Chasing the Music: For the Love of Music Book 0.5

by Josephs, Mia

  “Thank you for being willing to do this. It just seems easier to cut past all the bullshit and get right to it. Yes?” he asked.

  “Definitely yes.” She sat, crossed her legs, and helped him tug the coffee table until it touched the couch.

  His smile looked more genuine this time. “Now we can get started for real.”

  Chris knew it was a big deal to let him go through her writing. Every time he’d introduced a new song to the band, part of him had panicked, but they always seemed to make it work.

  And for her… Just a little teasing seemed to help her relax.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he was in the presence of a pretty woman that he should definitely not be flirting with. Max had never laid ground rules before. Not like these anyway.

  Chris flirted with the women who did his hair and picked his clothes, and invited girls backstage when he wanted to spend the night with someone. This was different. Completely different. And not just because he was sober. He glanced at Corinne as he flipped through the red tabbed pages. He wanted to give her a more-than-friendly smile or ask her to slide in closer to him on the couch because that’s how he was around women, but she wasn’t someone he was supposed to do that with. How had he made it to his age without knowing how to sit with a beautiful woman and not flirt?

  Saying thank you a million times throughout the day wouldn’t work, but… Maybe if he paid closer attention to the songs he’d get somewhere with his music.

  Her hands sat clasped together, her knuckles lightened with the pressure, and he smiled pausing at one of the red-tabbed songs. “You wrote Booty Back?” He chuckled a little.

  Corinne shrugged. “Paid the bills.”

  “How do I not know you, if you wrote this?” he asked.

  Her face turned stoic. “Because I don’t want people to know me.”

  “So how do you get jobs?” Chris sat back, leaving the binder on the table, until he could see her face through the masses of dark curls.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” She turned her head just enough that some of the dark hair fell away from her face and he had to remind himself not to reach out and brush a few stray curls from her cheek.

  She’s not a woman. She’s a lyricist. And she’s hands-off.

  Still, he was curious about the woman who didn’t leave her mark on her songs. Someone Max knew but that he’d never heard of. “You and Max go way back.”

  “Don’t dig, Chris.” Her voice was calm but the meaning was clear. If he wanted to know her, it wasn’t going to happen.

  It was a harsh reminder that whatever kind of attraction he was feeling, she definitely wasn’t.

  He laughed a little to himself because he couldn’t remember the last time his status hadn’t gotten him some measure of preferential treatment. This was probably one of those good-for-him experiences, even though he wished he could relax into it.

  “Now you’re into the songs you can use.” She pointed. “You pay for the whole song whether or not you butcher it.”

  “So, is that why you don’t want your name on them?” Once the words escaped, he wondered if she’d reprimand him for questioning or let it slide.

  She laughed a little. “Part of it.”

  Chris locked in on a song and the words flowed. Hit him perfectly. Like she’d gotten in his head and written what he couldn’t. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “Ever read something and think - how have I not written that?”

  A faint smile touched her full lips. “With a few of yours.”

  His head snapped toward her in surprise. “Mine?”

  “Darkness Passes, Floating, Smoother Waters…” She nodded and her eyes stayed on him just a fraction longer than they should have. For the first time there was an honest, open and maybe even soft look on her face. He knew in that moment that if she were to open up to him, she’d seem even bigger and more amazing. Her brown eyes were un-flinching, making him wonder how pissed Max would be if he did push the boundaries a bit.

  He felt himself lean toward her before sucking in a breath, sitting back, and breaking out of the moment.

  “Well, thanks. It’s always nice when people like the stuff that doesn’t get the same play time as the rest of it.” It was actually amazing. Rarely had his favorite songs been the ones to hit the charts.

  “Not for lack of good lyrics.” She smiled widely and there was something distinctly childlike about the way she tucked her knees to her chest, but something much more mature about how guarded she was. He knew her past had to be a fascinating one, and he wondered if he’d ever hear any of it. A feeling of loss pinched at him—as if he mourned the chance of learning more about this woman he just met.

