Bright strobe lights flashed and they began to play a mix of the hard edge of rock with a lyric and beat of an Irish folk song. It was a style of music I hadn't followed but found interesting. They had no shirts on and wore black leather pants and spiked cuffs. Each had dyed their hair and their boots were decorated with chains.
“I don’t even know your story,” Frances yelled in my ear, trying to be heard over the loud music. “There’s obviously some reason for the sweet look in Ryan's eyes. I sound like I’m crazy, but I’m known for speaking my mind.”
“No, not crazy,” I yelled back, clapping in time with the audience. “I appreciate your honesty. He's very considerate, but his life is big and I’m afraid I won’t handle things well.”
“When you realize your love is in front of you, it is scary. Your gut screams he’s the one and you think maybe it’s too good to be true. You know what, Nicky?"
"What?"
"It’s fucking scary.” She roared with laughter, perhaps trying to ease my worry, but the result was that my heart thumped hard.
Another song began.
I turned around to see if I could find Ryan, but I couldn't locate him in the standing crowd.
Why is he taking so long? I would have thought he'd have joined us by now.
A show of bright colors circled and swept over the stage, keeping time with the music.
"I didn't know there was such a thing as Irish folk rock," I laughed.
"They're pretty unique." Frances positioned her cell phone and snapped a couple of pictures. "They've opened for Chris' band a few times and always get the crowd into it."
There must have been close to a thousand people in the small theater, maybe more. Heavy green draperies decorated the interior, and dark woods paneled the walls and stage.
Three, four, five songs passed, still no Ryan.
I was becoming anxious.
Had someone gotten too close to him? If I went into the lobby, would I see a woman or two flirting and pressing to be with him?
I pushed down those worries and tried to immerse myself in the music. Frances held my hand and we raised them in the air.
I began having fun.
I danced.
High-fived the people sitting by me.
Yelled.
Tried to sing along to the verses that repeated.
Let go until intermission came.
"Let's stretch our legs," Frances said. "Want a water or something?"
"Water sounds good." Maybe I'll find Ryan.
We walked into the lobby, but he wasn't there.
"Two," Frances said to the vendor behind the counter, pointing to the bottles of water. Also for sale were the typical theater snacks, and adult refreshments. "Here you go." She handed me one of the bottles.
"Thanks." I craned my head.
"He's backstage with Chris," Frances smirked.
"Oh, I—"
"Don't worry," she patted my back. "It's too soon to stray. He's deeply in love."
Do I feel better about that or . . .
I recognized a teacher from high school and her husband, and introduced them to Frances. Then I stood in fear that she'd reveal I had just graduated and embarrass me.
"I seem to remember you're a baseball fan, aren't you?" Ms. Pringle asked.
"Yes, a devoted Goliaths' fan." I'm especially fond of one of their team members.
"We saw Ryan Tilton here earlier and got an autograph for my grandson." She showed me her signed program. "I thought of you. Maybe he's still here."
I hope he's still here.
"I'll have to look for him." I winked at Frances and by the smile on her face I knew she had some difficulty stopping a giggle.
The four of us stood together and talked until the lights flickered, announcing the second half of the show was about to begin. When we walked back to our seats, I saw the two brothers near the back of the stage. Chris was strumming a few chords, absentmindedly, it seemed, as he talked to Ryan.
Phew, there he is.
The rest of the band warmed up, tuning their guitars, the drummer rapping a few beats on the drums, and the horn players tooting a few notes.
“Do you and Chris tour often?” Frances and I took our seats.
“All the time,” she laughed in the way I thought a lady of society might. "That's our life," she scoffed. "He performs most every week or weekend during the year."
"What's your favorite place?"
"San Francisco, of course," she answered without hesitation. "It's so diverse; he always plays to a good crowd, open and ready to have a good time, and yet old school."
I jumped when Ryan sat down next to me. I had been engaged in my conversation with Frances and hadn't seen him leave the stage. She smiled as he kissed my cheek and when his hand slid around my shoulder, she turned her eyes to the stage.
The lights went out except for one.
It was focused on Chris.
“Is this okay?” Ryan said softly in my ear.
“When I'm with you?" I turned and put my hands on his cheeks. "I’m beginning to think that anything is okay."
He took me inside his embrace, his muscles beginning to bulge, his head tilting and his lips parting, ready for my surrender. I let his mouth seal mine.
"You have . . ." He swallowed.
"What?" I whispered as the crowd quieted.
"Me. Completely." His long fingers traced my cheek.
One of his arms dropped to my waste.
Chris began a soft ballad.
His voice was beautiful, haunting, penetrating . . . he was one with the music. It got into the depths of me and I knew those sitting around us felt the same by their devoted attention. He immediately pulled the audience inside the lyrics and melody. He made us feel like we were his friends.
Now I understood the fear Frances had briefly shared with me.
He seemed easy; someone who could be trusted with everything. And then? Only a moment later, he was a dangerous lover. The words he sung dared any woman to conquer him and yet the aura he seemed to project told her he'd never be tamed.
The song was haunting.
He was haunting.
His blonde hair glistened.
As I looked at Frances I saw she was mesmerized.
