“Yougot it,” and she turned, heading back down the stairs. I watched her go,winding to her descent, and I couldn’t help but notice the crimson flushblanketing her cheekbones.
CHAPTER NINE
Kylie
After the fiascoat dinner last night, I stillhadn’t called Nate. Nor had he called me. As childish as it might have been, Ifelt he owed me an apology, and stubbornly, I refused to be the one to call himfirst.
So,instead of worrying about him, I sat there, in the front row, waiting for Devinto go on. Seated at a table with Brooke and Trent, we drank glasses of myhome-brewed iced tea and watched him set up on the little platform stage in thefront corner of the shop. The rest of the lights had been dimmed, leaving onlythe spotlights over the stage, and a cheesy fluorescent guitar on the wall tolight his way.
Therewere fifteen minutes before he went on, but Dev was a perfectionist. Hebelieved that, whether he was playing for ten people in the shop, orten-thousand in a stadium, he should always put his best foot, best face, bestnote forward. And as he sat down to tune his old acoustic, fading a little morewith each passing year, I turned to my table companions.
“How’sthe house, Trent?” I asked, taking a sip of my lemon-peach iced tea.
Trenttipped his head and a few strands of his light-brown hair fell against hisforehead. “Well, let’s see, the hot water heater needs to be replaced, there’ssome weird ivy overgrowth issue in the backyard, and I fell through one of thebasement steps yesterday. But otherwise, it’s just great.” He lifted his glassin cheers and tipped it back.
Ibet he wished it was something stronger. Damn that liquor license.
Brookeglanced at me, biting her lips between her teeth. Guilt scorched her irises, andI stifled a chuckle. If it hadn’t been for Brooke insisting on buying a“super-cute fixer-upper” a few years ago, Trent would’ve jumped at something alittle more move-in ready.
“Youknow, it’s not even all the issues with the fucking place,” he continued with aheavy sigh, his glass settling back on the table. “I went into it knowing thatthere would be problems, because, duh, you buy a crap house, there’s sure to becrap issues that come along with it, right? I was fine with that, it’s just thefact that this one over here,” he jabbed a thumb in Brooke’s direction,“neglected to tell me she didn’t know anything about home renovation, so nowI’m left to do everything by myself.”
“Icould’ve told you that,” I muttered apologetically, tucking my chin into myopen palm. “Hanging a picture was an all-day project for her back in the day.”
Trentshook his head and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Brooke merely shrugged.“Well, babe,” she said, “aren’t you lucky to have your cousin, who is alwayswilling to help you out in your time of need?”
Devinjumped off the stage to grab my glass of iced tea. “Hey, Penis and Peroxide,don’t go offering up my services without asking me first,” he joked beforedowning the rest of my drink.
“Penisand Peroxide?” Trent asked, and Brooke glared angrily at Devin.
“It’smy new song I’m writing for her,” he explained, setting the glass back down,and Trent nodded with nonchalance. Devin grinned at Brooke. “Told you hewouldn’t give a shit.”
“Ihate youboth,” she groused, crossing her arms.
Overthe café chatter, I heard the distinct tinkling of the bell above the door.Devin and I both turned our heads in unison to see Nate saunter in. He wasdecked out in neatly pressed pants, a Lacoste polo, and loafers that aged him fiveyears over his thirty-three.
“What’shedoing here?” Devin growled under his breath.
Ishook my head. “I don’t know.” Nate never came to Devin’s shows, and I couldn’tbelieve that there was no coincidence that he came on thisparticularnight.
Hewanted to make a scene.
Evenas Nate approached the table, Devin kept his stance, guarding me like a dog,and when Nate came to stand beside my chair, he glared with an expression thatshould have, by rights, killed Nate on the spot.
“Youdon’t know when to back down, do you?” he asked Devin, who responded with anunyielding glare. Nate looked down at me and said, “We need to talk.”
Isighed, not blind to the table of eyes staring at us. At him. “Yeah, but we’rea little—”
“Now,”he said, stern and patronizing. Devin stood tall, straightening his back andputting himself five-inches over Nate’s modest six-feet. It was an obviousattempt at intimidation, but still, Nate ignored him and took me by my upperarm with a firm grip. I would’ve fought—Ishouldhave fought—but notwanting to cause a scene in the middle of the café, I let him pull me from thetable.
Devinflattened his hand to Nate’s chest, lowering his brows and curling his lips.“Let go of her.”
“Devin,it’s fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on Nate and unsure if Iactuallybelievedwhat I was saying. With a triumphant smirk, Nate led me to thebackroom with Devin’s eyes heating our path.
Thedoor swung closed behind us and Nate crossed his arms over his chest. “So.”
“So,”I parroted, gesturing for him to get on with it as I stole a glance at myphone. We were already five minutes to showtime.
“So,I want you to tell me something.”