  Her phone buzzed and she jumped before sliding it out of her pocket. A wide smile lit up her face. “Sorry. Gotta get this one.”

  “It’s fine.” Chris gestured and she trotted into the small booth.

  He tried to look as if he was reading, but strained to listen, to find a puzzle piece to add to the very small pile of who Corinne was.

  “...I’m home tomorrow...miss you too…”

  He tuned out after that. No wonder she wasn’t at all interested. Of course. He hadn’t even looked for a ring. Hadn’t thought to ask Max if she was attached. Hell, from the hallway, before he saw her, he’d thought she was fifty.

  She slid her phone in her pocket and picked up the guitar on her way back to the couch. He liked that she picked up his favorite—the large birds eye maple Guild he played most often.

  “Home is far for you?” he asked.

  “Small town in Washington. Not too far from Seattle but up in the mountains and trees.”

  Chris took a quick scan of her hands. No ring. “Your boyfriend must miss you.”

  She cocked a brow as her small fingers moved gently up and down the neck of the guitar in a scaled melody that felt familiar. “You’re digging again, Christian Meyer.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s what I do. I like to get to know people, and the questions just sort of come out.” And damn she was good, answering without answering. She must really not like him.

  “And maybe I’m ridiculously private, but I like it that way.” Her voice was so smooth, but with an edge of what he’d heard in her songs. Strength.

  A beat passed between them along with what he felt was some kind of understanding that what they were doing with music was who they were, and nothing more. “Then we’ll keep it that way.” Even if it would kill him a little to let her remain a mystery.

  Finding the Dream (unedited)

  One

  Leaning into the turn on his old Honda motorcycle, Donovan pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex. His friend, Chuck rested against Donovan’s VW van, his eyes closed in the sun. Sun was rare in Oregon, even in August. He knew to enjoy every second of it.

  Van rested his bike on the kickstand, and slipped off his helmet, already dreading riding his bike in the rain that would start any day and probably not stop until May.

  Chuck squinted at him, his nearly shaven head reflecting the sun and then he grinned. “You couldn’t be more ginger if you tried.”

  “Chuck.” Donovan sighed as he walked past him and toward the metal stairs to his apartment. “You’re not British. I’m not British. I’m not ginger. I have red hair. Stop watching Doctor Who and thinking you belong in the UK. Got any special word for freckles you’d like to toss out there?”

  “Aren’t we pissy today?” Chuck jogged up behind Donovan, completely unbothered, which is how Chuck seemed to feel more often than not.

  “I’m not pissy.” Donovan sighed as he reached the second story platform. “Maybe a little. Store’s been crazy with all the college students coming back into town.”

  Sierra arrived later that day and Donovan had done exactly nothing he’d promised her parents he’d do to get ready for her arrival. A month ago, he had a whole month to get his apartment in order, that month was now hours. And probably very few
of them. On top of which, who even knew what Sierra’s brother’s room looked like. Donovan hadn’t opened the door since Hanson left for Africa three months ago. Feeding starving children or helping in schools or some philanthropic something that justified him never being home.

  His phone pinged in another reminder about a detail or notice he probably didn’t care about.

  “You gonna deal with that?” Chuck asked as Donovan pushed open the apartment door to reveal stacked dishes and cereal boxes on the worn, beige kitchen counter. Work over the past few weeks had been insane. Summer was prime business for an outdoors store, and with college coming back into session, it was even busier. No wonder he rarely did anything outside of work—even when all he did was work, he was so tired that his kitchen ended up looking like a pig sty.

  “Deal with that?” he asked as he kicked his boots underneath the small kitchen table and moved for the sink. “Because I can think of about twenty things I should be doing right now.” Even if he didn’t get to Sierra’s brother’s room to clear out his crap, he did have to do something about the kitchen and bathroom. The last thing he needed was Sierra thinking he lived like this all the time. He also had to get back to the store to look over applications for new hires.

