Take Me Home Tonight (6 page)

She tried to hide it, but there was no mistaking the hurt in her eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I am. Let me shower. I'll be out in a minute.” He hated hurting her, but he'd hurt her worse by using her. Bracing his hands on the tile, he let the hot water stream down his body.

“I get it, you know.”

His muscles tensed, but he kept his head lowered.

“You can't get close to anybody right now. I know. I was there. I saw you shut down. You're not gonna open your heart again, not for a long time. And I love that you don't want to
use me or whatever. But it's
me
, Calix. It's me. You
can't
use me.”

When she touched his back, he straightened, the heel of his hand slamming on the faucet. “Gotta get Mimi home.”

“She said she'd take a cab. Just let her. Stop trying to take care of everyone. Let
me
take care of you.”

He got out of the shower and yanked the towel off the rack. Handing it to her, he drew in a breath. “Shay, listen, we've been friends a long time, and I don't want to screw that up.”

“You can't screw it up. Nothing can ever mess us up. I'll always be here.”

“I don't want you waiting for me.”

“Oh, my God, would you stop worrying about it. It's
us
. I don't expect anything from you. I just want to make you feel good.”

“Come on, Shay. Of course you expect something from me. Not now, not in a month or maybe even a year, but you do expect me to get back with you. And I don't want that. I don't want any expectations at all. I've got—fuck. I don't want anything from anyone. Don't wait for me, okay? Don't hope. Because it's just not there. It's
not there
.”

She ran a palm up his chest. “It'll always be there for us. First love is a powerful thing.”

He'd never had to think about it before, but right then he knew he hadn't been in love with Shay. He'd been obsessed with fucking her. She was hot and willing, anytime anywhere. But love? No, he hadn't loved her. “I don't love you like that, Shay. I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not gonna lie. And I'm not gonna use you just so I can get off. I've known you a long time, and we're always going to be in each other's lives. So, I'm not gonna go there with you again.” He hated spelling it out. “That part of our relationship ended a while ago.”

Calix turned from her, swiping the towel from the hook on the back of the door.

With a raging hard-on he strode back into his room, his thoughts turning to what T-shirt or sweats he could find that would fit Mimi. He figured he'd find plenty of clothes his
friends had left behind in his laundry room, so he'd just grab something for her.

Mimi stood in his doorway, looking between him and Shay, who stood right behind him. “I'm so sorry. I . . .” She gave a little laugh. “Ah. Never mind.” Her creamy complexion burning a fiery red, she turned and fled.

Hitting the rise in the road, Calix braced for the impact.

A riot of wildflowers exploded onto the scene. Brilliant blues, purples, yellows, oranges, and reds. It went on forever.

Just beyond the fields sat a bar of frothy gray ocean. And above that, a bright blue sky with golden streaks of sunshine lancing through the fat, cotton ball clouds.

This view would never get old.

As he neared the farmhouse where Mimi and half the band lived, he started to regret coming early. He'd wanted to make sure he and Mimi were cool, but he'd picked a bad time. She'd be making breakfast. She wouldn't have time to talk about his dick.

And she'd seen it. In all its glory.

He assumed she'd gotten a cab, because when he'd gone to find her with some clean, dry clothes, she'd already gone.

Pulling his Harley into the gravel driveway, he cut the engine and dropped the kickstand. The earth was wet from last night's rainstorm. A gauzy white curtain pressed against the screen of an open window, and he heard someone shout, “I'm up, asshole.” Boots tramped down stairs, and conversation floated from the kitchen. Amid the outdoor
scents of damp gravel and sweet wildflowers, he got a whiff of coffee and baking bread.

With a quick rap of his knuckles against the back door, he entered the laundry room.

“Calix.” Emmie sounded happy to see him as she reached into a cabinet and pulled down a mug. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

She poured from the carafe, handed him the mug, and gestured to the creamer and sugar bowl. “I'm so glad you came for breakfast.”

At the table, Slater, Ben, and Cooper shoveled eggs into their mouths. Derek had Violet pressed against the counter, standing between her legs. Whatever he said, as he nuzzled her ear, made her fingers curl into fists in his flannel shirt, and she tipped her head against his chest with a shy smile.

“Mimi around?” he asked.

“She's here somewhere.” Emmie peered into the oven, an oven mitt covering one hand.

“Got any more biscuits?” Ben called.

“Get 'em yourself,” Slater said.

Emmie laughed. “Five more minutes.”

Not interested in food, Calix wandered into the living room. Eight months ago, he'd come here for the first time. The place had been filled with old furniture and the kinds of vases and figurines collected over a lifetime. Now, though, with Derek, Ben, and Cooper living here, shoes, clothes, and all kinds of instruments were lying around.

