Part 7 (1/2)
Two extra guitars and a ba.s.s, one violin, and a set of bagpipes-set them up along the far wall, as gently as possible. I had no idea how bagpipes are supposed to be properly stored, but what the h.e.l.l. Ah-a few small bags from the local drugstore. Excellent. All smaller trash-grocery receipts, candy bar wrappers, old pens and broken pencils-headed into the plastic bags. The condom jar went straight in without a second thought. I unearthed several cell phones-they went next to the pile of contracts, but the torn paperback books belonged on top of the papers full of poetry and music...and on... and on... and on...
”Um.”
The fog receded and I blinked, finding myself on my hands and knees, using a torn old t-s.h.i.+rt to wipe down the baseboards surrounding the loft. I looked up to see Carter hanging off the white ladder, staring at me as though he had never seen me before.
”Yes?” I asked him, annoyed. The baseboards were filthy...
His face was almost comical as he surveyed the suddenly emptied loft. Except for a few small piles in the corner of junk and trash carefully sequestered from the well organized s.p.a.ce, it was remarkably livable now. Throw a few sheets on the bed, maybe install a bathroom and a lamp and you could live the rest of your days in this place. If you wanted to be a bohemian poet, that is. And sometimes I did.
He appeared to shake himself, though the expression of shock did not leave his features. ”I, uh, I just wanted to tell you that rehearsal was over,” he said. ”I thought you'd be up here drinking the beer...”
”Oh, you mean the fridge full of no beer?” I said. ”I think you guys need to start cutting back. All I found in it was a mostly-empty pint of pineapple-coconut ice cream. I did find a ton of empty beer bottles, though...”
He blinked, shaking his head again. ”Yeah... but why? Why would you clean the loft?”
I shrugged. ”I was bored?”
A noise at the bottom of the ladder, and Carter looked down, then scooted over. Kent's head popped up over the lip of the loft. His face betrayed no surprise, but his eyes narrowed as he surveyed me, on my hands and knees, wiping away years of grime and caked-on cigarette smoke.
”Rebecca's cleaning is a compulsive reaction to stress,” he said mildly.
Carter turned and looked at him. ”What? How do you know that?”
His mouth quirked. ”She told me so herself.”
”s.h.i.+t,” Carter said. ”If I cleaned when I got stressed I'd have the cleanest house in the universe. It'd be, like, all j.a.panese simplicity and s.h.i.+t.”
”If your response to stress was cleaning, you'd be sober,” Kent said.
Kent wasn't watching Carter's face, but I saw the wince there. ”Yeah,” he muttered. ”And then we'd all be broke.”
Tension. Tension, tension, tension. If I could just get these baseboards clean...
”Rebecca.” Kent's voice cut through my thoughts and I was mildly amused to find that I had been reaching for the closest grime-covered bit of molding. Maybe I did have a bit of a compulsive cleaning problem, but so what? It was better than a compulsive drinking problem, or a compulsive f.u.c.king problem. I bet that Kent had a compulsive f.u.c.king problem, considering how much f.u.c.king stress everyone put him through. Well, I wasn't going to be that way. I would be useful. I would never be a rock star or whatever, but at least I knew how to get blood out of a carpet...
”Rebecca!” A hand alighted on my back and I about jumped out of my skin. Turning, I found Kent kneeling next to me, his hand on me. Warmth spread from where his broad palm touched my spine, slithering up and down my body, sweeping into places where it had no business going. I jerked away.
For the strangest moment, he looked contrite. ”Sorry,” he said. ”You just kept cleaning. Rehearsal's over, we need to go get your things from your sister's house.”
I swallowed around my dry tongue. ”Oh. Right.” I s.h.i.+fted my gaze to Carter, who was staring at the two of us.
”How do you two know each other so well already?” he asked.
I felt my brows raise up to my hairline. ”Excuse me?” I said, while, at the same time, Kent said, ”I interviewed her for the job, remember?”
Carter looked between us, then shook his head. ”f.u.c.k,” he said. ”I have a headache. I'm going home. I need to take a nap or something.
Immediately beside me Kent's whole body tensed. ”You're going home?” he said. ”For real going home?”
