Chapter 2
two
I sat in my apartment, wearing a cool Janis Joplin t-shirt I’d picked up in Texas, glancing at the fog billowing over the bluffs in a hazy afternoon. My acoustic guitar lay next to me on the couch. I sank into the cushions, stretching my legs out in front of me, and lifted my hands to rest the back of my head against my palms. The morning’s events replayed in my mind. What was up with that Micah guy? Something didn’t seem right. Why was he such an asshole? Why did he sound so damned sad?
I repositioned myself on the couch, leaning forward with my forearms on my thighs. Micah’s face, and those eyes . He was so...attractive. Maybe even more attractive than Wells. Desire flickered up my spine. I gazed at my door. The guy was probably just beyond that door right now. Should I go over there? Bust the door down? Make him talk to me? How surprised would he be then? A grin quirked one side of my mouth. What rude thing would he say to that?
Even with Micah’s strange behavior, something about him really fucked with me. Maybe the sadness in his voice, or the vulnerability in his eyes? Maybe his perfect face? Damn that face. I’d never seen anything like it. Was Micah hanging out at the beach to see me? Was it possible he was full of shit and didn’t want to admit why he was there? Bottom line, I wanted to see him again. I had to figure this out. Now it was a challenge.
I glanced at my guitar. There was no way I would get any songs written today, even with the quiet of my apartment. Nothing flowed. It was as if I’d dried up. He consumed my mind and not in a good way.
Maybe a movie would help me forget about Micah and help the music flow again. I bent over, grabbed the remote, and turned on the television.
* * *
I held Micah’s hand in mine. We sat in the sand, ocean waves crashing all around us. I gazed deeply into his sad, brown eyes and tugged on his hand, leaning in closer.
Micah’s gaze fell to my lips.
“Do you want to kiss me?” I rested my forehead against his.
“Yes.” He tightened his hold on my hand.
“Then do it. Kiss me.”
“I can’t.” He lifted his head, his eyes glistening.
“Why not?” Pain wrapped around my heart. “Do you love me?”
“I can’t.” A tear slid down his cheek, and he bit his lower lip.
“Can I kiss you, then?” I leaned forward, my heart pounding in my ears.
“No.” He twisted his head away.
“Why not?” The ache in my chest grew unbearable. “Why not?” My voice broke.
“You don’t want to be friends with me.” He stood and walked away, disappearing into the fog.
I reached for him, snatching at nothing. “No...no...no...”
I woke with a start, sitting up in bed. My breaths came in heavy pants, and I clenched my eyes shut. “Holy shit, what was that?” The ache ghosted through my chest. “What the hell was that?” How could I think about Micah that way? Love? Really? What the hell, subconscious? You’ve got some explaining to do .
I climbed out of bed, grabbed the robe off the chair in the corner, and threw it on over my boxer briefs. Stomping into the main room of my apartment, I paced back and forth from the kitchen to the patio doors, my hand raking through my hair. The urge to pound on Micah’s door grew stronger with every step.
I strode to my front door, opened it a crack, and peeked at his door across the way. Whispering into the chilly night air, I said, “Shit, what’s wrong with me?”
A high-pitched sound drifted over the distant crashing of waves below the bluffs. What the hell was that? I tiptoed outside onto the cold cement. The sound was coming from the patio area around the corner from his apartment.
I crept to the edge of the wall and peeked around the corner.
Wrapped in his black hoodie, with his knees drawn up, hands covering his face, Micah sat on a plastic patio chair, weeping.
I smacked a hand over my mouth. Should I say something? No, that’d piss him off. Why was he crying?
I snuck back to my apartment and stepped inside, shutting the door with a soft click.
Even if Micah was weird and rude, no one should have to be alone with their grief. No one. I knew that better than anyone. I rested my hand over my heart. At least I’d had Wells when Lane died. How many nights had I broken down in Wells’ arms? Too many to count. Whatever Micah was going through, he was all alone.
I padded to my bedroom, tossed the robe over the chair, and slid under the covers.
For hours, I stared at the ceiling. Sleep finally came, rescuing me from strangled thoughts of loss and possibilities.