He didn't see Mimi but figured she'd be watching
Chopped
or doing research on her computer. Whatever. He wasn't about to look for her upstairs, so he'd just head outside. Walk down to the beach, while the guys ate breakfast.

The moment he turned, he saw her.

On the covered porch, the early morning sun tipped its light onto her, turning her russet hair a fiery mix of golds, reds, and light browns. She usually wore her hair straight and sleek. This morning it tumbled around her in a bounty of curls.

Huddled over the table, she focused on her project. Wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt and pajama pants, face free of
makeup, she looked like an ethereal creature, and it made him want things he couldn't have.

The sound of his boots on the hardwood floor should've snagged her attention, but her intense concentration never broke.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched her use tweezers to carefully place a tiny yellow petal in a pulpy mess of crap covering a screen. The frame of the screen was set over a pan of more of the pulpy stuff immersed in water. Around the room drying racks held sheets of paper the size of notecards. He leaned farther in to get a better look and discovered she'd made scenes out of the delicate and colorful petals.

“This is beautiful.” His voice cracked the silence, and she jolted.

Looking up, the palest pink blush spread across her cheeks. “Oh. Hey.” And then she smiled before going back to work. “Thanks.”

On the face of the card a bride and groom, arms linked, heads tilted toward each other, smiled broadly. The woman held a stunning spray of wildflowers in her hands. It was . . . well, hell. It was remarkable.

“Wedding invitations,” she said quietly.

He'd come for a reason, but she was so fucking beautiful he couldn't pull his thoughts together. “I thought you'd be jumping all over that cooking show stuff.”

“I've been up since four watching episodes of
Chopped
on YouTube. I needed a break, and I have to finish the invitations anyhow.”

“Violet's?”

She nodded. Her loyalty impressed him. A lot about her impressed him. “You left last night.”

“Yeah. I called a cab.”

“We didn't know. Lee was worried.”

“Lee was, huh?” Mischief glittered in her eyes as she perched her wrist on the edge of the table.

“Yeah.” Maybe it was the soft morning light or maybe it was her hair all wild like that, but arousal kicked in, strumming his nerves.

“That's a sweet cottage you've got.”

“Yeah, it was the original home on the property. My parents didn't want to live so close to the water. They wanted more privacy.” Her soft, feminine scent filled the small room, and he needed to get the hell out. “You still coming over at two?”

“I'll be there. But if Dak needs you, just let me know.”

He gave her a tight nod, set his mug down, and then darted for the door like a pit bull was at his heels.

“You're leaving?”

“Taking a walk.”

“But you just got here.”

As he moved behind her, he got a whiff of her shampoo and a glimpse of the pale skin of her slender wrists. His pulse quickened.

“Calix?” Emmie called from the kitchen.

“Yeah?” Hand on the screen door, he waited for more from the disembodied voice.

“You want something to eat before you head into the studio?”

“Nah. I'm good.”

“Okay, well, they'll be heading over in about ten minutes.”

“Got it.” He gave a curt nod to Mimi, his hand twisting the knob.

“You don't like my food?” Mimi asked.

“Your food's fine.”

“Then how come you never stay to eat it?” She set the tweezers down, giving him a look that said,
After all we shared last night? You're going to be distant again?

Well, yeah, last night he'd said too much. He shrugged, gazing out the screen door.

“You know, it's pretty fun around here. How come you never hang out?”

“Got other shit to do.”

Again, that knowing look. “You got so much shit to do right this minute you can't have a biscuit with the guys?”

Why was she pushing it?

“Just sit with them. Come on, did you eat breakfast?”

He shook his head.

“Well, lucky you, because I found an awesome recipe for
huevos rancheros. Some chiles, a warm corn tortilla. Splash of sour cream. It's pretty delish, if you ask me.”

“I'm good.” He opened the door. “Just gonna take a walk before being shut in the studio all day.”

She got up. “We should just say it, you know? We're going to be around each other, and we don't want it to be weird.”

“Say what?”

“Last night.” Her gaze dropped to his package. “I saw your wiener.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, and then he burst out laughing. “You weren't the first.” He stepped through the door. “And you won't be the last.” And then he jumped off the stairs and took off across the grass, heading for the ocean.

*   *   *

Rarely
did a band work together so well, so perfectly in sync with each other, that it made playing a crystal pure joy. But that was how it was with Blue Fire. Calix closed his eyes, blending into the music, letting it flow into and through him.

The guys had a pretty good gig out here. The studio was right in Slater and Emmie's backyard, their house not even a mile down the road from Violet's.

After the last note faded away, Ben tossed his drumsticks into the air. Everyone looked at each other, faces impassive, and then all of a sudden, they broke into laughter.

