Rock Wild (Rock Candy Book 3)

by Virna DePaul

  “We did do some things,” I admitted coyly.

  “Seriously?” Elaine asked. “Like, how far did you go?” When I waggled my eyebrows, mimicking how she had done it earlier, she squealed with delight. “Good for you, honey. You need a little loving in your life.”

  I snorted at the word “loving.” When Elaine gave me a quizzical look, I tried to explain. “Corbin’s only in Pontmaison for a couple of months. It’s just a fling between us. The word ‘love’ will never be a part of what we are.”

  “‘We’?” Elaine emphasized the word, and her smile went to a frown. Concern laced her eyes. “Honey, you’ve never referred to you and a guy as a ‘we’ before. And you’ve only known this Corbin dude for a couple of days. I worry about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Neither did I. “I’m not my mother,” I said quickly. “I don’t ever get so worked up over a man that I can’t cope.”

  “No,” she said slowly, “you never have before. But there’s always a first time.”

  I shook my head. “Not with this.” I pointed to my heart. “I won’t get hurt.”

  “Promise you’ll protect yourself?” Elaine asked.

  I snorted and waved a hand airily even as I felt my chest tighten. “No need. It’s just a fling. Corbin is amazingly attractive, attentive and more than capable in bed, and a nice guy, too, but he’s going to be gone soon. I’m up for a good time, but nothing more. We—”

  I caught myself. There I went again, making Corbin and I into a “we.” Maybe Elaine was right, and I did need to protect myself better. Because although white picket fences and babies weren’t exactly dancing around in my imagination, the idea of Corbin and I together as a real couple was. Now how had that thought slipped past my defenses? And how do I get that thought out? I had to wonder.

  I cleared my throat, pretending I’d stopped my sentence because of dust, then said, “Corbin and I have set up the parameters—two months, and that’s it. No other sexual partners during the time, and we walk away with no regrets, no commitment.” Well, we hadn’t made things that clear between us, but I felt confident what I told Elaine was the truth.

  “I’m serious,” she said, reaching out to take my hands. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

  “Of course. I was nervous too, when he first hit on me, and when I found out we were at the boarding house together. Then he saved that woman’s life, and he’s been so kind. Miss Cecily gave him a gift, like a charm or something, a rock on a leather band to wear around his neck, and he’s worn it. For her.”

  “That’s cool,” Elaine said, even though there was hesitation still in her voice, and I could understand that. I got that Elaine was looking out for me.

  “He’s not like the other guys in Pontmaison, and he’s not even like the band guys that breeze in here to play Evangeline’s. There’s a lot more to him than that.”

  “Sounds like you really care for him.”

  I was silent for a moment, letting Elaine’s words sink in. I did care for Corbin. More than I had about any other guy I’d gone out with. Besides the insane attraction, there was an ease, a sense of respect between us, despite the short amount of time we’d known each other.

  “I really do care about him,” I admitted. “I even explained to him about my mom, how she’s never been around and goes whacko over random musicians, and he understood. I was a little worried that her past would be like a big, cold bucket of water on him, that he’d just run away or, worse, that he’d laugh at me.”

  “And he didn’t, of course. Sounds like he’s not like any of the guys you’ve ever dated.” She pulled a face. “Like Brad. Ew.”

  “You thought Brad was cute back in high school,” I reminded her. “In fact, you were the one who told me to go out with him in the first place.”

  “I do occasionally make mistakes,” she said, with a fake haughtiness. “That was one of the few.”

  “He’s still bugging me to go out with him, you know. In fact, he asked me to go to Tallulah’s wedding as his date.”

  “No!” Elaine exclaimed. Then she frowned. “You’re not, right? I mean, that guy…”

  “Of course not,” I reassured her, then frowned, remembering Elmer Lamell’s odd excitement over his son asking me out.

  “What is it?” Elaine asked. When I shook my head, she added, “Tell me, Aimee.”

