“Covert ops,” he mouths and jerks his chin, telling me to find a place to hide and eat. I whisper a grateful “Thank you”, then silently disappear from the kitchen. I balance my burger on top of my salad and lean over my plate to hide it. I make my way toward the balcony doors and slide outside in attempt to be stealthy.
No one joins me for a full five minutes. I enjoy as much of the burger as I can. To be honest, it tastes like heaven, but sits a little heavy in my stomach. I finish only half, which is enough, before Jules and Gwen decide to step outside for some fresh air. We talk about the summer weather, and then Jules moves on to sandals after noticing Gwen’s cute purple wedges. During all of the talk, I try to think of something nice I can do for Latson. It was sweet of him to think of me.
“Jen,” Carter sticks his head outside, “Latson and Dean are looking for you.”
My brow furrows. “For what?”
“Jam session.”
My interest is piqued. Jules and Gwen follow me inside where I spot Latson standing in the middle of the room. He’s holding an acoustic guitar in each hand.
“There you are.” He feigns ignorance as to what I was doing outside. “Here. We’re going to entertain our friends.”
I reach for the neck of the guitar and realize it’s my own. “How did you get this?”
“I have a key.”
My expression twists. “That’s not stalkerish or anything.”
He shakes his head. “I asked Pete to go get it.”
I turn around and find my brother talking to Felix across the room. I catch his eye and point to the guitar, silently asking “You went and got this?”
He nods and shrugs.
I’m always down to play, so I find a seat on the couch next to Dean who is tuning his own instrument. “Are you sure you want me to join in?” I ask. “I’m not in the big leagues like you.”
“You could be,” he says, which makes me smile. I’ll gladly take that compliment.
Latson sits across from us as everyone else, including Oliver, finds somewhere to sit or stand. He strums the strings of his guitar and looks up. “Any suggestions?”
Dean looks at me. “You know Skynyrd. How ‘bout …” He strums the first unmistakable chords of “Sweet Home Alabama.”
Latson waits a moment then jumps right in. I wait until I can catch up. By the end of the first verse I’m there, keeping time and singing right along with them. Both Latson and Dean shoot me a look, but keep playing. Am I not supposed to sing? I keep going anyway. Halfway through the song everyone in the room is either clapping or singing along except for Oliver, who has no idea who Lynyrd Skynyrd is. We finish out of sync and sloppy, but our friends don’t care. We still get applause.
“What’s next?” I ask. This is way too much fun.
“You choose,” Dean says.
I think for a few seconds, then start “Closing Time” by Semisonic. No one joins in, so I stop playing. “Do you know it?”
“I know who I want to take me home,” Laston quips.
Smart ass, I think. I catch Pete giving me a questioning look; if he knew the song he’d understand. Still, I sass, “You’re already home,” and start the intro again. This time the guys join me, and when we get to the bridge, Latson kicks it up a notch. He rocks it with a louder, harder edge. It forces me to think faster and throw more of my upper body into playing, which I love. We end up locking eyes, and it feels like he’s challenging me. I keep the pace and even manage to throw in a couple chord changes of my own. This earns me an impressed nod, and I feel high. I’ve never played with anyone who loves music as much as I do.
We finish to more applause, although I’m sure these people would applaud anything Latson and Dean play. Dean holds out his fist and I bump it with my own. “Niiiiiice,” he says, drawing out the word. “What else do you know?”
We toss around song titles for a minute before settling on “Wonderwall” by Oasis. This song plays out just like the last with Latson and I vying for the upper hand. Other than Dean, I wonder if anyone else notices the unspoken competition. It’s as if we’ve stepped into a modern version of dueling banjos and Dean, like a patient parent, plays backup to our rivalry.
When the song ends Latson shoots me a wry smile. He shakes his head like I’m wearing him out, and I laugh.
“Can you guys play “First Love”?” Kenzie asks. “That’s one of my favorites.”
Latson looks at me. “I don’t think Jen knows it.”
“That’s okay. I can sit one out.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “Go ahead. I’ve never heard it.” Liar, I chastise myself. I downloaded all of Sacred Sin’s music this morning. “First Love” is off their second album.
The guys get ready to start and I relax. I like to play, but I like to be entertained, too.
At first, I have no problem enjoying the song with everyone else. Then, around the second verse, Latson decides it would be fun to mess with me. He catches my eyes every time he sings certain words; specifically you, me, love, and tease. I try to avoid his gaze and find myself fixated on his arms, at the way his biceps flex and his muscles strain beneath his tattoos. I admire the way his fingers move on the strings and, the longer I stare at them, the more I imagine them moving over me. I close my eyes to erase the thought and then open them to see him giving me a sexy smirk. Am I that easy to read? It’s obvious he knows what he’s doing.
And damn if he isn’t good at it.
By the time he finishes the song I’ve pictured him kissing me three times. It feels like the temperature in the room has gone up ten degrees. The guys decide to take a break, and I decide to head to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Singing has made my throat dry.
Okay. A certain someone’s antics have made my throat dry. There’s no use in trying to delude myself.
When I can’t find any bottles on the counter, I open the fridge. It seems less intrusive than rummaging around the cupboards for a glass. I push a carton of milk and some orange juice out of my way as I search.
“Making yourself at home?”
I stand up straight. Latson is hanging on the refrigerator door wearing a “you’ve been caught” look.
“I just need some water.”
He points to the bottom drawer. “In there.”
“Thanks.” I grab a bottle.
He shuts the door as I back away and twist the cap. He leans against the fridge in front of me. “That was a lot of fun back there.” His eyes dart toward the living room.
I nod as I drink.
“We should do it again sometime.”
I nod again.
“Except alone.”
I swallow.
“And naked.” He wags his eyebrows.
Oh my God. Really? I cross my arms over my pounding heart. “Haven’t you realized it’s going to take more than talk to get me naked?” Although, right now, this tank top is feeling like a snowsuit I’d like to rip off.
“A date it is, then. Tomorrow at seven. Don’t be late.” He gives me a confident nod and walks away.
I have no words. My throat is dry again. I take another drink.
I’m screwed.
Chapter Thirteen
What do you wear on a date with an ex-rock star?
I send Jules a picture captioned How about this? I’ve paired khaki capris with a flirty black top. It says “I’m fun,” but in a reserved way.
Absolutely not, she sends back. Are you going to a luncheon?
That’s the problem, I type. I don’t know where I’m going.
It’s true. All I know is I need to be ready at seven o’clock and I’m running out of time.
I wish I could be there to help, she sends. Damn job. Let me see your dresses.
I sigh and head over to the closet. I have two sundresses, both of which Jules talked me into buying the first week I was here. One is sky blue with a lace overlay, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. I would say it’s beach wedding appropriate. The other is a deep red and gold paisley print, more bohemian, with a halter top and deep V-neck. Both dresses fall just above my knee and show off plenty of leg. I take a picture of each and send them to Jules.