he’d been up to and about the party tomorrow night.
“Cocktail party, huh?” Riley asked. “You sure you’re ready for that?”
If anyone else had asked, Dylan probably would have been offended. But Riley knew him almost better than anyone else. “In my mind I am,” he answered honestly. “But I’m never going to know until I go and try. The good thing is it’s right here in the hotel, so if I’m really uncomfortable, I can leave and go to my suite. And Paige knows my situation, so she won’t be all put-off if I bail in the middle of it.”
“So you’re dating the campaign chick? Do you think that’s smart?”
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not dating Paige. She’s sort of been assigned to keep an eye on me so I don’t screw up anything. Apparently my reputation has some people nervous. So she’s more like…a handler.”
“Ah. So…nothing’s going on between the two of you?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?”
Riley laughed. “Because it’s what you used to do! You dated our wardrobe chick, the PR chick, the intern from Mick’s office—”
“Thank God he never found out about that,” Dylan said.
“Please. Of course he found out about it. Why do you think we were suddenly doing those pop-up shows in the Midwest?”
Dylan sat straight up. “Are you kidding me? That’s why we were sent out on that damn tour?”
Riley laughed harder. “Man, you seriously didn’t know? We all wanted to kick your ass for getting us into that!”
“I had no frigging idea. I really thought Mick didn’t know!”
“That girl was something like his best friend’s daughter, dude! You’re lucky he didn’t string you up by the balls for it.”
Dylan groaned. “It was only a couple of hookups.”
“It was enough for him to find out and for her to start blabbing how you were dating.”
“I don’t even remember her name,” he murmured. “How crappy is that?”
“Very, but in your defense, it was at a time where you were partying particularly hard.”
He sighed. “Why didn’t anyone stop me? Why didn’t anyone smack me in the head and tell me what a mess I was making of my life?”
Riley was quiet for a moment. “We all tried, Dylan. At one time or another, we all tried. You didn’t want to listen. There were times when the three of us and Mick would sit and talk about forcing you into rehab or at least doing an intervention, but…” He paused and sighed. “We should have. You have no idea how much it killed me to know that if we had stepped in sooner, things could have been different. You still would have gone to rehab, but you would have been spared the accident and the charges that went with it.”
“Believe me, I wish I could have avoided that too, but it had to happen. I think that was what it took to make me open my eyes. I am thankful every day I didn’t kill anyone.”
“We all are.”
“You know what the hardest part of all this is?” he asked, going somber.
“What?”
“That I made such an ass of myself that I’ve got this reputation now. No one’s going to let me forget how I was this party boy douchebag. People look at me differently. I need a handler so I don’t make a scene places. I hate it. I deserve it, don’t get me wrong, but I hate it.”
Holiday Spice Page 39