  I sighed, then shared how Elmer seemed to want me to go to Tallulah’s wedding with Brad. “You don’t think he’d pull out of our business deal if I don’t date his son, right? I mean, I have to be imagining things.”

  “You have good instincts, Aimee, and they’ve served you well. Those instincts are what’s gotten you this far. Not all of us are business owners in our early twenties, doing what they love. So if you think Elmer Lamell might make life tough for you if you don’t date his son, you might be right. According to Cindy, Nancy down at the beauty parlor told Betty over at the general store that Elmer hated Brad’s last girlfriend, mostly because he doesn’t want Brad moving to New York with her. He wants to find Brad a new woman, to get married and settle down. There aren’t that many single women around Brad’s age in town, besides you. Elmer probably thinks you’re his only hope.”

  I groaned. “But I could never love Brad. He doesn’t…”

  “Doesn’t what?”

  “Doesn’t make me feel alive.”

  “Does this new guy, Corbin, make you feel that way?” Elaine asked gently. When I swallowed and nodded, she gave me a sweet smile. “Then I’m glad you’re with him.”

  For the next two months, that is. For an instant, worry curdled my stomach before I pushed the concern away. “He said I put love in my baking,” I confided.

  “You do. And Aimee’s Decadent Desserts is going to be fabulous.” She waved a hand to gesture to the empty space, and for a moment, I could see what it would look like in the future. The old, tarnished chrome fixtures and table legs would be shining, the Formica countertop replaced with a warm, wood bar Uncle Daniel had promised to build for me. The cracked vinyl seats in the booths would be recovered in black leather, along with the seats on the chairs. I planned to paint the walls a light dove grey and to add decorations with a little pop of orange and green.

  “What have you made for him?” Elaine asked.

  “He had one slice of my huckleberry pie. We have a date—” I stopped myself and corrected the term. I was sleeping with the man, not dating him. “A meeting over at Evangeline’s at noon today. I’m serving him up a little bit of everything I made this morning. Give him a taste of what I have to offer.”

  Elaine giggled and fanned herself. “Good grief, Aimee. There you go with those sexual innuendos again. You do recall I have a toddler and therefore no sex life, right? I mean, I love Dirk but he’s not exactly a Casanova these days.”

  “Little Bryan won’t be a toddler forever,” I said, chuckling. “You and Dirk will get your groove back soon.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “I envy you some of the magic you have with this Corbin guy. Sometimes it’s not so easy finding the romance in a relationship when you’ve known your husband since you were both in diapers. Where’s Corbin from, anyway?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “I do know he came in by way of Austin and he said he grew up in Minnesota. Seemed like there was a story there. Maybe one he’ll share with me. There’s just so much hiding underneath the surface there, and I can’t wait to explore who he is.”

  “Oh, I’d explore some things with your gator fighting bass player, sweetie,” Elaine said, now smirking hugely.

  “I think I’ll take your advice,” I surreptitiously checked the time on my cell phone. No bars on the phone as usual, but the clock still worked: 9:15. I still had plenty of time to clean up the diner some more, drive the couple of miles back to Evangeline’s, make sure I had no flour on my nose or chocolate on my shirt, and set up for my date with Corbin.

  It’s not a date, I reminded my quivering tummy. Geez,
I was a mess.

  “Just be careful, you hear? It’s a tough life, sweetie, but I’m glad for you. You deserve happiness.”

  Nodding, I picked at the peeling polish on my nails. I’d have to add more pink to them. Normally, I touched them up on those rare moments I had time between my various jobs, but for the first time, I actually had someone to make the effort for. I wanted to. I wanted to show Corbin that he made me feel desirable, made me want to get gussied up as my grandmother would have said.

  I had to hope I wasn’t wanting too much.

  * * *

  Corbin

  After loading up on the carb fest, I helped Miss Cecily wash the dishes by hand—apparently the woman didn’t believe in dishwashers, but I was cool with it since it reminded me of doing dishes with Grandma Brigitta when I was young. Gran would put albums on the old Victrola as we stood side-by-side at the old farmhouse sink, washing dishes in sudsy soap up to our elbows, with Gran teaching me to sing all manners of songs, from 1940s swing to ’50s bebop, and even old folk songs. My gran had a lovely voice, all warm and throaty, like the words were pouring over velvet. The memory was as warm as her voice.