This band had a lot of moments like this—they liked each other. Really connected. And, he had to admit, it felt good. Really fucking good.

If he could join a band, it would be this one. But he couldn't. Not yet.

So it wasn't worth thinking about.

“That was great, you guys,” Sam, the recording engineer, said into the talkback mic.

Coop pulled off his headphones. “You think he toned down some of that reverb on the backing tracks like we asked?” He lifted his shirt to wipe the perspiration off his face.

“I think we'll just have to
trust
that he
knows
what he's
doing
,” Ben said, imitating Dak's patronizing voice, going heavy on the Valley Girl accent. Though Dak didn't sound quite like that, he still placed a strange emphasis on certain words.

Calix found Derek watching him. The bass player shook his head.

“What?” Calix asked.

“Dude, you were scorching on keys.”

Calix turned to find his water bottle. “Thanks. Yeah, good session.”

Slater came out of the isolation booth, the only one not smiling.

“You got a clothespin on your sac, man?” Coop joked.

“It was off, right?” Slater opened the door to the control room. “How'd that sound?”

Dak didn't even look up from the mixing board.

“Dak, man,” Slater said. “How'd it sound?”

The guy shoved his messy, dark blond hair out of his eyes and pushed his black glasses up his nose. “Huh? Oh, cool, yeah. I think I want to try it with Calix on vocals.”

Derek set his Fender in the stand and joined them in the control room. “What're you talking about?”

“We're going to slow it down. It's not working as a rock song. I want to try it as a ballad, and Calix has perfect pitch.”

“So does Slater,” Ben said at the same time Coop said, “That song is not a ballad.”

“We'll try it that way and see,” Dak said.

With a frustrated expression, Coop squared his shoulders. “It's clearly not a ballad.”

“I want to hear it with Calix,” Dak said.

“Guys.” Calix pushed through them to stand in front of Dak. “I'm a session musician. This isn't my band. Not my place to do lead vocals.” He brushed past them.

“Hang on. Where you going?” Slater followed him out of the control room and into the lounge.

“I'm gonna let you guys figure it out.” He pushed out the door into the bright sun of midmorning.

“Look, I think it's time we have a band meeting,” Slater said. “Nothing feels right with this album, and we have to figure out what to do about it.”

“Makes sense.” Wet grass flattened under his boots. He noticed his dad's truck at the side of Slater's house and couldn't miss his big body in the kitchen with Mimi.

“What're we gonna do about this asshole?” Derek asked, joining them.

Leaving them to discuss it, Calix leapt up the steps to the back porch. They had no fucking idea how hard it was for him to just play keys. No idea. He was used to having total control. As singer for his band, he'd played lead guitar. All his life in his home studio, he'd played and arranged everything.

“Calix, hold up,” Slater said. “What do you think of Dak?”

He stopped before opening the door and faced them. “I think if you're not happy with the tracks, you should say something. It's your band. Your sound.”

“The problem is that we haven't heard anything,” Derek said. “We don't know
what
we've got.”

“Guys.” Sam stood outside the studio and called from the doorway. “Need you back in here.”

“Hang on.” Slater's tone had her jaw snapping shut. Turning back to Calix, he said, “You've got more experience at this side of things, so I'm asking for your input. This is important.”

“Yeah, it's important. So, like you said, have a meeting. Figure out what you want. You don't want to lose control of your sound.”

“Every time we bring it up, we're told we're supposed to trust Dak.” Derek looked frustrated.

“Why?” He knew he sounded impatient, but come on. It was their band. Why weren't they fighting for their songs?

“Because he's fuckin' Dak Johnson,” Derek said.

“Which worked out great for Pitstop and the other bands he's worked with. But is it working for you?”

Derek and Slater shared a look, some kind of private communication going on. Derek looked uncomfortable. “No.”

“Then do something about it.”

“You think we haven't?” Slater said. “You see what he does when we challenge him.”

“Do you
want
me on lead vocals on that song?” He would
fucking love to sing that damn song. He and Slater had written it together, and he felt that song in his bones.

“No.”

“Then talk to him. If he won't back down, get Emmie involved. Let her handle the hard conversations.” They needed to make more use of Slater's wife. She was a formidable manager.

“He's right,” Derek said. “We've put up with enough of his shit. Let's talk to her right now, before we go back in there.”

Slater stopped him before he took off. “She's at a doctor's appointment.”

All the anger and frustration fled, and Derek smiled. “Yeah? That's today?”

Slater whacked his arm with the back of his hand, cutting him off. He tried to hide his obvious happiness—but failed. “Yeah.” He looked away. “We'll see.”

The guys shared a look—both of them unable to contain their smiles.

Calix had no idea what they were talking about, so he went inside. He found his dad and Mimi at the kitchen counter. “Dad.”