Part 14 (2/2)

”Wrecked,” I said.

”Yeah, we saw that. You were long gone by the time we finished packing up the gear, but we saw the car. Some drunk dude said you took off with a girl?”

Pathin shook his head, his expression a mix of resignation and near contempt. He'd never approved of my string of girls.

”Yeah, something like that,” I said.

”Well, what happened? Who did it?”

I shrugged. ”The girl I took off with.”

Mark and Pathin stared at me, in shock, and then Mark burst into laughter. ”You're hilarious, Crank.”

”Whatever,” I muttered. Then I started playing the song again. I had the first verse and the chorus down, and it was coming together well, but something wasn't mes.h.i.+ng quite right. The piano was driving, angry, like most of our stuff, but I was trying to work in a longing quality, and it just wasn't coming together. I paused, trying a couple different options, when Mark blurted out, ”Dude, what the h.e.l.l is that?”

I looked up. Both of them were standing there, mouths open.

”What?” I asked.

They looked at each other, until Pathin spoke. ”I think what Mark is trying to say, Crank, is that's ... brilliant.”

I blinked. It wasn't brilliant at all. It actually kind of sucked. ”Oh,” I said. ”Well, that's good.”

”Seriously,” Pathin said, ”I don't know what was in the water when you went to Was.h.i.+ngton, but that's two new songs in a week. And they're good. If you keep this up, we might have to go back to the studio and cut a new EP.”

I snorted. ”We've barely paid for the last one.”

”Whatever, Crank. I'll deliver some extra pizzas or something. Or maybe Mark can actually work for a change.”

”What the h.e.l.l, man, I work!” Mark protested.

”Yes, we know, about four hours a week,” Pathin responded.

”I pull my weight,” Mark said in a sharp tone, glowering.

Pathin looked at him. ”Do we really need to have this discussion again?”

”Guys, cool it,” I said. ”I'm trying to work here.” Christ, they were like an old married couple.

”Whatever,” Mark muttered. ”We're headed out about ten. Coming?”

”Where to?”

”Bill's.”

Near Kenmore Square, Bill's was connected to Lansdowne, where we'd played several shows over the last couple of years. They were friendly, and a lot of the girls from Berklee College of Music hung out there. Which usually meant it was a guaranteed spot for me to pick up some action. Though as tired as I was, I wasn't sure I was up to it that night. Besides, I was sick of Serena giving me a hard time about it. She attended Berklee and sometimes it was a little ... weird ... with her hanging out with girls I'd slept with.

Okay, a lot weird.

”All right. Give me a little bit, I think I've almost got this.”

They wandered off, and I got back to work. The problem was simple, really. I was trying to do something that couldn't be done. Playing with Julia earlier that day had put my brain in a different mode, and what I was really going for here wasn't going to work without four hands on the keyboard. I scribbled it all down, in a hurry, and there it was. Done. And impossible. I shook my head. I seriously needed a nap, I'd hardly had any sleep, and it was almost ten o'clock already, and I wasn't making any progress. I switched the keyboard off and headed upstairs for a shower.

An hour later, the three of us were waved into Bill's Bar & Lounge. It was packed, as expected, and my head was pounding, even with the four aspirin I took before we left. I put back my first drink in a hurry, hoping it would dull the pain a little and relaxed a little on the second.

Then I felt a tiny little arm snake around my waist, and I looked down to see Alicia Mosier.

Oh, d.a.m.n.

Alicia had been a mistake, on too many levels to count. She'd shown up backstage one night after we played next door at Lansdowne, and I'd been sitting, drinking, of course, and she just climbed into my lap. I don't usually turn down that sort of offer. Redheaded, five feet tall, and with a wicked a.s.s and perfect t.i.ts, she'd been a firecracker in bed. A lot of fun. Until the next morning, when she somehow got the idea that we were a thing.

I'd received a lot of dark looks the rest of the day from my bandmates, because they'd all been awakened by the screaming and shouting. Not to mention the coffee mug she threw at me, which shattered into a million pieces against the backsplash in the kitchen.

”Crank!” she said. ”How you doing?”

Pathin's eyes widened at the sight of her, and Mark took a gulp of beer. ”Be back in a minute, gotta hit the head.”

Coward.

”Hey, Alicia ... what are you up to?”

”Just out having some fun, you?”

I couldn't very well say to her, I'm about to run like h.e.l.l, so I said, ”Just grabbing some drinks.”

”You want to dance?” she asked.

”Not feeling well,” I answered.

She slid her hand into my back pocket. Oh, for G.o.d's sake. Then she got up on her toes, which brought her to about the level of my shoulder, and stage-whispered, ”I could make you feel better.”

Pathin groaned, and I gritted my teeth. The thing was, I was seriously torn. Alicia was wild in bed. I mean, seriously wild. And despite my headache, the fricken' traitor between my legs was starting to respond to her curling up against me. She was rubbing her hand in my back pocket in a way that ... well, s.h.i.+t.

I'd regret it in the morning. I repeated the thought to myself to underscore it, give it plenty of weight. If I could put the message on a flaming arrow and shoot it right into my forehead, I would. I'd regret it in the morning. But oh, man, was she hot.

I was wavering, big-time, when Mark showed back up.

And that's when I heard a voice I didn't expect to hear at all.

What are you afraid of? (Julia) Dinner wasn't exactly a disaster, but it came close.

First of all, I was still a mess. After that long, wrenching cry, I withdrew, embarra.s.sed. Jemi didn't push it, which I deeply appreciated. I went to sleep for an hour then was back up, getting a shower. The lack of sleep was not good. I could feel the weight of my eyelids and a little bit of heartburn. I really, really did not want to go out.

I was still in the bathroom, getting myself together when Barrett showed up ten minutes early. Jemi answered the door, and in a surprised voice called out, ”Julia ... there's someone here to see you.”

”I'll be just a minute!” I answered and then went back to putting on makeup. I don't often wear makeup, but it was a date, even if it was one I'd lost interest in. Why did he have to show up early? Willard, who I'd dated most of soph.o.m.ore and junior year before he decided he wanted to get serious, was chronically late. I was guaranteed I'd have an extra fifteen or twenty minutes to get ready any time we went anywhere. Barrett had implied we were going somewhere nice for dinner, so I'd worn a dress, wine red with a retro, nineteen-fifties cut that I'd picked up for a steal last summer. This was the first time I'd worn it.

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