Double Time
Page 40
She followed his instruction but still didn’t get the same quality of note that Brian got. He extended a hand. “Here, I’ll show you.”
She handed him the guitar and watched his fingers in rapt attention as he played the solo several times in a row. He didn’t bother strumming more than he would his electric guitar, so it didn’t sound much like a solo as most of the notes were almost silent with no pickups to amplify them. “I’ll show you on an electric tonight,” he said.
“I see what you’re doing.” She took his hand in hers and flipped it over to inspect his fingertips and then her own. “I need to work on some new callouses. Yours are more off-center than mine. I’m not hitting the strings in the same spot.”
“Instead of trying to copy me, maybe you should work on your own sound.”
She grinned at him. “But I like yours. Wish I would have come up with it first.”
“Why don’t you play some of the stuff you wrote?” Trey suggested. He still remembered the mesmeric riff she’d been playing in Dare’s studio when he’d taken her up on her challenge to duel. He’d watched her for several minutes before he found the sense to interrupt.
She flushed. “I’ll just embarrass myself.”
Most guitarists started out copying the guitarists they admired, and that would serve her fine as she took over for Max, but when she pushed to the next level in her career, she’d need to find her own sound. And be confident that she owned it.
Brian patted her knee. “You’ve got the talent. You’ll get there.” He climbed to his feet and found his seat. He reclined it. “I’m going to catch a little nap. Didn’t get much sleep at the hospital last night. I’d appreciate it if you two would keep the orgasmic screaming to a minimum.”
Trey stood and reached into an overhead bin. He pulled out a pillow and blanket and tossed them at Brian, hitting him dead in the face. If Reagan hadn’t already expressed her suspicions about Trey’s feelings for Brian, Trey would have chosen a less violent delivery, but he had to be careful not to show her how much he cared about him.
“Thanks,” Brian said sarcastically and stuffed the pillow under his head. He spread the blanket over his body and clutched it to his chest.
Trey turned the lights in the cabin down and winked at Reagan, who was sitting with her guitar still on her lap and watching him a bit too closely. Trey sat beside her on the sofa and took the guitar from her. He set it carefully on the floor and drew her into his arms. “We never got to cuddle after our initiation into the mile high club,” he murmured near her ear.
She shifted onto his lap and wrapped both arms around his neck. He mostly just held her for the next hour and stroked her skin tenderly. They exchanged a few sweet kisses, but Trey was far too preoccupied with Brian’s situation to intensify the passion between himself and Reagan. Brian wasn’t happy and if Brian wasn’t happy, none of the band was happy. Even though Sed led the band and they all looked to him to fix any logistical problems, Brian was their keystone, and without his talent, they had nothing to center themselves around. They all depended on him to be their creative focus. Trey was pretty sure Brian could stick it out for the next two weeks, but what of the next year? They’d just put out a new album they needed to promote. They were co-headlining with Exodus End all across North America, then Europe and Australia. Asia. South America. Brian might be able to fly back to see Myrna and Malcolm when he was within a few hours flight time, but from the other side of the globe? There was no way.
“What are you thinking about?” Reagan asked, her hand moving to stroke the tension from his forehead.
“The end of Sinners.”
She glanced at Brian who was out cold and drooling all over his pillow. “Maybe the band just needs to take a year off.”
“Maybe.” But then Sed and Jess would probably have a kid or twelve and they’d be in the same place. “I’m never having kids,” he muttered under his breath.
“Me neither,” she said.
Trey glanced down at her. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud and was surprised that Reagan wouldn’t want kids. Didn’t all women want them?
“You don’t want kids?”
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what they do to your vagina?” she said. “No thank you.”
Trey laughed and squeezed her against him. “My perfect woman.”
Chapter 11
Reagan carried two of her guitars onto Sinners’ tour bus. Behind her, Brian and Trey had divvied up her remaining luggage and followed her onboard. Her stomach fluttered when she noticed the Eric Sticks sitting at the dining table, poring over musical scores. His untamed black hair, with a streak of canary yellow that started at his left temple and continued down a finger-thick strand that fell to his collarbone, caught her attention first. Then his ruggedly handsome features. Then his long, sinewy body and masculine hands. He glanced up, barely gave Reagan a second glance with a pair of piercing blue eyes, before his gaze settled on Brian. “Pictures,” he demanded and flicked a beckoning hand at him.
Brian dropped Reagan’s luggage and brushed past her to sit next to Eric in the booth. He began flipping through pictures on his cell phone. He’d been so excited when he had been allowed to turn on his cell phone after landing and found he had six new pictures and a video of Malcolm sleeping in his bassinet for the first time. While Eric ooo-ed and aww-ed over baby pictures, Trey struggled with Reagan’s abundance of luggage.
“I brought too much, didn’t I?” she asked.
“You think?” Trey laughed and stacked her four guitar cases on the only sofa on the bus.
“Maybe we should store them underneath the bus,” she said.
“Good idea.”
“You’re not going to introduce her?” Eric asked. He lifted his gaze from Brian’s three-minute-long, baby-sleeping video to look at Reagan.
Brian elbowed him in the ribs. “This is Malcolm’s first meal.”
Eric looked at the picture and grinned. “Niiiice.”
Trey stared at her as if he had no idea how to introduce her to Eric. Eventually he said, “This is Reagan. She’ll be on tour with us for the next two weeks. Dare’s idea.”
Eric scratched behind his ear. “Dare’s idea?”
“I’m Exodus End’s new rhythm guitarist. Taking over for Max,” Reagan explained.
“Oh. Max’s carpal tunnel syndrome. Pussiest reason for giving up guitar that I’ve ever heard. So why are you touring with us instead of rehearsing with them?”
