Chapter 8 Riot
Riot
I wrap my lips around the mouth of the lid of my to-go cup, sipping carefully on the piping-hot white mocha latte I picked up from the Salty Beans around the corner.
Back in the city, the sugar-filled concoction was an indulgence I’d allow at least once a month. But it wasn’t as addictive as this one.
Now, I grab a cup whenever I can’t stomach the break room coffee or when I’m having a particularly shitty day—which happens to be most of them. I’d probably need to worry about my waistline if I were consuming anything other than cigarette smoke and liquor, but luckily, that’s not the case.
I take a drag of my cigarette, then another sip, closing my eyes as notes of vanilla, white chocolate, and tobacco swirl together.
The comforting flavor reminds me of all the times Rush and I would sit out on the balcony in the mornings, smoking, drinking our sugary little lattes, and writing songs.
As I think of my brother, the drink goes sour on my tongue. The darkness threatens to creep in, to drag me into its familiar depths. But then I remember I get to see Eloise today, and everything is sweet again.
A few minutes later, the shop bell rings, and in walks Eloise, carrying the light of the sun with her. Beautiful rays of gold seem to bounce off her cherry-blossom hair, bringing out the sky in her eyes.
“Hi,” I say, not trusting my voice to say any more.
“Hi, Riot.” Her cheeks flush, and she makes a point of checking out my dad tee of the day. Ever since that first day, I’ve made a point to wear silly shirts under my leather jacket—no matter how ridiculous I feel—because it’s often the only time I get to see her .
Today, I picked out the “world’s okayest guitar player,” and it seems to be a hit. Eloise’s pretty lips tip up into that rare expression of joy, and my heart feels like it’s going to combust.
“Ready to get started?” I ask, taking a small sip of my coffee to wet my increasingly dry throat.
Eloise follows me to the practice room, her pretty eyes locked on the cup in my palms. “You got Salty Beans? I’ve always wanted to try that place.”
Without thinking, I thrust the cup toward her. “Want some?”
“I… um… what is it?”
“White chocolate mocha. Only the best.” I jiggle it, and Eloise reaches toward me with a dubious expression. I gaze down at her hands as I pass it off, noticing her fingers covered in an array of white bandages. Some joints have dark brown spots, and panic constricts my chest.
“What the fuck happened to your hands?” I demand, my worry overtaking my need to maintain an air of professionalism. “Are you okay?”
Eloise’s eyes widen, and for a moment, the mask slips, allowing me to see the wealth of emotion hiding in her clear blue pools. “I… nothing.” She lowers her gaze, her face heating slightly. “Gardening. Rose bushes. Nasty things.”
Even though her explanation would make sense to another, I can’t shake the nagging suspicion in the back of my mind that it’s something else. Something far, far worse.
“Are you going to be okay to play today? We can always reschedule—”
“No!” she says, shaking her head wildly. “No. I’ll be fine to play, I promise!”
I nod slowly. When she doesn’t say anything else, I gesture to the cup of coffee still clutched in her tiny palm. “Sorry I distracted you. Go on, have a sip. It’ll probably make your hands feel better.”
“A coffee will help with my cuts?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s common knowledge that anything good for the soul is also good for pain.”
Eloise raises the cup, taking a small whiff, and her eyes light up. “This smells… heavenly.” She takes a sip, and the sound that falls from her lips has my cock tightening.
“You can have the rest of it if you want.” You can have my soul if you’d make that noise again.
Eloise looks down at the cup in her palms, debating for a moment before ultimately handing it back. “I can’t. Way too many calories.”
I rake my eyes down her frame, trying not to salivate over her curves. I want to say something, to disagree, but I also know if she’s going through something serious—health issues or an eating disorder—that my comments will do more harm than good.
“Say no more.” I take the cup back, raising it to my lips and trying not to tremble at the knowledge that her lips were wrapped around the same surface a moment before. Jesus. Get it the fuck together, Riot.
I have Eloise warm up with some basic exercises and am shocked to find she’s memorized practically all the barre chords since last week.
