“What the hell, Zeke? I thought you said I mean something to you.”
I roll my eyes and grab my shit off the floor while…while…what’s-her-damn-name sits on the bed and pouts. I didn’t lie to her. I never promised her more than a quick roll in the hay.
“Baby, it’s not you.” I yank one boot on and scan the room for the other. “Well, maybe it is, but it’s more me. I just don’t think I’m ready to settle down.”
“That’s not what you said last night when I asked you if I was just another number in your little black book.” Her bottom lips jut out over the top, and she crosses her arms.
Who has a black book anymore?
Aha. The boot…and my shirt. Yes! Now, I can get the hell out of here.
“Darlin’, I don’t know what you think you heard, but I keep my important numbers in my cell these days. What with it being, you know, past the 1980s.”
She rolls her eyes and turns her hand in to investigate her manicure.
“Anyway, I’m just not ready to settle down yet. You know how it is, right?” I say.
Her mouth falls open, and she grabs an empty wine glass from the bedside table. She flings it like she’s the starting pitcher for the Houston Astros, and it shatters against the wall behind me.
“You bastard! You lying snake in the grass!” She picks up a hard-backed version of the bible and wings it at my head.
“I don’t know if the Lord is gonna appreciate you throwing his words around like that.” I sidestep a flying shoe and fling my shirt over my shoulder. I’ll put it on outside. It’s probably safer.
“I had a great time last night and…all day, actually.” I might have even given her a call another time—well, if I could remember her name.
Since there’s no way I can ask for that information, and she doesn’t really seem like she’s in the mood to share it anymore, I wink instead.
“I’ll see ya around.”
The cool night air blows against my skin as I slip my arms into the sleeves of my flannel “date” shirt. I grab my cell and check the time.
I read Caleb’s text again. I’m more than an hour late, and knowing him, he’s probably pissing himself.
In a full sprint, I take the corner like I’m on rails, and the bright lights of the new bar sign blink in my face.
I’m never gonna hear the end of this one. Or the last one…or the one before that. Turns out, I’m late a lot.
My chest tightens as I pound down the street. I don’t slow for much more than a quick sniff as I race past Miss Dolly’s Muffin Hut, even though I’ve worked up an appetite that would make Miss Dolly a very rich woman.
One good thing about being back home in Round Top, Texas? I don’t have to travel far to get where I’m going. So, I’ll be at Miss Dolly’s before the sun comes up in the morning.
Down side? I bump into a bunch of folks who know all my business and with whom I’d rather not bump into on a regular basis. And sometimes, the bumping is more literal than figurative.
Just as King’s is almost close enough to touch, someone or something smacks into my shoulder, and I’m headed face first for the pavement.
I throw my hands out to break my fall, but even with them absorbing most of the force, the impact stings. Joints crack as I go flying over myself, my body mass carrying me forward.
As soon as my lungs don’t feel like they’re about to explode, I flex a few muscles, checking for permanent damage.
My arms are sore, and my legs are scuffed up a bit, but I’ll live. Which is more than I can say for the idiot who knocked into me when I get through with them.
Sitting up, I dust off the gravel and get ready to fight. I turn to hunt down the blind runner.
The idiot is a tiny little woman.
My cell rings, and I ignore it. Instead, I hobble the few feet between us, crouch down, and roll the motionless half-pint onto her almost naked back.
She’s wearing a sheer bra and panties that ain’t more than a scrap of material I’d normally remove with my teeth.
“Honey, are you okay?” I don’t shake her because I remember hearing something in health class back in the day about not moving people after a fall.
I check to make sure she’s breathing, and as I lean down, the smell of her takes my breath away. She smells like flowers and sunlight, maybe some musk.
But why the hell is she running in the streets looking like she forgot to get dressed first?
The voices of people in the distance grab my attention.
Screw it. I have to get her some help—and a shirt, for the love of God. I try to not jostle her too much and carefully pick her up and cradle her against my chest.
I need to call 911—should have done that before I picked her up—but I have to get her out of the street first.
No telling when Drunk Dave will be tearing through town on his Huffy, and from experience, getting run over by a three-hundred-pound ox on a bicycle still hurts like hell.
I look down, trying not to focus on her boobs. But sweet baby Jesus, they’re nice. I shake my head.
Nope. As far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t have boobs. No boobs.
I am not looking at her boobs. And I’m gonna keep not looking at them until I get her out of the street. After that…
Laying her on a nearby bench, I shrug outta my still unbuttoned shirt and cover her with it. She’s tiny, and it hides almost everything she’s got on display.
I lift her head and slide my leg under it, ignoring the little voice in my head telling me that’s a bad idea. I grit my teeth and bear the discomfort swelling in my jeans.
Now that I can focus on more than her choice in lingerie, I take a nice, long look at her face. This one’s a looker. She has to be new in town, or I woulda made it my business to know her as soon as I got back.
And when I say looker, I mean the kind of girl who can make a guy hard just by being alive—long blonde hair, tiny little waist, perky little nose.
My breath hitches somewhere between my right lung and my throat. I cough it out and almost come out of my skin as Blake pipes up behind me.
“Holy shit, dude. On a bench, in the middle of town?” Blake leans down as I fumble for my phone in my pocket, trying not to disturb the sleeping beauty on my lap. “Dude, you’ll do it just about anywhere, won’t ya?”
Caleb walks out of the bar to join him in checking out the babe on my lap.
