“Hear me out,” helaughed. “Pretend we’re new to this whole thing, but weknowwe already have good chemistry. It could be something reallyfuckin’ good. But what does every good relationship need?”
I glanced toward him,lifting an eyebrow. “Is this a quiz?”
“Honesty, Jon.” He draped his arms over the body of the guitar.“Whatever we talk about, especially in here, I want you to be honest with me.We’re not just in here to make music. We’re building trust, as friendsandas potential bandmates. So, I don’tcare how lame it is, or if it’s related to what we’re doing or not. Be honestwith me.”
I flexed my fingers andlaid them against the plastic keys as I shook my head, chuckling lightly. “God,you really know how to make a guy feel comfortable,” I teased. “Okay, well,I’ve never played with anybody before.”
Devin raised a brow andcocked his head. “That’s it?” I nodded uneasily. “Man, that’s no big deal. Ihadn’t played with anybody either, until about six years ago or so. It’s cool.I’ll be gentle.”
He wanted to jam, totest my instincts and see how well I could jump in without the help of sheetmusic. My nerves knotted into a tight ball, bouncing off the walls of my gut,as Devin told me to join in whenever I felt comfortable. Then, he counted usoff with a tap of his toe against the carpeted floor.
The quiet notes of hisguitar tickled my eardrums as I watched him, bobbing his head to the tune andfalling into a world of his own. The lyrics he began to sing were familiar, Iimmediately recognized the song as John Mayer’s “DreamingWithA Broken Heart,” and I swallowed at the melancholy melody. Where the firstverse led into the chorus, I took my cue to play the notes that came to mind.It was a complementary tune, still sad and lonely, and I pulled the lyrics outfrom my memory. I sang along and found our voices played well together, beforeour eyes met somewhere at the bridge. Devin grinned with the settling of hisknowledge that this wasgood, thisfeltright, and he finished the songwith an exhaledwhoo!
“You are a beautiful,beautiful man, Jon O’Dell,” he assessed, nodding slowly. “How did that feel?”
“Amazing,” I gushed outon an exhale, looking around the room with a whole new set of eyes.
This was where magicwas made from simple things. Guitar strings and chords, piano keys andarpeggios.
Sometimesthe most magic can be found in simplicity.
“I can’tfuckingwait for the other guys to get a load of you.Seb’scoming out tomorrow to jam with us.”
I snorted. “You’ve madeup your mind, just like that?”
“Bro, I made up my mindthe second I saw that video,” Devin replied confidently, as he stood from hischair. “But remember;Iwasn’t theone who needed convincing.”
***
Devin had set the girls, Tess, and me upin two guestrooms in his finished basement, wanting to give us separation andprivacy from his family.
As we left the garage,Devin insisted I get as much sleep as I needed and to just shoot him a textwhen I was ready to get to work the next day, and we went to our separatefloors.
When I reached the basement,I found Tess, sitting on the couch in the den. With her back to the stairs, herattention was focused entirely on what she was watching on TV. She didn’t hearme as I walked toward the back of the couch, and my eyes fell to the bag ofchips beside her and the glass of something in her hand. In a long pajamashirt, she sat with her feet tucked underneath her, and I swallowed with thequestion of whether she was wearing anything on her lower half.
“I see you in the TV’sreflection,” she mentioned coyly, turning to look up at me with a little smile.
“Busted.” I laugheduneasily through my embarrassment, walking around the couch to sit beside her.“Are the girls sleeping?”
She nodded. “They triedto stay awake until you were done, but they were absolutely exhausted.”
“It’s been a long day,”I sympathized, fixing my gaze on the TV. “What are you watching?”
“House Hunters,” she informed me, grabbing the bag of chips andholding it out to me. “These people from Wisconsin are goat yoga instructorsand somehow have a budget of two million.”
I took the bag fromher. “Twomillion? Jesus. Maybe Ishould think about a career change.”
“Right?” Tess laughed disbelievingly. “God, if I knew all the moneywas in goat yoga, I wouldn’t have wasted all that time in college.”
My hand dug into thechips as I narrowed my scrutinizing glare at the couple on the screen. “Whatthe heck? They look like they’re in theirtwenties.”
“Like I said,” she sighedwith a pinched expression of judgment, “wasted my time in school.”
We sat together in acomfortable quiet, watching as the yoga instructors wrinkled their noses at thepaint color of House Number One’s foyer. Tess scoffed to herself when theyentered a room and turned their noses up at the outdated light fixtures, and Irolled my eyes as they deemed the place inhabitable because of the oldwall-to-wall carpeting, covering the otherwise beautiful hardwood floors. Ishot Tess a disbelieving sidelong glance and she nodded.
“All Grandma watches isThe Family Feud, and it drives menuts, but I’m beginning to understand why,” she mumbled impatiently, thrustinga hand toward the TV. “You don’t like the carpet? Fine. Rip it up. Soridiculous.”
“I’d happily take thatplace as is,” I grunted, arms crossed over my chest. “Even if you told me Icouldn’t gut it and fix it up the way I wanted, I’d still be happy with it.”