  After the breakfast dishes were washed and dried, Miss Cecily announced she was headed into the swamp to look for herbs and would be gone for several hours. I’d found a list she’d written for a handyman, and started in on the few minor repairs around the old house I knew I was capable of completing, such as replacing light bulbs and hammering down a few floorboards on the verandah. My great grandfather Orin had taught me how to wield a hammer at a young age, and soon the veranda no longer had lose boards.

  I was about to put away the tools when my phone rang. Cell reception was spotty and unpredictable, but it looked like I’d managed to grab the single bar of cell service available in the entire parish for once. Grabbing the cell, I frowned as I saw my friend Jason’s name on the screen.

  “Hey man,” I said, putting the call on Speaker and holding perfectly still on Miss Cecily’s verandah so I wouldn’t lose the cell signal.

  “Fuck, Corbin, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  I flicked open my Text app and noticed multiple missed texts from Jason. “Shit. Sorry again,” I said, and meant it. “There’s crap cell service where I’m at. I didn’t see your texts. What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on? My fucking bassist got arrested.”

  “Seems like Thrasherville has a habit of hiring bassists who insist on getting themselves arrested,” I said, alluding to the only time I’d ended up in the slammer, back when I was playing on Thrasherville’s first tour. That had been before Point Break, of course. “What did Nick do?”

  “Same thing you did to get yourself behind bars. He ended up getting into a fight last night. A bar full of people got to watch as he broke a bottle and went after some guy who’d yelled out that Thrasherville sucked.”

  I let out a long, low whistle. I’d used fists during my fight, not glass shards. Nick was a great bass player, but not too bright when it came to fighting. “You bail him out?” I asked.

  “It gets worse,” Jason said. “Nick cut the guy. He’ll have to do some time. Which means I have no bassist.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked the direction this conversation was going. “You’re not on tour, right?”

  “Nope,” Jason said, but before I could relax, he added, “We’re recording our fourth album, up in Chicago. It’s good—best shit we’ve put together ever. But we have two more songs to record before the album’s complete. I need a bassist.”

  “Did you try Vinnie? How about Tommy?” I asked, naming a couple of studio bass players who could do a better than decent job in the studio.

  “Vinnie’s in LA doing a gig out there, and Tommy’s hooked on horse and hasn’t been worth a damn in months. Our producer has given us an extra few days in the studio to finish up, but if we don’t complete the album…” He left the rest unsaid, but I knew what the recording meant to him and Thrasherville. Completing the album would mean the difference between success and complete failure.

  My friend needed me, but I didn’t want to leave Aimee. “I’m in Nowhere, Louisiana,” I prevaricated.

  “What are you doing there?”

  “I…the point is that I was taking the summer off after the world tour. You sure you can’t find anyone else to help you finish recording those songs?”

  “I mean, I hate to do this to you, Corbin, but whose couch were you on when your band back in Chicago failed and you couldn’t make rent for six months?”

  I searched my mind for another bassist who could handle the heavy sounds Thrasherville put out, and who was decent enough in the studio to cover for that asshat Nick. “What about Chomper Langly? Chomps does a great job in the studio, and he probably has the time. See, there’s this girl, and—”

  Jason laughed. “Bro, there’s tons of girls in Chicago. I’m sure more than the entire population of Louisiana. Plus, they’re hot.”

  I heard the assumption in his tone—the dig at Louisiana girls, the insinuation that whomever I was interested in here in Louisiana could be easily replaced. I wanted to slam my fist on the phone. I’d only known her a few days. Only slept with her once. But already I knew Aimee Bodine was special, unique. Irreplaceable. And the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. There wasn’t any girl I’d met yet who was even close to as amazing as she was. Last night had been special for me—Aimee was special to me. “So is my girl,” I ground out.