* * *
The next morning, I’d found my tie-dyed t-shirt to wear and sat at the dark-wood table in the kitchen corner, my laptop open to surfing videos on YouTube. “So, that’s what I’m doing wrong.” Scooping oatmeal out of a bowl, I shoveled it into my mouth. Apparently, you weren’t supposed to grab the sides of the surfboard, and you were definitely not supposed to sit on your knees. Maybe I should’ve taken those lessons the surf shop offered. Who knew this was so hard?
I scooped the last bit of oatmeal into my mouth, closed the laptop, and stood. As I walked to the sink, my mind drifted back to last night, the dream, and then Micah, sitting on his patio, clearly grief-stricken. What happened to him? The guy was always around, even during the week. Didn’t he have a job?
I rinsed my bowl and spoon under the water and tucked them away in the dishwasher.
Taking a deep breath, I let my gaze wander out the patio doors. That dream. What did it mean? It had been so emotional and vivid. Micah, his gorgeous face, and his heart-wrenching eyes possessed me—that much was obvious. Would he be out there today? God, I hoped so. Then maybe my suspicions would finally make sense.
Shaking my head to clear the thoughts, I stepped onto the patio and grabbed my wetsuit from where it hung over an Adirondack chair. Shoving one foot in, then the other, I shimmied into it, grunting. At least getting into this too-tight piece of rubber was finally getting easier.
* * *
A little while later, I parked my Jeep in the lot at San Pedro Beach, already in my wetsuit, and grabbed my backpack and surfboard. As I strode to the sand, my gaze caught a familiar figure, all in black. My heart skipped a beat.
Micah sat in the sand, knees drawn up, arms hugging them, his head resting on his arms.
He was definitely full of shit yesterday. He had to be. A grin spread across my face as I strolled to him, dropping my surfboard and backpack in the sand. “Good morning.” I stepped in front of him, smirking down at him.
“You’re late.” He kept his head straight ahead, his eyes hidden under the brim of his baseball cap and those long bangs.
“So, you were waiting for me.” I’d called his bluff. I snickered as I shifted my stance.
“Of course not. It was just an observation.” He pursed those full, perfect lips.
I plopped down on the sand in front of him. “Really? ‘Cause I think you were.”
He huffed, twisting his head to look up the beach. “Think what you want.”
“Will you watch my stuff today?” I nudged my backpack closer to him.
“No.” His profile stayed in my vision.
“Okay, thanks.” I grinned. Sure, be rude all you want. I knew what was up. “Watch, I’m going to stand up today.” Messing with him like this was actually fun. The challenge was on. He wasn’t so scary after all. Not after what I saw last night.
“I won’t watch you.” He shifted his body to face down the beach.
“Sure thing.” I slapped his shin. “Watch.”
He spun his head toward me. “Don’t touch me.”
I leaned in closer. “You don’t scare me.”
With a gasp, he brushed a lock of hair from his left eye.
The pain in that eye... I flinched and jumped to my feet, my heart hammering like crazy. I wasn’t ready for that. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’m?—”
“I don’t care,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Sure.” Frowning, I bent over, opened my backpack, and pulled out my booties and gloves. Grabbing my surfboard, I walked down to the water. Concentrate on the waves, the board, and getting up. Don’t think about Micah’s gorgeous face or those hopelessly sad eyes. Fuck.
Paddling into the surf, I stared over the water, but the dream wandered into my mind. Why had it hurt so much? I stopped paddling, letting the board rise and fall on the waves. Why had he been crying on his patio? And why the hell was he so damned attractive? I needed to know more about him. I wanted to know more. He shouldn’t be alone, not with the pain I saw last night. Why didn’t he have any friends?
Turning my board, I waited for the right wave and glanced at the shore. He was still there, my backpack now upright at his side. I smiled. Maybe he wasn’t such an ass after all.
A wave rose behind me. Paddling like mad, the board lifted. I pushed up, sliding my legs underneath me, but froze, stuck on one knee with both hands on the board. Riding partway in, I lost my balance and splashed into the cold water.
“Damn it.”