My gaze snaps up to meet Blake’s slightly bloodshot eyes. He reaches down as if he’s gonna have a peek to see what I’m hiding from them. I smack his hand and tuck the shirt tighter around her.
“Get your head out of the gutter, just this once.” That might be a slight case of the pot calling the kettle black, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to shove him flat on his ass. “She ran into me, and I knocked her out.”
I glare at Blake, whose shit-eating grin makes me wanna beat the crap out of him, best friend or not.
“Now would one of you two…” Jay strolls up, eating a chicken wing he brought from inside. “One of you three stooges please call for some help?” I ask.
“Well, excuse us, Mr. High and Mighty. Let me do your bidding and make the call.” Jay takes another bite and ducks out Blake’s reach as Blake tries to lay a smack down on the back of his brother’s head.
I fire a raging stink eye at each of them.
“So, this is why you couldn’t make to practice before our set?” Caleb crosses his arms and glares down at me.
I roll my eyes and run my finger down the blonde’s cheek to keep from punching him anywhere I can reach.
“I already told you. She ran into me.”
Blake is not so afflicted with frustration at my usual behaviour. However, he can’t dance around singing a children’s song.
“Zeke-y and the blonde chick, sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G.” He puckers his lips.
Even Caleb, the rat bastard who usually can’t buy a smile, has a smirk plastered on his face.
“Soon as I can get up, I’m kicking all your asses.”
Lights flash as the ambulance rolls to a stop in front of me.
Billy Pruett grabs a bright orange tool kit and kneels next to me. “What happened, Zeke?”
“I was hurrying to the bar for our set, and she came flying out. Ran right into me.” Nodetail explanations are my specialty.
Billy wraps her arm in a pressure cuff and squeezes the pump until I’m afraid the pressure might snap her bone in half. “Did you move her?”
“No. It all happened right here on this bench.” I shake my head and keep myself from smacking him stupid, even though my palm itches to do so. “Of course, I moved her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jesus, Billy. How the hell should I know? She. Ran. Into. Me. We didn’t exchange numbers or anything like that.”
He puts a finger on his lips to shush me as he listens to her heartbeat.
“We’re gonna have to take her in. It’s possible she has a concussion, since you picked her up and she didn’t move, cry out, or”—he chuckles—“start shaking her ass to get in your pants.”
“Aren’t you like a doctor or something? You shouldn’t talk like that about your patients.” As soon as the words are out, I wanna smack my own mouth.
What the hell is wrong with me? What do I care how Billy Pruett talks about some half-naked, crazy blonde who just so happens to have her nose pressed against my zipper?
Instead of beating myself silly, I help move the girl onto the stretcher. She doesn’t weigh more than a loaf of bread, and she’s pretty as the sunrise.
Her makeup isn’t caked on her face, although looking at her choice of wardrobe, or lack thereof, I suppose she could have wiped it off.
Caleb stands beside me, slaps me on the back, and nods his head to the bar. Time to play.
Not more than a minute later, we’re standing on stage. I close my eyes, breathing it in. This is home, where it all started for me, Blake, Jay, and Caleb.
We are Oblivion—four guys from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere who went out and made it big. We still come home and play to show we still know where we came from and that we’ll never forget our roots.
As soon as Caleb welcomes everyone, they erupt like they’re watching Garth Brooks.
And even though it isn’t one-tenth of the size of the crowd we’re used to playing to, it pumps me up and shoots a fresh batch of adrenaline from my heart to my fingertips.
This is the life I always wanted.
With my custom-made tobacco sunburst Gibson strapped around my neck, I close my eyes and play the opening chords to our first song.
Jay follows with some bass, and Blake adds a drum beat. A sixteen count later, Caleb adds our sound with his husky-toned lyrics echoing in the air, completing the seduction.
Every girl in the room is ours to take and every guy in the room wants to be us. There are worse jobs.
The smell of cherries lingers in the air, different shades of blonde shining under the light’s glare.
My thoughts drift to the perfectly pink lips… the longest eyelashes flutter to keep me under the siren’s song.
Curves that only God could perfect, an ass that begs to be spanked…tits that are the most perfectly presented mounds, and skin so flawless, so smooth, a perfectionist’s dream…love.
Caleb’s voice brings me crashing back to reality, as he sings the final notes of what I guess is our fourth and final song of the first half.
“Hey, y’all. We’re gonna take a break, so get to the bar, grab another cold one, and we’ll be back in a few.” Caleb doesn’t look at me when he speaks, but as he stalks off the stage, he pushes his shoulder into my back.
Yup, he’s pissed.
Before I’m half in the door, he’s on me.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
“What?”
His eyes flash, and he pokes a finger in my chest. “You have one job—play your guitar. You think maybe you can do that without making us look like a bunch of morons?”
Jay drains a can of beer and tosses it toward the trash. “Technically, that would be two jobs.”
Caleb whips his head to the side and shoots a look that should have turned Jay to stone.
Instead, Jay grins and twists open a bottle of cheap wine he smuggled through the back door earlier.
“Get your head on straight and stop thinking about the chicks you wanna bang, and maybe, just maybe, we can get through the next set without me kicking your ass.”
Blake steps between us. “Oh, come on, Caleb. He was only a step or so behind. Nobody noticed apart from you.” He turns toward me. “And he can’t help it. He thinks with his dick instead of his tiny little brain.”
I don’t have to listen to this. “Screw you guys. I’ll be at the bar.”
Caleb follows me to the door. “You wanna play grab ass? Fine with me. Just do it on your own time, not the band’s.”
I flip him off over my head and keep walking.
