WEDNESDAY: With Lots of Cream (Hookup Café Book 3) Read online

  The only thing that I thought may have swayed him was that maybe he was feeling what I was—a real connection—intimacy. Did it scare him like it did me? Did he want me to see him draped by half naked women? Some giving blow jobs while other got fucked right out in the open. Thankfully, he wasn’t engaged in either of those activities or another act equally as graphic. But two women were snuggled up pretty close to him and perhaps if I had been a little later I would have witnessed a hell of a lot more. It was enough for me though, I couldn’t stay and listen or watch the smirking faces of the groupie girls, knowing that they had struck a nerve in me.

  It was obvious to me that the backstage-music-world-drama never changed and why I had avoided it, and mainly avoided all musicians altogether. Nate, I wasn’t even sure was fully immersed in it—still not knowing exactly what he did. Maybe I had my answer.

  Chapter Six…

  Waking the next morning after going over the scene of the previous night and the weeks we’d spent together over and over, I was exhausted. But I refused to spend my whole day in bed catching up on lost hours and since I had a day off I thought that I should take full advantage of it. So I jumped in my car, put the top down, and headed up the coast to La Jolla. Shopping, good seafood, and watching the seals at sunset on the cliff above the jetty—it sounded perfect.

  It didn’t quite bring me as much joy as I hoped it would when I saw couples everywhere; holding hands, laughing, kissing, hugging—enjoying each other’s company. I did, however, pick up some great items in a few stylish boutiques, a plus for the day. And I skipped seafood for alehouse sliders in a little quaint brewery. Foregoing watching the sun go down, I headed for another night alone—as I always was since moving into my loft. Part of my day off—when my mind ran to thoughts of Nate—I had wished to be working.

  Working in the café, I felt better surrounded by the customers along with listening to the bantering between the girls—it was much preferred to moping about. And I even ended up shocking myself; accepting an invite to tagalong with Saylor and her old high school girlfriends to a nightclub. “Best way to get over Mr. With-Lots-of-Cream…” I knew the rest of that… “Get under someone else.”

  Even Vixen agreed to go along, saying she needed a drink, a dance, and several laughs. She and I agreed that we both needed the distraction to combat the shit going on with our own lives. We just didn’t realize that we would be throwing ourselves into a shit storm of drama. I had forgotten how bitchy and petty girls could be with their drama. At first, it was fun to listen to their old stories, but then less-than-happy girls joined the table. After one too many drinks, the dirty laundry spilled all out on the table, and ugly words were exchanged. Not wanting any part, Vixen excused herself claiming that she needed to get home to her son. And I let Saylor pull me away from the table onto the crowded dance floor. It seemed that she was in the middle of some of the gossip as she called it—all fucking lies—and she had heard enough.

  Loving to dance, I grabbed my drink in one hand, and moved my fun-mini-dress clothed body with wild abandon in extremely high heels. It felt incredible to be so free, floating with the rhythm of the music. Another thing that wasn’t so bad, a hot guy cut in between Saylor and me. He wasn’t Nate, but he was a nice distraction until he wasn’t—he seemed to disappear leaving me to fizzle out. A drop in my momentum, a definite mood swing, told me it was time to go home before I felt like the next day with a massive hangover. So I found Saylor in what looked like a heated discussion and simply waved quickly, motioning that I was leaving. And with the help of my handy car-for-hire app, I made my way home.

  Getting ready for bed; teeth brushed, face washed, contacts out, a t-shirt of Nate’s on—a parting gift, unbeknownst to him—I heard a knock at my door. Looking through the peephole, I was surprised to see Nate on the other side of my door. I opened the door ajar, blocking the full view inside my doorway.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” I had so many questions, I started with simple ones.

  He ignored both of them. “Is this your cat?” I looked down to see Nash, an extremely friendly resident cat, rubbing up against Nate’s legs, purring loudly, and winding himself around them.