After a few more tries, I found my footing. My arms flailed as I struggled to stay balanced, but I was up! It wasn’t pretty, but I was doing it. Focusing on the shore, I scanned for Micah. I caught sight of him just as I lost my balance and plunged under the wave, tumbling in the water.
Air escaped my lungs as I flailed, but I broke the surface with a gasp, sucking in a deep breath. “Holy shit.” The ocean was stronger than I’d thought. Grabbing the board, I hauled myself up and caught my breath.
Looking at the shore, my gaze caught Micah standing where the waves lapped the sand, his hands pressed together at his mouth like he was praying. Was he worried about me? My chest tightened, the corner of my mouth lifted. I hoped so.
I turned the board around, paddling out again, but taking it easier this time. Catching a smaller swell, I popped up and rode it all the way in. As the board stopped on the sand, I jumped off and tucked it under my arm, flipping my wet hair back.
Walking toward Micah, I watched him stand, brush sand off his pants, and twist around. He strode up the beach toward the parking lot.
“Micah!” Where the hell was he going? I jogged over the sand, fixated on him as he reached the lot, opened the door to a black Mercedes GLK 350, and climbed inside.
Stopping by my backpack, I stared at the car. “What the fuck?”
The Mercedes, with its daytime running lights on, reversed, turned, then left.
I rubbed my temple. “Damn it.” Had I made him run off? Running over our earlier exchange, I frowned. Maybe I shouldn’t have fucked with him so much?
* * *
Wrapped in a warm, black fleece and jeans, I perched on a tall barstool with a slatted back, flipping through the menu. Devil Slide Taproom. What a killer name for a bar and grill and close to home. Anything with a name like that had to be good. My eyes flicked to the TV above the mess of taps on a subway tile wall. A sports channel droned on with talking heads yammering behind a counter.
A middle-aged bartender in a black shirt and shoulder-length blonde hair approached me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“How about an IPA and a taproom burger?” I set the menu down.
“Sure. How do you want your burger done?”
“Medium.”
As she picked up the menu, I noticed two women, a blonde and a brunette, giggling.
“Coming right up,” the bartender said.
The women were pretty enough. If I were still touring, maybe I’d have gone for it, both of them at once. A sly grin curled my lips.
The brunette tried to point at me subtly, hiding her hand under her arm. Not subtle enough. My gaze dropped to the dark-wood of the bar. Obviously, they knew who I was. Sometimes that kind of attention was flattering. Other times, it was just a pain. Right now, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
I glanced back up, catching the brunette’s gaze as she leaned toward me. “Hey, aren’t you Ash Oakley from The Swarm ?”
I gave her a polite smile. “Yeah.”
The bartender set down my beer, doing a double take. “Really? I love you guys.”
“Thanks.” I nodded, taking a long swig. So far, not bad, no one hounding me yet.
The girls slid off their stools and strolled over, beers in hand. The brunette spoke first. “Mind if we sit with you? Or are you meeting someone?”
“No, I don’t mind. I’m not meeting anyone.” Hopefully, no one else here recognized me. That’d be fine by me. I scanned the rest of the restaurant, couples chatting at low tables, rows of tall windows showing the patio shrouded in early afternoon fog.
The bartender disappeared, and the brunette sat on my right, her friend beside her. They set their beers down.
“I’m Anne,” the brunette said, gesturing to her friend. “This is Linda.”
“Hi.” I gave a little wave, the beads on my bracelet jangling.
“So, why are you here?” Anne asked, leaning closer, her eyes twinkling.
I leaned back in my chair. “I’m here to do some recording in a studio in San Francisco.” The place was legendary, where some of my favorite ‘60s artists had made history.
“Oh.” Her gaze roved over me. “Do you live here now?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “No, just staying here for a few months.” No way I’d tell her I still crashed at my parents’ house when I needed a place. Not that it felt like home anymore. The tour bus wasn’t much of a home either, but it was all I had.
The bartender returned, setting my burger in front of me. “Enjoy.”
Linda chimed in. “Are you going to play anywhere nearby? I’d love to go if you do. I mean, I’ve heard popular bands will play under fake names sometimes in San Francisco, you know, like Blue Oyster Cult.”