After the opening number, the band changed it up and went into hard rock. It was the contrast we needed, shaking us, the buzz of a rock band humming through us. Immediately we stood, dancing together and yelling loudly.
"He's good!" I shouted to Ryan.
"Yeah!" he yelled in response. "Incredible."
Another look took him over; much different than the one I saw him wear at the Embarcadero Hotel. It was a look of pride. He was happy for his brother. There was no jealousy, no envy, and no hurt in Ryan's expression.
He loves Chris. Oh, thank God. Maybe they can fix the broken things that lie between them.
Ryan stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, my hands resting on his, moving back and forth to the many rhythms of the band. Chris played for over two hours, with an intermission between sets. After an encore, the crowd went wild and applauded for many minutes even as he left the stage.
"Come on!" Frances yelled. "Follow me."
She led us back stage, flirting with security along the way. A few people recognized Ryan, but this time he didn't stop, only smiled as we were admitted to the band's dressing room.
"Isn't he fabulous?" Frances threw herself into Chris' arms.
"You guys were great." I shook hands with several band members.
"Awesome dude." Ryan gave his brother a few solid fist pumps. "Loved that new set you added."
We chatted ten or fifteen minutes, until Ryan mentioned we were going to Yountville in the morning and needed to leave. The hugs that he shared with Chris and Frances seemed sincere.
Instead of shaking my hand, perhaps still on his high from performing, Chris grabbed me and pulled me in for an embrace.
"See you tomorrow." Chris nodded to Ryan.
> "Adios." Ryan nodded back.
“Bye Frances!" I shouted.
"She waved and once again crushed her body into Chris, giving him a taste on what it was to have her French flavor.
"Wow, what a great evening," I said as we walked to the car. "I saw one of my high school teachers and she said she got your autograph for her grandson. I was so afraid she was going to reveal I just graduated and Frances would think I'm a dolt."
"Even if she had, my sister-in-law wouldn't have thought anything like that."
"Still, I'm glad she didn't say anything." I slid my arm inside his. "You’re a fun boyfriend.”
“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. And speaking of extending the evening . . . how do you feel about staying overnight with me? We can go to Veterans’ Hospital first thing in the morning.”
We'd already lain together twice, once in my bedroom and the other when I'd made him promise abstinence in Half Moon Bay. This would be in his apartment where I would be at his mercy. My next question was ridiculous, but fear-based.
“You have a guest bedroom at your place?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of staying in Yountville tonight at one of their inns,” he said with a heated stare. “It’s a weeknight, so I’m sure a room won't be a problem.”
“Well, I can’t visit the vets in this dress.”
“Have to admit, I’d like to see their reaction if you walked in like that. I have something you’ll like. It's in the backseat.”
I unzipped the little suitcase and found a pink sports outfit with a pair of white sneakers and socks.
“Well . . ." I felt myself revving up. "How did you know my size? Like, um, who gave it to you? Are you an expert on women's clothes? I mean, well, I don't mean that as an insult. Sorry. God, I'm so sarcastic sometimes I can't turn it off and that's not what I mean, you know. I'm trying to understand, uh, what made you bring it? When did you—”
“I spoke with your sister. I had a suspicion you might want to go there for a visit. You’ve been hinting. And like I said, I owe you a few visits.”
“Okay, but what about . . . I don’t have any pajamas. I think there’s a Cost Less on the way. Do you think they’re open?”
“I don’t think we’ll need any clothes after Half Moon Bay.” He wore his wry grin. "Do you?"
His gaze was void of any bashfulness.
Everything about him felt bold.
Chapter 33
Night Falls in Yountville
We drove the hour to Yountville in relative silence.
Anticipation enveloped our bodies.
The little bits of conversation that we attempted focused on Chris and Frances, rather than what remained of our evening.
What will he expect? Sex? Complete, full on sex? Or maybe he'll want a blowjob? Will this be the night I get a tongue bath?
He pulled into a ranch-style motel called The Vine Leaf Inn. It was a single-level accommodation and shaped in an L. The motel's bright signage illuminated a color scheme patterned in greens and purples. Vines, thick with bunches of grapes growing on them, wove in and out of the lattice that formed arbors over each of the room's doorways.
"Is this okay?" His hand was on the car door handle, seemingly ready to jump out, register and get a key to our room.
"Yes." What am I going to say? No, this isn't good at all? "Should I come in with you?"
"Sure." He flashed a nasty smile. "We'll pretend we're on our honeymoon and we're checking in."
I'm cooking inside. It won't be too long before I'm done.
Ryan opened the front door for me. Once through, we walked hand in hand to check in. The woman at the front desk smiled and asked if we needed a room with one or two beds. He held up a single finger and took out his credit card. After he registered, she gave him a key to room ten and informed us there was coffee all night in the lobby.
"There's a continental breakfast in the morning," she informed. "It begins at 6:30. If you're hungry, there's an all night diner we locals enjoy around the corner and an I-Hop a little ways up the highway."
We thanked her and wished her a good evening. After getting back in the car, we pulled in front of our room. Two vending machines stood a few doors down. One held water, soda, and juice. The other held snacks such as crackers and candy bars.