  Matching his lack of answering questions, I turned toward my kitchen, closing my door a bit more, and went in search of a key. Then returning to the door, I opened and closed it behind me, but not all the way. Then I spoke to Nash as I walked down the hall to the neighbor’s door—using my key, I let the cat into his loft before walking back to my door and facing Nate again.

  “You have a key to your neighbor’s place?” He didn’t look happy, his voice gruff.

  “Yep, he gets out often and always comes meowing at my door instead of his own so his owner gave me a key to let him in since he’s gone a lot. Sometimes I go get him if I’m going up to the rooftop deck. He knows my voice and runs right out when I unlock and crack it open.”

  “And the owner?” I could see jealousy written all over his face.

  “He’d be more interested in you having the key to his heart… door.” I grinned, then bit my lip since I didn’t want him to think that I was just going be easy on him.

  “How did you find me?” I crossed my arms over my chest, in front of the almost closed door of my loft.

  “I followed you tonight and… I wanted to make sure you got home safely. I’ve sort of been spying on you… keeping tabs on you from time to time.” His icy blue eyes stared back at me as if he was nervously awaiting a reprimand or yelling about him invading my privacy. I was more shocked that he had been watching me drinking and somewhat out of control with a group of crazy girls… dancing with a guy.

  “You were at the club?” He just looked intently at me. “Are you, also, the reason the guy I danced with all night suddenly disappeared?”

  My last questioned earned me a shrug and then a nod.

  “Why would you care? Or is it okay for you to have other fun but not me?”

  “May I please come in and explain.” His voice, soft and sexy affected me in such a way that I let my guard down, and allowed him through my doorway. “Nice shirt.” He finally noticed.

  Remaining quiet, I walked into a sitting area and plopped down on a couch and sat cross-legged. He sat at the other end playing with his fingers and I wondered if he was nervous or just fiddling with them to keep from touching me. Something I wanted and didn’t at the same time.

  “I’ve missed you, Evie.” His words had me thinking about lunging forward and throwing myself onto his lap. I knew having my arms and legs wrapped around him would feel incredible but we needed to get some things straight and he needed to explain or apologize to me. I didn’t deserve to see him draped in women even if he hadn’t meant for us to be exclusive for the summer.

  “There was nothing going on with those two chicks. If you’d have arrived a few seconds earlier, you would’ve seen that the girl on my left was out of her mind and the one on the right was trying to keep her from puking on me.”

  “They looked more like they were going to start making out over you.”

  “That was definitely not the situation. I was waiting for you, Evie. I would never do that to you. And groupies aren’t my thing. Just the complete opposite to be honest. I’ve avoided them at all costs—I’ve never been with them.”

  Suddenly, my thoughts weren’t about what it looked like he was about to do with them, but more about why they were coming on to him in the first place. I had never thought about that before. Was he someone in the music world? Or was he just a friend of the band like he told me or was he maybe a well-known roadie? Plenty of them had their following too. It was obvious by his words that he’s been around groupies a lot. He does tattoos, maybe that’s his angle too. How many musicians had used him for their ink needs… wants… desires? Oh… that was me that desired him… my thoughts were getting fuzzy.

  “Believe me, Evie, I don’t want anyone but you. Since I met you, fuck… I can’t get you off my mind, out of my he
ad. I thought I could keep this casual, but… my heart tells me otherwise.” He stopped speaking and stared at me for several long minutes. “Come closer.”

  There was a large gap between us on the couch. I had a feeling that the space difference separating us was being left up to me to lessen. Either stay put and talk more or crawl across the cushions into his lap. I chose the latter, wanting to smell him, feel him, be close to him, and found myself looking into his icy blue eyes.

  “You don’t have brown eyes.” His hands were cradling my face, I couldn’t turn away to hide my eyes. I had forgotten that I wasn’t wearing my contacts.

  “No, I… yes, they’re green.”