Carter shot him an irritated look. ”Yes, of course I'm going home. G.o.d, I'm not a kid any more.”
I practically heard the words vibrating in Kent's throat-Then stop acting like one!-but I jumped in.
”You had a hard night last night,” I told him. ”Don't worry, Kent and I will take care of it. There's really not much to take care of. I got it all to LA in two garbage bags, so...”
I trailed off, suddenly feeling very shabby and silly, but Carter just shrugged. ”Okay, thanks Mrs. Girlfriend. I'll see you at home.” He smiled. ”In fact, I'll give you the grand tour.”
I smiled back. ”Thanks.”
”Right, lates,” he said, and disappeared below the lip of the loft and within seconds I heard the door open and close as he left. And then Kent and I were alone. Without meaning to, I looked at him and our eyes locked.
My whole body vibrated with his nearness. He knelt on the floor next to me, and I had a sudden vision of him leaping across the s.p.a.ce between us, his lips cras.h.i.+ng into mine, his hard, seeking hands invading every inch of my body, whether I wanted them or not... and of course I wanted them. I thought of his rough, calloused fingers moving inside me and a wave of dizziness swept over me.
His eyes burned. He had eyes that burned, cold blue-green fire.
I half expected him to reach for me-after all, there was a mattress not ten feet away. A really gross mattress, and we'd make it grosser, but that didn't matter. I wanted to hold his c.o.c.k in my hand and see his blue-green eyes slide closed as I stroked him into a frenzy- In the column of his throat, his Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes suddenly snapped shut as he whipped away from me and moved to the ladder. ”Let's go,” he said. ”Your s.h.i.+t isn't going to pack itself.”
The heady air of possibility dissipated and I had to take a deep breath before I replied. ”Right,” I said, my voice only shaking slightly. ”Let's get going.” And I followed him down the ladder, hoping he was watching my a.s.s as I came down, but when I reached the bottom I found he had picked up my bag and was holding it out to me, the straps clutched in his hand in such a way that I could take it from him without touching him.
Licking my lips, I grabbed it, keeping my distance, and, without a word, we left together.
Chapter Six.
We rode to my sister's apartment in silence, and I had no idea what to expect when we got there. The bluetooth kept ringing, first showing up Sonya's name on the dash display, and then Manny. Then Sonya again, and Sonya again, and then several names that I didn't recognize, and with each one Kent wound up tighter and tighter.
He drove the car like a man who had a death wish, and with each rev of the engine I became more and more attuned to his mood and body. His hands on the steering wheel, his glowering blue-green eyes studying the road ahead, his thighs tightening and relaxing inside his suit pants...
It was weird, but I hadn't yet seen him out of a suit. What kind of rock G.o.d wears suit pants as his regular attire? I had to wonder, but it didn't matter. All I could think about was how much I wanted him to take those pants off.
I was going crazy. I'd never-ever-been so nuts about f.u.c.king a guy before. My hands fiddled with the door, brus.h.i.+ng against the window controls on my side. There were small bits of something stuck in the small gaps between the controls and the armrest, and I started to pick at them with my thumbnail, gently prying them out of their home and letting them fall to the carpet where they would be easier to vacuum up later.
Not that I'd been hired to be the maid of the house. But, I mean, you might as well do what you can when the opportunity presents itself.
”You fidget a lot.”
Kent's dark voice cut through my reverie-again. I looked up. He was watching the road, gunning the engine as he wove in and out of traffic while his jaw clenched tighter with each call that came buzzing through. He cut off each one as soon as he read the name, and I could feel him working himself into a towering rage.
Thank G.o.d we were nearing Rose's apartment. He'd calm down once we got out. Maybe.
As for myself, I was starting to realize that yes, this was very real. I was about to pack my things for the second time in as many weeks and move to completely different circ.u.mstances. The thought scared me a little, but also thrilled me. Leaving it all behind... that's what I'd wanted to do when I left San Diego. And now I was doing it.
”Stop picking at my car.”
I started and realized I'd been excavating crumbs from the door handle again. ”Sorry,” I said.
He just grunted. ”What's got you all worked up?” he demanded, as if no one except for Kent Hudson could have a problem that was bothering them.