She handed him the guitar and watched his fingers in rapt attention as he played the solo several times in a row. He didn’t bother strumming more than he would his electric guitar, so it didn’t sound much like a solo as most of the notes were almost silent with no pickups to amplify them. “I’ll show you on an electric tonight,” he said.
“I see what you’re doing.” She took his hand in hers and flipped it over to inspect his fingertips and then her own. “I need to work on some new callouses. Yours are more off-center than mine. I’m not hitting the strings in the same spot.”
“Instead of trying to copy me, maybe you should work on your own sound.”
She grinned at him. “But I like yours. Wish I would have come up with it first.”
“Why don’t you play some of the stuff you wrote?” Trey suggested. He still remembered the mesmeric riff she’d been playing in Dare’s studio when he’d taken her up on her challenge to duel. He’d watched her for several minutes before he found the sense to interrupt.
She flushed. “I’ll just embarrass myself.”
Most guitarists started out copying the guitarists they admired, and that would serve her fine as she took over for Max, but when she pushed to the next level in her career, she’d need to find her own sound. And be confident that she owned it.
Brian patted her knee. “You’ve got the talent. You’ll get there.” He climbed to his feet and found his seat. He reclined it. “I’m going to catch a little nap. Didn’t get much sleep at the hospital last night. I’d appreciate it if you two would keep the orgasmic screaming to a minimum.”
Trey stood and reached into an overhead bin. He pulled out a pillow and blanket and tossed them at Brian, hitting him dead in the face. If Reagan hadn’t already expressed her suspicions about Trey’s feelings for Brian, Trey would have chosen a less violent delivery, but he had to be careful not to show her how much he cared about him.
“Thanks,” Brian said sarcastically and stuffed the pillow under his head. He spread the blanket over his body and clutched it to his chest.
Trey turned the lights in the cabin down and winked at Reagan, who was sitting with her guitar still on her lap and watching him a bit too closely. Trey sat beside her on the sofa and took the guitar from her. He set it carefully on the floor and drew her into his arms. “We never got to cuddle after our initiation into the mile high club,” he murmured near her ear.
She shifted onto his lap and wrapped both arms around his neck. He mostly just held her for the next hour and stroked her skin tenderly. They exchanged a few sweet kisses, but Trey was far too preoccupied with Brian’s situation to intensify the passion between himself and Reagan. Brian wasn’t happy and if Brian wasn’t happy, none of the band was happy. Even though Sed led the band and they all looked to him to fix any logistical problems, Brian was their keystone, and without his talent, they had nothing to center themselves around. They all depended on him to be their creative focus. Trey was pretty sure Brian could stick it out for the next two weeks, but what of the next year? They’d just put out a new album they needed to promote. They were co-headlining with Exodus End all across North America, then Europe and Australia. Asia. South America. Brian might be able to fly back to see Myrna and Malcolm when he was within a few hours flight time, but from the other side of the globe? There was no way.
“What are you thinking about?” Reagan asked, her hand moving to stroke the tension from his forehead.
“The end of Sinners.”
She glanced at Brian who was out cold and drooling all over his pillow. “Maybe the band just needs to take a year off.”
“Maybe.” But then Sed and Jess would probably have a kid or twelve and they’d be in the same place. “I’m never having kids,” he muttered under his breath.
“Me neither,” she said.
Trey glanced down at her. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud and was surprised that Reagan wouldn’t want kids. Didn’t all women want them?
“You don’t want kids?”
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what they do to your vagina?” she said. “No thank you.”
Trey laughed and squeezed her against him. “My perfect woman.”
Chapter 11
Reagan carried two of her guitars onto Sinners’ tour bus. Behind her, Brian and Trey had divvied up her remaining luggage and followed her onboard. Her stomach fluttered when she noticed the Eric Sticks sitting at the dining table, poring over musical scores. His untamed black hair, with a streak of canary yellow that started at his left temple and continued down a finger-thick strand that fell to his collarbone, caught her attention first. Then his ruggedly handsome features. Then his long, sinewy body and masculine hands. He glanced up, barely gave Reagan a second glance with a pair of piercing blue eyes, before his gaze settled on Brian. “Pictures,” he demanded and flicked a beckoning hand at him.
Brian dropped Reagan’s luggage and brushed past her to sit next to Eric in the booth. He began flipping through pictures on his cell phone. He’d been so excited when he had been allowed to turn on his cell phone after landing and found he had six new pictures and a video of Malcolm sleeping in his bassinet for the first time. While Eric ooo-ed and aww-ed over baby pictures, Trey struggled with Reagan’s abundance of luggage.
“I brought too much, didn’t I?” she asked.
“You think?” Trey laughed and stacked her four guitar cases on the only sofa on the bus.
“Maybe we should store them underneath the bus,” she said.
“Good idea.”
“You’re not going to introduce her?” Eric asked. He lifted his gaze from Brian’s three-minute-long, baby-sleeping video to look at Reagan.
Brian elbowed him in the ribs. “This is Malcolm’s first meal.”
Eric looked at the picture and grinned. “Niiiice.”
Trey stared at her as if he had no idea how to introduce her to Eric. Eventually he said, “This is Reagan. She’ll be on tour with us for the next two weeks. Dare’s idea.”
Eric scratched behind his ear. “Dare’s idea?”
“I’m Exodus End’s new rhythm guitarist. Taking over for Max,” Reagan explained.
“Oh. Max’s carpal tunnel syndrome. Pussiest reason for giving up guitar that I’ve ever heard. So why are you touring with us instead of rehearsing with them?”