  “Your phone, you pratt.” Chuck pointed to Donovan’s ass, which had just beeped again. “Are you going to do something about that?”

  Donovan tossed his phone to his friend who slipped onto a faded barstool at the counter. “Seriously. Stop it with the UK slang. It doesn’t make you sound cooler, it makes you sound like a wannabe.”

  Turning on the sink, Donovan glanced around the apartment. Same old couch. Same worn-out chair. New TV. White walls. Bare walls aside from the store opening poster he and Hanson had tacked up when they first opened the place. For a girl, this place was probably pretty boring, but that wasn’t something Donovan cared enough about to change. The messy kitchen was another matter.

  Chuck laughed as he tapped on Donovan’s phone. “Do you know you have like thirteen Facebook messages?”

  “Facebook has messages?” Donovan asked.

  Chuck sighed. “Want me to tell you where they’re from, or… What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Whatever is fine.” Donovan waved dismissively. He had more important things to think about than who was trying to get a hold of him on Facebook.

  “Hey, hey, hey…” Chuck sat up straighter. “Solomon’s Pub in West Portland wants you to do a gig. End of October.”

  “Solomon’s? Are you sure?” Donovan asked. “I barely play anymore, and they’re…”

  “Big.” Chuck tapped on the phone a few times. “I’m so writing them back with your number and to say you’ll be there.”

  “Hold up.” Donovan leaned across the counter from Chuck. “I do have a store to run. Timing might be bad.”

  “Wait.” Chuck stared. “Are you seriously thinking you might not do this? I mean, I get that the store is insane when Hanson’s out of town, but you cannot say no to this.”

  A shot of pain or…regret…or something not good hit his chest, but he couldn’t afford to miss something that wouldn’t pay off in the end. “Leave it. I’ll check my messages and figure out what to say later.”

  “But—”

  “Can we leave it?” Donovan asked. “Please?”

  “So. We’re back to the conversation where I tell you that you have to know how much your shop would benefit from you being online more, yeah? Instead of the one where I tell you you’re an asshole for not playing more?”

  “Yes, we are back to the online conversation, and now is when I tell you that an online presence is what employees are for.” He really needed to hire someone else at the store, maybe two more people, he just wasn’t ready to lose out on profit. He also wasn’t ready to commit to playing a gig when he had no idea if he’d have time to practice, much less write new material. “I hate the Internet.”

  “Because you’re backwards. The Internet is full of good information and free masturbation material.”

  “Seriously Chuck?”

  “Yes,” he insisted. “I’m serious.”

  Deciding he would ignore his friend, Donovan cringed as he slid a few crusty dishes into the sink. Maybe he should just throw them away. He dismissed the thought as soon as he had it. There was no way he could waste money that way. Losing your parents at sixteen did quirky things to your habits—his hoarding of money was one of them.

  “Holy shit.” Chuck’s eyes widened as he stared at Donovan’s phone.

  “What?” he asked as he added more hot water to the sink.

  “I just checked out her Facebook page. Sierra is hot.”

  Donovan pointed the soapy dish scrubber at his friend. “No. Absolutely not. No. Sierra is totally off limits to you and... everyone else.”

  “What’s with you?” Chuck scowled.

  “She’s practically my sister. It’s like a…a…rule or something.” NO matter how logic told him that Sierra was grown up, in his mind, she was the sweet girl who could cook every delicious thing under the sun. That’s it. And there was the fact that Chuck didn’t have the best track record with women.

  “A rule, huh?” Chuck stared at the phone and let out a sigh.

  “Also, where’s your car?” Donovan didn’t recall seeing it in the lot.

  “Here’s the thing…” Chuck said as he tapped a few more things on Donovan’s phone. “I went home with Adrianne last night, and she happens to now live in your complex here. I couldn’t find the keys to my car in her apartment, so I’m guessing it’s still at the bar.”