  “They’re so beautiful, a gorgeous shade of green. You shouldn’t hide them… God, let me look at you.” His fingers traced my cheeks and his thumbs skimmed my bottom lip. “I’ve missed you so much.” His voice was a sexy whisper as he leaned closer and crushed his mouth to mine.

  I missed him too and it hadn’t been that long. What was I going to do when he left and returned home? I would be heartbroken for sure.

  “Stop thinking, Evie. Focus on the moment. Be here with me now. We’ll figure out the rest.” His words were mumbled against my lips before he lifted me and walked a short distance to my bed.

  Stripped of his t-shirt, I was naked, lying back and watching him pull his shirt over his head with his muscular, tatted arms. His broad shoulders nicely tapered down his lean torso highlighted by slightly ripped abs. His geometric markings were precisely laid out, it seemed. Someday I would get him to tell me about them, but that thought disappeared quickly as he unbuttoned, lowered his zipper, and pushed his pants down his toned legs. Proudly on display, his massive cock moved toward me along with the rest of him.

  Dipping the bed, he came down over my body on high alert—so ready for him. The dynamics were very different than all of the times we had been lost in the moment at his place. There was no music booming in the background. I didn’t have the same magical sound system that he had readily available to set the mood. We had only our own sounds to create a magnificent symphony with moans and panting. Words spilling freely: “You feel so good,” sliding in and out of me. “I love your skin, so soft,” his hands caressing me. His praises continued, breathlessly against my ear, and I wondered if his words had been there before—in the mix—drowned out by classical, jazz, country, pop, rap? All I knew was that things were different for whatever reason, whether it was the lack of additional foreign compositions or more feeling between us.

  Lost in the moment, composing our own rhythm, lyrics, melody, we harmonized beautifully in a perfect tempo; a slow dance to begin, followed by a frenzied cadence to hit a synchronized coda—an erupting finish. We deserved a standing ovation.

  Chapter Seven…

  After a few curtain calls, we crashed hard with our bodies entwined. I loved the closeness and missed it when I opened my eyes to an empty space beside me. But I instantly knew I wasn’t alone, hearing a gentle strumming on a guitar in the not-too-far distance. The smell of coffee was my other hint. It smelled so good—nice to have someone else make it for you in your… your loft… your loft filled with secrets. Shit! I flew out of bed finally realizing that Nate had discovered my recording studio nook.

  Grabbing a short, turquoise, silk robe, I slipped my arms into the sleeves, and tied it around my waist. Then I moved to my minimalistic kitchen all outfitted on one wall; fridge, stove, lower wheat-colored cabinetry and opaque white floating shelves above a smooth concrete countertop. An island housed lower matching cabinets along with a stainless steel sink set to the side in more concrete, and provided a place to eat—stools up to it. I rarely cooked, but needed a place to sit and eat my preferred takeout. My only appliance visible was a coffee machine which I poured java from into a big mug that was sitting and waiting to be topped. Already prepared to my liking, the mug had been filled with lots of cream—room temperature, my coffee stayed hot rather than being cooled off by cold cream—just how we both liked it. I enjoyed a few sips of the yummy, hot perfection before moving toward the sounds of a guitar—there was no reason to rush into my sectioned off area. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the music, in more ways than one. It was certain that he would have questions for me, I just wasn’t sure how much to tell him. I would, of course, be honest but I would, also, omit a few things.

  Step by step, I slowly moved toward a barrier that separated us, coffee in hand. Deep breath, I turned the corner to see Nate shirtless with one of my guitars in his lap, writing on blank sheet music spread out—I always had hundreds of sheets lying around. My heart nearly stopped beating as he looked up at me with a slight smile and one lifted eyebrow before removing a guitar pick from between his lips.

  “Anything you want to tell me about, Evie… say… like about all of this recording equipment you have… and instruments? I’m guessing the café doesn’t pay that well.”

