Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (bill gates best books TXT) 📗

Garrett threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. No big deal. It was just a suggestion. I thought it would help if Rick had one less thing to worry about.”

“Rick’s fine.” Marc turned to the guitarist. “Right?”

“Yes.” Rick’s answer was short, clipped, but his face was unreadable.

“And right now we all need to relax and not get on each other’s case. This could be the big break we’ve been waiting for.”

“We’ve done opening act tours before and ended up going no place,” Danny reminded them, “and Rick, that’s not on you. Shit happens. But we’re putting all our eggs in a real big basket here.”

“And we’ll be fine,” Rick said. His words were carefully measured but every line of his body screamed tension. “As long as we’re ready and hit our marks.”

“We’ll do it,” Marc said. “Okay, guys?”

The other two nodded.

Everyone was silent for a long moment until Rick finally smiled. “Okay, then. I say rehearsal every afternoon this week except Saturday when we shoot the video. Sunday, we record and mix and Monday, I sit down with Butch Meredith. We all good?”

There was a chorus of yesses.

“Then go home, shower and eat and be back here for the first set.”

Marc locked his bass in its velvet-lined case and headed for the back door when Rick stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Thanks.”

“No big deal. You and I have been doing this a lot longer than the other two, and they might get a little hinky once in a while. But it’s all good now.”

“Thanks to you.”

“So do I get more money?” he asked with a hint of laughter.

Rick chuckled. “Right after I do. Listen. I saw your woman come back again last night.”

“Yeah, she did.” For a moment heat surged through him, combined with anxiety. He hated the uncertain nature of their relationship, the tenuous feeling still swirling around it. He thought of her nearly every moment except when he forced himself to focus on the band and wondered if she thought of him, too. What kind of job did she have? Did daydreams of them interrupt her work?

“Hey, buddy.” Snapping fingers brought him back to the moment. “Where did you go?”

“Uh, right here.” He gave himself a mental shake.

“So how’s that going? Any better?”

Marc dragged his fingers through his hair, thinking of how once again she tried to leave without telling him until he woke up and caught her. And hating it. “I’d say…yes and no.”

Rick quirked an eyebrow. “Well, nothing like telling it straight out.”

“I know, I know. No, I really don’t know.” He looked at Rick. “Jesus, is that me talking?”

“’Fraid so. What’s the problem now?”

“The sex is great. She’s great. The best woman I’ve ever met.” And just like that the thought became reality.

“And you can tell that after being with her only twice?” Rick sounded skeptical. “You’ve never said this about any other woman you’ve been with.”

No, because they were all a product of the club environment and not what I really had in mind for myself. It wasn’t what rang my chimes. I want normal, whatever normal is. Probably different for everyone. But how to convince Music Lady?

“I could tell it the first time. But the thing is, she still won’t tell me her name. Or give me any way to get in touch with her.”

Rick studied him. “Are you sure she isn’t married?”

“I’d bet money on it. Unfortunately we’ve both seen women in that situation before and she doesn’t act like they did. No, it’s something different. Almost as if she’s afraid to tell me. Like she’s one person with me and another when she runs home to whatever world she lives in.”

“Well, I’m certainly not one to give advice on women. But if you feel there’s really something there between you, then hang in there. Read the clues she gives you. If it’s supposed to happen it will. I’ve seen screwier things in my life.”

“I guess.”

But Rick’s words still rattled around in his brain after he left the club. And instead of heading home, he turned in the opposite direction toward his parents’ house. His mother would be home from work now, either taking a casserole she’d made out of the freezer or figuring out where she could nudge his father to take her for dinner.

He loved his incredible relationship with both of his parents who were as much friends as Mom and Dad. It was the reason he could discuss things with them that would shock his friends. When he’d tell his mom about Music Lady, she’d probably suggest he walk away. Still, she was a good sounding board for him, and exactly what he needed right now.

He rang the doorbell twice, his signal, and pulled on the front door at the same time. Open. Good.

“Marc?” His mother’s voice called form the kitchen. “That you?”

“One and the same.”

Frannie Malone was standing at the counter but she glanced over her shoulder when she heard him come in. He hugged her and planted a big kiss on her cheek. “How’s my favorite girl?”

She laughed. “You must be between women if I’m your favorite.” She ran her eyes over him and he knew what she saw—torn jeans and an old T-shirt he’d worn for rehearsal. The stubble on his jaw and the wildness of his hair. What she always called his derelict image. “Not that any woman would want you looking like this.” Then she kissed his cheek. “Of course, I personally think she’d be lucky to get you.”

“Mother’s don’t count. You’re prejudiced.” He opened the fridge and took out a cold can of soda, popped the top and took a healthy swallow.

The stove timer dinged, and his mother put the casserole on the counter into the oven, set the timer and turned to him.

“You know I’m always glad to see you, honey, but I know how busy you are right now. So what brings you here in the middle of the week?” She grinned