Page 36 of Resonance
Dan:Bet you would’ve.
Owen:Like you wouldn’t. You liked Scary Spice the best, didn’t you.
Dan:Actually, I did. Easily the best singer of the bunch. Sexy. Smart.
Owen:If there were a Spice Boys, you’d be Old Spice.
Dan:We’re editing this part out. Jesus, that was awful.
Chapter 12
Ru signaled me with a wave as I wove through the maze of tables and chairs at Howie’s Bar on Second Avenue for the second time in a month. I was in danger of Howie thinking I’d actually started being social again.
I plopped into the chair Ru kicked out for me as he nudged his chin to indicate the bucket of beers on the table.
“Help yourself,” he said, so I did, lifting my middle finger to the dramatic jaw drop Howie aimed my way from behind the bar.
“I didn’t miss it, did I?”
“Nah, I think he’s up soon, though. A decent duo just finished. You would’ve liked them.” Ru paused for a pull of his beer. “Newlywed and, damn, they looked young, but really good harmonizing.”
I made a face and popped the bottle cap free with the opener hanging from the side of the bucket. “Good luck with that. Music and marriage haven’t gotten along since the beginning of time.”
“Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash,” Ru challenged me with a sideways tilt of his head.
“He had another wife before that.”
“Fact remains.”
“Uh-huh.” I surveyed the audience. It was Howie’s and they were usually welcoming to new acts and open mic nights, but I still cut a sidelong glance at Ru and asked, “He ready for this?”
“Probably not, but I guess everyone has to stick their feet in the fire at some point.”
Owen hadn’t even mentioned he was playing a show. Ru had been the one to tell me. And I hadn’t planned on coming at all, except as the day wound down and I finished closing up the shop, then idled in my truck at the parking lot entrance, I took a left instead of the right that would carry me home. I didn’t let myself think too much about what it meant. Didn’t need to. The entire week since we’d gotten back from Arkansas, I’d been more aware of Owen whenever I was in the shop. Like the net of energy surrounding him had widened and pulled me in, kept me glancing over my shoulder frequently to see where he was and what he was up to, kept me watching him a few beats longer than I usually would have while he was distracted with a customer, shelving records, or mopping the floor, that sheaf of wild hair falling down one side of his face. He’d huff at it or tuck it behind his ears, and my palm would tingle with the desire to smooth it back from his forehead until I’d make a fist and clench the sensation away.
I wasn’t even sure he’d want me to be here, but I’d come anyway, drawn by that same thread of energy that looped around me in the store.
I’d never heard any of his music before, but Ru said it was good, and I already knew from karaoke that Owen could sing. Guess I’d gotten a little more curious about him lately. I could call it that, right? Because I damn sure didn’t want—or wasn’t ready—to call it anything else yet.
“How was Arkansas and seeing Iona?” Maybe I imagined the glint in Ru’s gaze. I couldn’t imagine Owen would’ve said anything. “You didn’t say much about it.”
I shrugged. “About as expected.” Not at all as I expected, because I certainly hadn’t anticipated the raw desire that came over me in that sauna, or just how addictive Owen whispering my name had been. I blinked away the vision of his mouth falling open, wet lips parted, the way he’d arched into me. He’d been exactly what I’d needed at the time. And maybe I’d been the same for him, but there was no need to go and make something more of it.
“Owen said he went into his fanboy frenzy on Iona.”
I chuckled at the memory. “He did for just a second, yeah, but he reined it in. Didn’t smack himself in the face this time, at least, like he did with Les.”
“I was sorry to miss that one.”
“He was… very helpful,” I conceded carefully. “Glad I took him.” This time Ru’s curiosity was undisguised, but he turned away and lifted his beer to his lips with a grunt as the next act came onstage.
The guy was mediocre at best, played a couple of songs that seemed like they were trying to straddle a tenuous line between country and pop, and then he scooted off the stage.
Owen’s name was announced, and he shouldered through the black curtain hung behind the stage.
“He was really nervous he’d trip over something,” Ru explained as Owen picked his way carefully across the carpet and cords snaking over it, the coltish way he moved at odds with my recall of him onstage in Arkansas. He’d leapt on the platform with gusto, urging the crowd to cheer on his partner’s teetering steps behind him. I couldn’t remember her name now, just the flourish of his hands and his laughter as he reached for her elbow to help her up alongside him.
“Rightfully so.” There was a disturbing fondness in my voice. “Guy sometimes moves like he was born with his feet on backwards and strapped into roller skates.”