  I was pretty proud of my little home studio. I hadn’t really put much effort into the rest of the space which was sparsely furnished—lacking personal touches like photos—with just basic necessities; a bed, a sofa and two chairs in case I ever decided to have anyone over. But for my pride and joy area, I had a moveable panel that acted as a soundproof wall and special mat flooring to keep sound from traveling to my neighbors below me. No one lived above me or to the other side of me, I had the perfect space to make my own recordings. Also, I had equipment that headphones allowed only me to hear; a small soundboard, a computer, speakers, and a full keyboard electronic piano. Three different acoustic guitars were the only other instruments I had.

  “My family has money.” That was a true statement and he already knew that my family was into music. I just bypassed the how and the why… and the who. “And you? Looks like you know your way around writing music.” I gestured down to the musical notes and symbols he had dancing around the staves on a sheet directly in front of him on a wood boomerang-shaped coffee table.

  “I’ve been known to write music from time to time… often…” Nate looked like he was struggling or deciding what he should tell me. “I have a studio back home…” I had a feeling where home was almost slipped from his lips. “So, my tattoo shop isn’t my main business.”

  Wasn’t his main business? “As in, songwriting is or wanting to break into the music industry… singing… singer-songwriter?” He nodded as if he was waiting for me to maybe ask more questions, finish my string of inquiries, or maybe for something to click. “You write for you or others?”

  “I write music that I hope others will want to sing.”

  “The songs you sing at the café are yours, aren’t they? I didn’t recognize them… They’re great. You’re really good.” I kept rambling as he just sat looking at me, grinning.

  “Yours haven’t been originals. Why not?” He reached out for his coffee mug.

  I moved closer and took a seat on a matching overstuffed chair that matched the one he was sitting in. “I’m not sure what I write is good. I mostly write because I love it. But it’s more for fun… for my benefit… for me.”

  “No one writes for themselves. They write to be heard. To express themselves openly. You sing your songs, right?” His eyes, so unique burned into me and I was only able to nod my head. “You’re not silent when you sing. You want to be heard and you should be—your voice is amazing.”

  I smiled at him and then sucked in my bottom lip. “I write about silly things like fashion. I have books filled with words and phrases. I started making up poems but as I began to repeat words a few times in my composition…”

  “…They became lyrics.”

  “Yes. Lyrics that included silks, chiffons, wrinkles, flows… colors…” I stopped.

  “It doesn’t matter what you write about. It means something to you.” He laughed. “One of my first songs was about peanut butter on celery and how good it tasted but how I hated the strings getting caught in my teeth. That’s a silly thing to write about, but for some reason I thought i
t was important enough to write down.”

  “You moved beyond the irritation of celery.” I took a drink of my coffee. “Your songs have emotion. A story. The one you sang about a crack in time after losing love… raw, heart-wrenching emotion. It seemed so real. I could feel your loss…”

  I needed to shut up. We were supposed to keep things light and there I was taking apart his song that obviously came from his past—something neither of us had spoken about.

  “Draw from your own life’s experiences or borrow from life going on around you…”

  I wasn’t sure if I had the emotional part down, having never experiencing a great loss of any kind. Never even a broken heart. Maybe once Nate left me, the sad love songs would come. I had already written down a few of my feelings about distrust and cheating during our brief separation. But I figured more would surely come when the summer season came to an end as they were swirling in my head as he sat across from me—anticipating the makings of a song:

  End of summer

  Sun slipping away

  Dead leaves signaling loss

  Never to return

  New leaves but never the same

  Never the same

  Nate’s words were starting to register, I hoped that he didn’t realize that I had totally zoned out on him. “It’s always a different process… silly can work too… fashion even…” He had my full attention with his next words. “You could have a hit with your Ugly Kelly Green Shoes…” Oh my God, he was looking through my journals. “…Fashion sells look at These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ written by Lee Hazlewood and made number one in 1966 by Nancy Sinatra.” He had a point and then he had off the chart incredible skills as he moved from his chair in the direction of mine.