A hot rush of summer air blew in then the shop door swung shut again, the bell above the door jangling. Andre’s voice faded into the distance, still shouting orders at the kids as he escorted them across the street. Out of a shop across the way came a woman with bright blue hair. All three children basically fell on her, their excitement obvious even from a distance. She hugged them back with exuberance. Nice to see someone engaging with their kids, being affectionate.
An arm slipped around my shoulders, a familiar body stood at my side. Worn jeans, a pair of battered green Converse, and a tee. (Today’s was the Clash. He would have enjoyed Boyd’s punk music.) It was Vaughan’s usual wardrobe, and damn, he wore it well. Ray-Bans sat on top of his head, holding his beautiful hair back out of his face.
Even fully dressed, the man made my mouth water. What he did to me undressed was best not mentioned in polite company.
“How was the bar?”
“Fine,” I said, reaching up for a quick kiss. Being able to do such a thing? Best. Feeling. Ever. “Rosie had accidentally overbooked but I moved some tables around, asked a couple of people if they didn’t mind sitting at the bar. All fixed.”
“No one gave you any shit?”
“Nope. Just don’t ask me where those bloody body parts in the Dumpster out back came from.”
“Got it.” He stole another quick kiss.
“I hear you’ve started giving guitar lessons.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Unintentionally. It was actually kind of fun.”
“I saw. You had them in the palm of your hand.”
“Yeah?” Getting closer, he rubbed the tip of his nose against mine. The man was a perfect mix of hot and sweet. “I think I’d rather have you in the palm of my hand.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out. Tongue-tied. Brain dead. Cock struck. He made me all of those things and more. Standing so close, looking at me like he was, the man rendered me next to useless.
“What do you think, Lydia?”
“I can’t.”
A frown. “You can’t what?”
“Think.”
His smile was pure carnal pleasure.
The doorbell jangled again and Andre entered, all smiles. “Those kids are your new biggest fans. You should have heard them going on about you.”
Vaughan moved back a step. Thank god. I got the feeling mounting him on the shop counter in the Guitar Den might be a no-no. Public place, children had recently been present, et cetera.
“They’re great kids,” said Vaughan.
“No,” corrected Andre. “You’re a great teacher.”
With a laugh, Vaughan moved his hand to the back of my neck and started rubbing. Sore muscles eased. Even my feet stopped hurting, mostly. I leaned into his touch, urging him on. Any and all contact with the man made things better.
“I’m serious,” said Andre. “You’ve got a gift, Vaughan.”
“No. Just a little more patience with children than you do.”
Andre cut the air with his hand, suddenly serious. “Bullshit.”
“Man—”
“I didn’t need it, so I pretty much let the teaching side of the business slide. But it wouldn’t take much for you to build it up again,” said Andre, hand outstretched and expression earnest. “Soundproof room’s out back, it’s all there. Move back here and teach guitar. You can make decent money doing something you like.”
“Come on.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t enjoying sharing the music with those kids. I saw your face.”
The fingers fell from my neck and Vaughan turned away. “It was fun, sure. But it’s not what I do.”
“It could be.”
“No.” Vaughan shook his head. “Listen, I called Conn earlier. You’re not going to believe this, but Henning Peters wants to work with us. Isn’t that fucking amazing?”
“Impressive.”
“Right? Apparently he saw us play last year and liked what he heard. Thinks we could write some good stuff together,” said Vaughan. “And get this, he’s got record companies already lined up wanting to hear his next project.”
“Is that what you want, to be someone’s project?”
“Hell yes. Henning’s on the verge of going big and we’ll be right there with him. Come on, Andre. This is an amazing opportunity, you know it.” Vaughan’s grin was big, huge. “All I have to do is survive financially until we’ve got enough songs ready then we are going to make a shitload of money.”
“That’s what it’s about now, the money?”
“It was always about the money.”
“No, it wasn’t,” argued Andre “When you left here, you wanted to share your music. You wanted to play guitar, write songs and get them out there, perform live. That’s what drove you.”
I hung back, keeping quiet. Awkward. It seemed being caught in difficult situations was my lot these days. I only wish I knew how to help. Other than keeping my mouth shut and staying out of it, of course.
“Christ,” breathed Vaughan, laughing softly. “Ease up, Andre. I’m still doing what I love.”
“Then why are you so fucking unhappy?”
Vaughan’s face was blank, empty.
“I’ve known you almost all your life. You put on a good show, but you’re not fooling everybody.”
“We’ve been going through some shit, that’s all.”
Face lined with frustration, Andre shook his head. “I’m not talking about we, about the band. I’m talking about you.”
Nothing.
“Heading back out to the coast is not the only option you—”