  “Damn it, Corbin, you know it has to be you. You’re the best bassist I’ve ever seen. I know you came late to Point Break, but you’re a huge part of its success and anyone who thinks otherwise is nuts. Give us a day, and then you can be back to all your barbeque and gator round-ups.”

  “I…”

  “Man, please, if it weren’t a shit show, I wouldn’t call you. And I hate to do this to you, but you did make me a solemn promise when I spent my very last dime to bail you out that all I had to do was call in a favor.” He sighed, and I could hear the regret in his tone when he said, “This is me, calling in that chip.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Corbin

  I closed my eyes and sighed. Yes, there was a lot here with Aimee, and I hated the idea of leaving her, but Jason clearly needed me if he was calling in the favor. “How long do you need me, and when do you need me there?”

  “One day, tops. We got all the intricate stuff recorded before Nick went psycho-killer on that fan. The two missing songs are basic twelve-bar blues, no solos.”

  “No zydeco?” I joked, then quickly added, “Never mind. Inside joke.” I couldn’t see a heavy metal band like Thrasherville adding in that unique sound that had gotten under my skin. Come to think of it, I couldn’t imagine Point Break incorporating the sound, either. Somehow that made me feel heavy and a little sad.

  “Yeah, well…uh…we kinda need to start today,” Jason continued. “We have until midnight tomorrow to get the producer the recordings.”

  I checked the time—9:30 am—and flipped open the airlines app on my phone to find available flights. If I drove like a bat outta hell and hoped the Security line at the airport was fast, I could catch the 10:49 out of Lafayette. That would put me in Chicago before 4:00. As far as return flights went—

  “I can get in at 3:38 at O’Hare today, and there’s a return flight leaving at 9:30 on Saturday. Would that give you enough time?”

  Jason’s sigh of relief was audible even over the poor cell service. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver. A real rock and roll hero.”

  Guilt surged up my back with the knowledge that I’d have to bail on Aimee’s dessert tasting date. But Aimee knew a thing or two about loyalty—the way she helped her Uncle Daniel out at Evangeline’s spoke volumes. She’d understand that I couldn’t let my friend be fucked over. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Silence met my statement, and I realized I’d lost even that one little bar. I frowned at my useless phone and shoved it in my pock
et before bolting back into the house and up the stairs to grab a change of clothes. I didn’t have time to sort through the clothing, just stuffed all my shit into my one duffle bag, then grabbed my shaving kit from the bathroom before heading back down the stairs. Even if my phone was working, I didn’t even have Aimee’s cell number, I realized. I’d have barely enough time to find Aimee at Evangeline’s and explain why I couldn’t indulge in today’s dessert-fest, or tonight’s Aimee-fest, before heading to the airport at Lafayette. Damn, this was cutting it close.

  I jumped in the GTO and left the car unlocked in Evangeline’s parking lot, then took the wooden steps two at a time into the roadhouse. I flung open the doors only to see a middle-aged waitress setting up tables. I didn’t see Aimee, but she could have been in the kitchen.

  Walking over to the waitress, I waited until she set down some plates, checking out her nametag. “Excuse me, uh, Beth, but do you know where Aimee is?”

  “No, can’t say I do at the moment. Why, sugar?”

  I started to swear but paused. This town would turn me into a fucking choir boy soon, but I didn’t want to embarrass Aimee by being a dick. “Do you know where she might be?” When Beth shook her head, I frowned and pulled out my cell phone. Still no service, so I couldn’t call or text her. I noticed Beth was still staring at me, and asked a little, “Do you have some paper? I need to leave her a note.”

  “Sure, I can get you something,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling a sheet from her order pad as well as a spare pen. “You can leave the note with me or shove it under the office door over there.” She gestured to a door next to the double swinging kitchen doors. “I do know she’ll be back by noon. She said she had a special guest coming.” The waitress eyed me, grinning knowingly, and said, “I take it you’re the special guest she’s all excited about. I haven’t seen our Aimee smiling this wide since, well…it’s been a while.”