Her fingers are strong—probably from playing piano for so many years—so she’s able to work her way around the frets fairly easily.
And now that she’s strumming with the correct hand, she’s able to keep the rhythm of her strum even.
I’m honestly shocked.
“So what do you want to do today?” I ask when she breaks for a sip of water.
She snorts. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me?”
I shrug. “Not really my style. I’m pretty hands-off once you learn the basics—which you pretty much have.”
At this, Eloise’s eyes go wide in disbelief. “I have not! I barely even know all the chords—”
“You know enough, clearly.” My mouth spreads into a full-blown grin. “Plus, chords are so boring. I say we have some fun today.”
Her face heats a delicious shade of pink, highlighting the tiny freckles spattered over the bridge of her nose and across her cheekbones. “I won’t get better unless I practice the boring stuff.”
“True.” I tilt my head. “But you’ll never find your voice if you learn everything you know out of a book. You have to allow yourself the space to express yourself, to be free. And today is the perfect day to do that.”
Her expression shutters, and for a moment, I worry I’ve lost her. But then her voice breaks out in the softest whisper—hardly there, but real and raw all the same. “I… don’t think I know how to do that.”
I reach out, placing my fingertips against the skin peeking through her ripped jeans. Electricity spreads through my veins at the contact, heating my skin and filling my head with a soft humming sound. “I can show you.”
She shakes her head, rejecting the idea. “It’s too soon. I’m shit at guitar, like you said. I’ll only pick up bad habits.”
I raise my brow, the curse word stunning me into silence for a moment.
I wasn’t sure she knew how to do that… “It’s a good thing that you’re shit.
It means you’re starting. It means you have room to grow.
To develop your own style without some uptight fuckhead telling you what and how to do it.
” I jam a thumb toward the door. “The people out there? What they think? None of that fucking matters. In here, it’s just you, me, and a piece of wood with metal strings attached.
You’re learning, and you’re having fun—I hope—that’s all that matters. ”
I leave my speech vague enough so she doesn’t catch on to the fact that I know more about her than I should. I know about the judges, and the pressure to remain perfect—and I know Eloise has been craving a taste of freedom. If I can offer it to her, I would be the happiest man on earth.
She gazes up at me through her lashes. “I am having fun. More than I have in a long time.” She reaches out and grips my forearm lightly. “Thank you, Riot. I think… I really needed to hear that.”
I give her knee a light squeeze, showing her I understand without words. “So… what song do you want to play?”
The rest of the lesson goes exceptionally well.
Once she moves away from the rigidity she’s used to, Eloise opens up and picks Jumpin Jack Flash by The Rolling Stones as her song to learn.
After showing her the three basic chords and strum pattern, I have her practice them on her own until she’s confident.
When I’m sure she’s ready, I pick up my new guitar and duet with her, adding the more intricate parts to make the song more recognizable as she plays.
By the time five thirty rolls around, Eloise is grinning wider than I thought possible, a glossy sheen of emotion coating her sky eyes. She’s proud, I realize. Proud for what seems like the first time in many years. I am only grateful I got to witness such a beautiful sight.
“Shit, is it already time?” She gazes at the clock on her phone, her lower lip extending into a small pout. “It went by so fast!”
She places the guitar I gifted her in its case, her movements controlled and graceful even for this minor task. “A shame an hour only lasts so long.” A real fucking shame. “You gonna be okay getting home in this weather?”
Eloise looks from me to the window. “It’s sunny.”
Ah. Fuck. “Yeah, but you could get heatstroke or something. Very dangerous.” Nice save, Riot. Nice save.
Her lips quirk upward. “I think I’ll be okay. It feels good to know I have a rock star looking out for my safety, though.”
I could do so much more if you’d let me. “A shitty rock star. It’s a very important distinction.” I reach into my back pocket, pulling out my phone and thrusting it into her hands before I have time to think and stop myself.
“What’s this?”
“A… phone? My God, have you never seen one before?”