"Want a water or a little something to nibble on?" His bottom lip quivered.
"A water would be good." I hesitated, knowing the mistakes and bad habits I continually battled when it came to substituting food for love or soothing a stressful situation. "Do you want to split a candy bar?"
"We could get something from the store if you'd rather." he held my wrist. I felt a knowing squeeze of concern.
"No, this is okay." Yes! I'd love to go to the store and get a bag of goodies for us to chow down! "Grayson cooks in the morning for the vets and I'm sure Paul will let us grab a bite."
"Or if we get up early enough, we can get some pancakes."
"True." I felt foolish suggesting we eat at the hospital when we were in a town filled with cafes.
Ryan slid his credit card into the vending machine's scanner, pushed the buttons for two waters and from the other machine a candy bar. He opened the wrapper and handed me a half.
"If you're as hungry as I am, I'm sure you want this now," he quickly gobbled the chocolate and caramel coated cookie. I ate mine as rapidly as he did.
"That hit the spot," I said after a long swig of water. "Do you have anything to take in?" I wondered if he'd planned the evening so carefully that he might have brought his toothbrush.
"Just my baby." He kissed the back of my hand.
"Well then let's go in, my Ryan."
He unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting me be the first to walk inside. It was quite different from Chris and Frances’s room at the Embarcadero Hotel or the Half Moon Bay Bed and Breakfast Inn. I felt a world away.
An inviting four-poster queen-size bed with a rich purple comforter and grape-leaf design sat squarely in the middle of the room. Two chairs and a pine table sat near the window, and against the wall there was a cadenza with a TV on top of it.
I hung my coat on one of the hangers.
Behind me, I heard the door close and lock. Ryan threw his keys on the table.
I can't get over this—I'm here with a man. A man who wants to be with me—with me!
"I wish we had a deck of cards," I announced. "I'd beat you in a game of hearts."
"I know how to play that!" he said excitedly.
"Really? Cool. My grandma taught me a lot of card games. Plus, when relatives came over, they'd let Jenise and me play before they started their poker." I ran my hand over the bedspread. "Pretty."
"Just what I was thinking . . . but not about the bed."
"You can turn off your charm button now," I teased. "I'm here."
"Oh, but that would be so boring," he laughed. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Can you see if there's any late news on TV?"
"I'll surf the channels, but I'll bet the tourists that stay here are too soused to care after their day of wine tasting; probably not much of a selection."
"Well, see what you can find," he repeated.
I amused myself with my analysis, but then considered how riddled I was with the fret and worry of being around alcohol. I had a hard time understanding how cocktails could be enjoyable and wine tasting was an excuse for an alcoholic's bliss.
I shook my head as if to stop the dysfunctional thought.
"Want to join me?" Ryan paused, one arm on the bathroom doorframe. He was texting something on his phone.
"You know the answer," I replied. "Who are you texting?"
"Turner wants to teach me a new pitch tomorrow at practice," he frowned. "I thought I was through with new stuff."
"Maybe he's thinking of your longevity."
"I'm thinking about my longevity right now." With a devilish laugh he tossed his phone on the bed and closed the bathroom door. I heard the water flow and the shower doors cl
ose.
God, he's always on play. How can I keep up with him? Ooh, I could look through his phone and see his blacklist. It's pure temptation sitting right in front of me.
I picked up the remote from a little table by the window and turned on the TV. I found MSNBC and left it on for him. The little table had two binders on it, one explained the benefits of staying at the motel and the other highlighted sites of interest and things to do. I was in the middle of leafing through them when Ryan came out of the shower. He had only a towel wrapped around his waist.
I could take that thing off and run my hands on his body and . . . what then? We'd have to go all the way at that point, wouldn't we?
A sudden knock on the door.
I looked at Ryan in panic.
"Who—"
"My text earlier wasn't only to answer Turner. Hopefully the office has a little surprise. I'll duck back into the bathroom."
When I opened the door, the woman from the front desk stood with a small bag in her hand.
"Here you go, miss. Have a good night."
"Oh, do I, do you need—" I didn't have money on me and wanted to me sure she knew she'd be tipped as soon as Ryan was done with his shower.
"It's taken care of. Enjoy." She smiled and walked away.
I closed and locked the door. When I emptied the contents of the bag on the table, a deck of cards fell out along with two bananas, two yogurts, and two spoons.
Ryan slipped behind me.
"Surprised?" He kissed my ear.
"Always." I turned and put my arms around his neck. "You're really a love, you know."
"Am I?" He looked down pretending to be bashful.
"And too confident," I added.
"Why don't you um . . . slip into something more comfortable and we'll play a game or two of hearts?"
"Dare I let you see me without makeup?" I began walking toward the bathroom.
"Oh yes, please," he begged. "I've seen that pretty face blink in beautiful innocence without any makeup a few times. I'd love to see her again."
Damn, the things he says.
"God, Ryan." I grabbed the robe hanging in the closet and closed the bathroom door. I have a man waiting for me outside this door. He's waiting to play cards, but then what? Do we go to sleep? Cuddle? Kiss? Make out? What do I say? How do I stop him? How far is too far?
Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2) Page 28