“No plans like that right now, but once the guys get here, it might be fun.” A small bar gig would be cool after all those huge venues.
“Really?” Anne’s brows rose as she touched my arm. “Can I give you my number so you can let me know?”
“Anne,” Linda snapped, glaring at her.
Anne turned on her friend. “What?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t want your number.”
“No, it’s okay.” Numbers from fans in every city already stuffed my phone. What was one more? I pulled it from my pocket, but my attention snagged on a figure entering the bar.
Micah .
He stood at the far end, glowering as he slid into a seat. His hood hung on his back, revealing the cap perched on his head. Dark hair spilled out from under it, the ends brushing the fabric of his sweatshirt. His bangs swept to the sides, framing his face, pale with those vulnerable brown eyes.
My heart skipped. Damn, he was gorgeous. Did he even realize? I shifted in my seat.
Anne leaned into me, pressing against my arm. “You want it now?”
“What?”
“My number. Do you want it now?” She inched closer, her face too close.
“Sure.” I forced myself to focus on my phone.
She rattled off her number, and I punched it in, saving it as Anne Taproom Pacifica .
At the end of the bar, the bartender greeted Micah like he was a regular. “Hey, Micah. Wheat beer?”
“Yeah,” Micah said quietly, his head bowed over the menu, arms framing it on the bar.
I glanced at him again. So, this was his spot. Good to know.
Anne nudged me with her shoulder. “So, if you play around here, you’ll text me?”
“Sure.” But it would be better if Micah was sitting here instead. My gaze slid past her to him.
Micah peered up from the menu, locking his gaze on mine.
Anne grinned. “Can we go backstage, maybe?”
“Sure.” God, why wouldn’t she shut up? If she were a fly, I’d swat her.
“I love how you sing,” Anne said, her voice dripping with flirtation. “Well, and I think you’re hot.”
Linda gasped. “Anne!”
Anne shot her a glare. “Stop it.” She turned her full attention back to me.
“Linda thinks Wells is hot,” Anne said, folding her arms down between her legs to prop up her chest with her biceps.
She’s really going for it . I fiddled with the hoop earring in my right ear and glanced at her. “I think Wells is hot, too.” My gaze shifted toward Micah. Could he hear that? And if he did, would he understand I was interested in men?
Micah’s dark gaze flicked to mine, one eyebrow arching as his full lips parted.
Got him. I kept my smirk steady, fixating on him long enough to see if he’d bite.
Anne narrowed her eyes at me, clearly sensing the distraction. She took a quick sip of her beer, then leaned in close, her hand sliding onto my thigh. “So, what are you doing today?”
A sharp huff escaped Linda, but I barely noticed. My gaze dropped to Anne’s hand. This was an obvious invitation. Should I take her up on it? I glanced again at Micah. What should I do?
He hunched over his wheat beer, his head hanging low.
“Well?” Anne’s face was inches from mine now.
If only her offer had come from Micah. But maybe he wasn’t interested. Did he even like guys? If not, then Anne would do. I focused on her, pushing the thought of Micah aside. “Well, I was going back to my place to work on some music.”
“Oh, can I come? I’d love to watch,” she said, quirking her lips into a playful smile.
“Well...” I tilted my head, my gaze drifting to Micah. He could definitely hear this. What was going on in his head?
He lifted his face, his gaze locking on mine in a sharp glare. His jaw clenched. Then he downed the rest of his beer, slapped a ten-dollar bill on the bar, and stomped out, shoving the doors open so hard they slammed against the walls.
“Interesting,” I said under my breath, watching him disappear. No food, no goodbyes. Had the girls scared him off, or was it me?
Anne squeezed my thigh, pulling my attention back to her. “You could come to my place. My parents are out.” She gave me a coy grin.
“Really.” I picked up my burger, chewing slowly as I thought it over, and then I drank some beer. “Okay.” I offered her a wide smile. “Let’s finish up and go there, then.”
What did I have to lose? It wasn’t like Micah was an option now. Besides, Wells had said I should find someone to hook up with until he got here.