  “I’m not giving you a ride to the bar,” Donovan said. “It’s two miles away. You can walk. And why would you go back there. You know you two suck at being together.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m here.”

  Donovan didn’t respond, just finished scrubbing the dishes enough that the dish washer stood a chance.

  “You will give me a ride because I’ve downloaded the Facebook messenger app, and I’ve turned off all your beeps except for the text messages.” Chuck grinned like a three-year-old getting ice cream.

  Donovan stopped scrubbing. “Really? All of them?”

  “It’s not hard, Van.” Chuck held up Donovan’s phone as if Donovan would actually watch and figure it out. “You go into settings, and then you touch the App that you want to get rid of the notifications on…”

  Donovan tuned out, grabbing a few more dishes to shove in the sink. “I need to make calls, and now I need to send texts because people like to text. That’s it.”

  “What about email?” Chuck asked. “Do you really not even check your email?”

  “It’s all work stuff anyway.” The hot water scalded his hands, but at least the dish washer was full, and the counters were reasonably clean. “I check email at work. On a computer. The way you’re supposed to.”

  “You’re worse than my gramps, Van. I swear.” Chuck snorted as he tapped a few more buttons on Donovan’s phone.

  When Chuck finished with his phone, he’d probably end up with ten more versions of Angry Birds he didn’t want. The only reason he even had a Facebook account was for the store.

  “You are gonna looooove meeee.” Chuck sang as he kept tapping.

  Donovan stared at his friend for a moment—nearly shaved blond hair making him look almost bald, pale skin from being inside too much, and a t-shirt he might have been wearing for days.

  How did this guy get girls to sleep with him?

  Yet, just after that thought crossed Donovan’s mind, he knew he’d drive Chuck to the bar, and he knew he still had two extra copies of Chuck’s car keys in a drawer in the kitchen so they could get into Chuck’s car. He also knew he was going to make Chuck clean his bathroom before he’d do any of it. And the whole time these thoughts ran through his head, he also thought about the chance to play at Solomon’s, he just wasn’t sure if he should do it. Or even if he could.

  The enthusiastic knocking meant Sierra had a
rrived.

  After not seeing Sierra face to face for two years, nerves balled up in Donovan’s stomach. He pulled open the door half expecting a mane of frizzy brown hair on a slightly overweight thirteen year old girl with a huge smile. That was the age she’d been when he moved in with her family, and she seemed to be stuck there in his mind.

  He froze as he took in the woman standing in front of him.

  Sierra was no longer chubby. And no longer had frizzy hair. And now that she was just a few feet away, he recalled pictures of her where she wasn’t too dissimilar from the woman standing in front of him, but in the flesh… In person she was still supposed to be the chubby, frizzy haired, loud girl.

  Donovan’s jaw dropped as he stared and Sierra’s grin filled her face. “Van! I made it! See!” And then she leapt into his arms just like when they were kids. “All grown up!”

  She held him tight and just like she’d always done, and always did with everybody, she didn’t let go until he hugged her back with the same force. Her breasts against his chest. Her abs against his abs. Her legs… Holy, shit. These weren’t things he was supposed to notice about his best friend’s sister. Ever. Sierra was practically his little sister. His body was having very un-sibling-like thoughts, and she’d only arrived fifteen seconds ago.

  Donovan swallowed hard as he set her down with an odd weight in his gut and did his best “friend” smile. “You look great.”

  “Yeah!” She ran her hands through her long, smooth hair, eyes widening even further. “Finally tamed the hair.”

  Her exuberance helped him relax and take the breath he’d needed since opening the door. “Yeah. I see that.”

  And then she grabbed her hips, swinging them from side to side, showing off her lean waist. “And maybe lost a bit here… Me growing up wouldn’t be a big deal if you came home once in a while. Or ever, ever visited my blog.”