She giggles, smacking my arm lightly. “Of course I have. I mean, why are you giving me yours?”
“To put your number in? This really isn’t complicated, Eloise.” I grin to let her know I’m teasing, and the heat rises in her cheeks.
“Okay. Here.” She types in her number and hands my device back to me without looking me in the eye. “Just a heads-up, I might not respond. I’m barely ever on my phone.”
“That’s okay. I just want us to be able to communicate about lessons if you ever need to cancel or something.”
“Oh. Of course.”
I shouldn’t say any more, but… “Hey, Eloise?”
“Yeah?”
“If you… if you ever need someone or want to talk, you can always reach out. It doesn’t just have to be about lessons.”
At this, her expression lightens. “But I don’t have your number.”
“Oh.” With a smirk, I open her contact on my phone and type out a text. “There. Now you do.”
She looks down at her screen, her smile widening as she reads my text. “I see you too, Riot.”
Her words hold a double meaning, and when Eloise looks up, her eyes are filled with a depth of emotion too much for one person to hold. It’s sudden and shocking, and the sight of it pulls all the breath from my lungs.
And all I want is to drown in her.
I reach out, my fingertips brushing lightly against hers. That same electricity from earlier crackles between us, filling the air with a heated sense of urgency and something else I can’t put my finger on. It’s dangerous. It’s addictive.
It’s her.
Eloise’s face reddens, her chest rising and falling with each rapid, shallow breath. I know if I just lean in, if I close that distance, if I give in to the urges surging through my veins…
No. I can’t. It’s not right. I’ll ruin her.
Against every one of my instincts and desires, I pull away from Eloise, the cold and emptiness left in the absence of her touch threatening to drag me to my knees. “I…” I clear my throat, suddenly desperate for a cigarette and a whiskey on ice. “I think—”
“It’s late. I need to get going,” she whispers, tearing her gaze away from mine. “I… thank you for the lesson today, Riot. It was a lot of fun.”
Eloise leaves quickly, and I’m left staring after her with nothing but a hard cock and a stomach full of regret. Why did I let her leave? Why didn’t I ask her to stay?
Why would she listen to me?
With my heart heavy, I lock up the shop and head home. The thrill of riding isn’t nearly as invigorating as it was last week, and by the time I get back to my barren hotel suite, I’m in a worse mood than I was before.
Grabbing the bottle on the nightstand, I take a large swig and flop back onto my unmade bed. The liquor has gone stale and leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but still, I go for another mouthful.
Once I’m sufficiently buzzed, I pull out my phone and type “Eloise Marquette shows” into my search bar. Is it borderline stalker behavior? Yes. Do I have the willpower to stop myself? Maybe.
I press enter.
A wealth of web pages pop up—those selling tickets and others simply talking about Eloise’s upcoming shows. Just like Mac said, people are still raving about her recent world tour.
But more importantly, I find out that Eloise has been playing at the Neon Valley Concert Hall once a week for the past two months. And she has a show this Saturday.
My cursor hovers over the Purchase option. I’m conflicted, and something inside me is stopping me from pressing the damn button. I think about Eloise, her pretty white smile and troubled eyes. If I get too close, I could ruin her. I could kill what little light she has left.
But there’s no reason for me to worry about that, is there? Eloise doesn’t want to get close to me. Something so perfect would never sully itself with a wreck like me.
And still, I wish things were different.
I wish I were younger, I wish I weren’t so worn down by the world. More than anything, I wish that I were good. Someone worthy of calling a woman like Eloise mine.
I close out of the tab. If I decide to go, I’ll just show up and buy a ticket at the booth. If I really can’t help myself, I’ll go and watch her play.
I swear that after Saturday, I’ll stop thinking about her so much.
After Saturday, I’ll forget how the little twinkle in her eyes makes my heart race.
After Saturday, this obsession will ease.
Keeping our relationship strictly professional will be a breeze, and it won’t physically hurt to be in her presence.
After this weekend, everything will be back to normal.
At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.