We reach my room and he sets me on the bed. He reaches for the covers and pulls them back. “Get in.”
I roll my eyes, but do as I’m told. Once I bring the blankets to my chin, he starts to leave.
“Hey.” I stop him. “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”
He turns around with a resigned sigh. “That depends. Do you want me to speak to you?”
I prop myself on my elbow. “I shouldn’t because you were an ass the other day. Just so you know, I did ask Jules about you, but only because of the way you acted. I had no idea about any of it.”
He looks at the floor, then back at me. “And?”
“Yes, I want you to talk to me. And no, I won’t be quitting my job.”
His eyes lock on mine. He looks surprised, maybe a little relieved. “Okay,” he says. He backs toward the door with a hint of a smile. “Goodnight, Jen.”
“Goodnight.”
He disappears down the hallway, and I carefully roll on my side to bury myself in the sheets. I’m glad we cleared the air. It reminds of my cardinal rule, to do what makes me happy. As my mind drifts, I recall Latson’s goodbye and compare it to his goodnight.
I much prefer the latter.
Chapter Ten
“What? Your first day didn’t kill you, so you’re back for more?”
I look up at Carter as I pull the cork out of a bottle of merlot. It makes a loud pop. “Of course. You know I couldn’t go another day without seeing your handsome face.”
He grins. “You fit in here so well.”
I wink.
“Seriously, though.” He leans over the bar. “That was some pretty freaky shit last week. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “I’m good as new, minus one unnecessary organ.” And a few pounds, I mentally add. My appetite definitely took a hit after surgery.
Carter raises his hand over the bar top. “Well, I’m glad you made it.”
“Me, too.” I give him a high five.
“Did I hear the word organ?” Gwen appears at my side. “What are you two talking about?”
“Unnecessary things, like gallbladders,” I explain.
“And kidneys,” Carter chimes in. “You can live with one kidney.”
“And lungs,” I add, but then frown. “You can live with one lung, right?”
“I think so. I know you can survive with a partial liver,” Carter says. “My uncle only has half of his.”
Gwen looks over her shoulder. “I know I could make it with half of this ass,” she complains.
I laugh as I glance at her butt. “I don’t think your ass is an organ.”
She ignores me. “Do you think I could get some of my butt fat sucked out and injected into my boobs?”
“You don’t want that,” I say and adjust my own. “Trust me. Some days I wish I could downsize these babies.”
Gwen frowns. “Your boobs are perfect.” She looks at Carter. “Aren’t they perfect?”
He tries to hide his smile. “They look nice from here.”
My expression twists, but not from embarrassment. “His opinion doesn’t count. Men think all boobs are perfect. It’s ingrained in their psyche.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Carter interrupts. “I beg to differ. All breasts are not made equal. Just like all asses are not the same. Gwen, here, happens to have a very nice ass.”
“Thank you.” She smiles.
“But, I see where she’s coming from about her chest. Guys want a handful, or at least I do, and hers isn’t –”
“Hey!” Gwen cuts him off by throwing a bar towel at his face. “Not nice!”
“Yeah.” I glare.
“I’m just agreeing with her.” Carter steps back. “She’s the one who said she wanted to inject fat into other parts of her body.”
“I’m allowed to say that,” she huffs. “Not you.”
“I thought you wanted someone on your side,” he protests. “According to Jen all guys like all boobs. What I’m trying to say is – wait a minute.” He stops.
“What you’re trying to say,” I finish for him, “is guys like boobs, period. They may have preferences, but they’ll take what they can get. Hence, men think all boobs are perfect.” I reach over the bar and sarcastically pat his arm. “Thanks for proving my point.”
He looks speechless.
I turn to Gwen. “You, my friend, are stunning. Never forget it. There are plenty of men who will appreciate your body and not just settle for it. The hard part is finding one who wants your heart and your assets.”
Gwen’s expression softens. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” She hugs me. Then, she faces Carter. “You’re lucky we’re friends. Here’s some advice: the next time a girl criticizes her body, just tell her she’s hot and leave it at that.”
Carter blinks. “How’d we even get on this subject?”
“We started to talk about unnecessary organs,” I say.
“Whose organs are unnecessary?”
I look over to watch Latson approach the bar. This is the first time I’ve seen him since Oliver fell asleep with me on the couch. He’s wearing another new t-shirt today. This one is red and says I’m lost. Please take me home with you. Although the statement is loaded with innuendo, I think about how I met Oliver and smile.
“Don’t get these two started,” Carter warns as Latson stops in front of us. “I’ll be outside with Pete.”
Latson looks confused as Carter walks away. “He said something stupid, didn’t he?”
“He knows better now,” Gwen says.
I grab another bottle of wine. Torque opens soon and we still have things to prep.
“Jen,” Latson says my name. “I want to show you something. C’mere.” He gestures for me to follow him.
“Are you sure? I still have set up to do.”
“I’ve got it,” Gwen says. “It’s not much.”
I set the wine down and, due to my healing torso, slowly duck beneath the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
She shoots me a knowing look. “Take your time.”
I catch up to Latson’s side as he walks. “What’s going on?”
“Just something I thought you’d be interested in.” He points at his shirt. “Did you see?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “How apropos.”
“I thought you might like it.” He smiles.
We make it to the stage in the corner of the bar. It’s set up for tonight’s performance. Only a stool and a mic sit under the main spotlight, and a few guitars sit on stands in front of the house speakers. I trail behind Latson as he takes the stairs to the top of the stage. He walks over to one the guitars and pulls it off its stand. He turns around and holds it in front of him with two hands. “Do you know what this is?”
My eyes comb over the instrument. It’s metallic mint green and rosewood, with a cream-colored pickguard and maple neck.
Holy shit. There’s no denying that shape.
“That’s a vintage ’59 Fender Strat,” I whisper.
He looks impressed. “You know your guitars.”
I silently nod. Fender is an American rock icon. My fingers tingle at the thought of touching the strings. “Whose is it?”
Latson shrugs. “It’s mine.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head.
“Are you playing tonight?”
“Hell, no,” he laughs. “Dean is. We played together in the Sin days. He’s been working on some new stuff and asked to borrow a few things. Well, actually, his van broke down and his equipment is stuck somewhere on 94.”
“That sucks. I hope he didn’t leave anything like that on the side of the road.”
“No, nothing like this.” Latson lifts the guitar, looks it over, and then holds it out to me. “Want to try?”
Hell yes, I want to try! But, it’s a $2500 guitar. And that’s if it’s brand-new-to-look-vintage. If it’s really fifty-five years old, it cost thousands more. I take a step back. “I don’t want to break it.”
Latson sighs. “You won’t break it.”
“How do you know I even play?”
“I saw your acoustic when I picked up Oliver the other night.” He closes the short distance between us. “I know Pete and Jules don’t own a guitar. C’mon. You know you want to.”