He laughs. “Seriously, how long are you here for?”
“Three months. Just taking some downtime. Staying quietly out of the mix.”
His lips purse in an upside down sort of smile and he nods. “Well, you’ve been pretty fucking quiet. I didn’t even know you were here.”
He laughs.
Our conversation quickly evolves into the standard array of shit. Music. Concerts. The road. Women. Shop talk and industry gossip. The more we talk, the larger the circle around us gets, and I’m feeling impatient and bored.
I look at Ian. “Do you want to cut out? Have dinner somewhere?”
Ian gives me a strange look, shakes his head, finishes his drink, and then stands. “I’ve got to hit it. It’s getting late.”
Late? “It can’t be past five.”
He shrugs. “Taking off with you tonight would not be a good thing. There’s trouble at home. Better to go home early.”
My brows hitch up. “Ah, Yotti is still leading you on a chase, is she?”
I laugh.
He glares.
I like his wife.
I shouldn’t give him shit.
Ian juts his chin at me. “Fuck you. Besides, you don’t want me hanging around. Every guy’s wet dream just walked in and she’s got her eyes locked on you like a laser.”
I look over my shoulder. Jen, former centerfold model and current employee of the promotion company managing my tour. Beautiful. Built. Definitely sexually adventurous. My LA preference from my list of friends I sleep with when I’m here.
Ian tosses me an amused look. “Lucky bastard. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to you. I didn’t even know you were in LA. How the fuck did she find you? Asshole.”
I manage a small laugh as he fades away and Jen closes in. She settles on the couch close to me. She is wearing Dolce & Gabbana. It carries a special tang on her. I’ve never liked the scent, it is usually too pungent, unless it’s on Jen.
Her eyes do a leisurely once-over of me. She smiles that I’m up for anything kind of smile. My cock twitches. Nothing more. A Pavlovian type of response. Not interested.
“In town, three days, and you haven’t called me,” she says, following that with a catlike pout. “You look as if you need a little tending. Why don’t we find something better to do than this tonight?”
Ah, direct. I usually admire that, and there is certainly no need for the preliminaries with us. But tonight it annoys me, and paradoxically the annoyance feels good.
“I was about to cut out,” I say.
Her eyes brighten. “Good. We can cut out together.”
She leans in, and Ian is right, she is every guy’s wet dream.
I ease away from her. I turn on the couch, one leg on the cushion in an open and inviting posture. “Come here. Get as close as you can get, surround me, without touching me.”
“What?”
My laughter grows huskier. “Do as I say.”
Her eyes do a frantic dart around the room. Checking who is here, I imagine. Hardly anyone, it’s early, and definitely no one important or else I wouldn’t have done this. She’s confused but I can see she’s excited about where this is going.
In graceful, clever moves of her body, she spreads herself over top of me without contact. Softly, she laughs. “What I have in mind will require touching eventually. You used to know that.”
“Touching.” I frame her face with his my fingers, spreading them wide. I have a long history with Jen. I like her, but I like even better that she’s no longer even appealing to me, though not exactly unappealing. I lower her face to mine. Breath touching, nothing more. “Thank you. Be a really good friend and lose my number.”
Her eyes flash. She pulls back and sits on the edge of the cushion. “Fuck you, Manny.” She fixes her eyes on me. “So it’s true?”
I shrug, since I don’t know what she’s asking.
Her gaze turns impatient. “You’re back with Chrissie.”
What the fuck?
The way Jen is staring at me leaves no doubt that Chrissie and I are the fast moving gossip in the scene again. Though how that’s possible, I don’t know. We haven’t even done anything as benign as go out for dinner. Probably just logical assumption, but fuck, gossip means soon there will be tabloid print and that always fucks up Chrissie. And the last thing I need is one more uncontrollable element complicating matters with her.
I ignore the comment and stand. “Have a nice night, Jen.”
She stares up at me. “If you decide you need a friend, call me.”
“If I need a friend, you’ll be the first I call.” I remember the slip of paper in my pocket. I take it out and hand it to her. “There is something I’d like you to do. Messenger two passes to the LA concert to this name and address. Enclose a note from me. Send a car on the day to get them there. Let them know it’s coming.”
Jen looks at it and frowns. “Who is Devon Tyler? I’ve not heard her name before.”
The smile I let surface is lazy and enigmatic. “My pizza delivery boy. I’m working at keeping promises. I’ve kept two in five minutes. Good night, Jen.”
I head back to my car, unsure where I’m going next. After an hour of fighting rush-hour LA traffic, I’m here again.
At Chrissie’s house.
Uninvited.
Without a call.
But, fuck, it’s where I want to be.
I knock on the door and wait.
After more minutes pass than seem necessary, it’s jerked wide and then hits the inside wall with a thump. I stare down at a four-foot-high echo of Jack. The kid looks just like his grandfather. “Which one are you?”
One of the twins, I don’t know which, stares at me, annoyed. “You ask me that every time you see me. Do you think it’s funny or do you have a bad memory?”
Echo of Jack. Bright and blunt in surprisingly improved language skills he’s somehow developed in the last year.
I shrug. “Which one do you think? Funny or bad memory?”
The door is slammed in my face. Laughter bubbles upward, though I’m not certain why.
I don’t move. I wait. I’m starting to feel like an idiot, crouched on the stoop. The door reopens and the kid slaps something on my chest. I look at it. Ah, lopsided letters done in crayon on a mailing label in the center of my shirt: Alan. Another label, carefully made as well, on his shirt: Ethan.
Ah, the boy has not only learned to write during my absence, but he can spell.
I smile at Ethan. “It’s very nice. Where did you learn to do letters?”
“I go to school.” He says that in a way that makes it sound as though it had been a stupid question.
“School is doing you good. The labels are very nice. Do you think it’s funny or do you have a bad memory?”
“I remembered the letters.”
I turned the tables on a six-year-old and Ethan turned them back. Laughing, I pick up the boy, step into the house and shut the door. “You’ve made your point, Ethan. You’ve had enough of the joke.”
Ethan nods. “You’ve been gone a long time. Where did you come from?”
I laugh. Where did you come from? The childlike wording is endearing. “New York. I’ve been gone because I’ve been touring. You’re not mad at me, are you? How have you been?”
“I hate my new house. I liked my old house better.”
I nod and leave that one alone. Ethan likes the old house better because Jesse had been there. “You’ll start to like this house, too, Ethan. I promise.”
“Do you want to play video games? There’s no one to play with today.”
The house does sound quiet.
“Maybe later on the video games.” I smile and then notice his cheeks have a bright red burn. “You look like a lobster. Does it hurt? Who let you get too much sun?”
“Aarsi. She took us to the beach but I stayed in the water with Krystal so she couldn’t turn me into a clown with that white stuff she smooches on my face.”