“You’re family, Bren.” Matt slung an arm around Kit and the other around Sloan. “We trust you.”
His guitar rested on his thighs as he looked over the notes Taylor sent over. Riffs. Chord progressions. Kit’s bass, Bo’s drums, and his guitar would create the rhythm section for each track. Lyrics, melodies, and harmonies come after. Then, they’d play it together, making numerous revisions along the way, until everyone was satisfied with the end result. Sometimes, everything came together on the first playthrough. Most often, it took many attempts and adjustments to get the sound just right.
He held down a series of chords with his fretting hand, alternately strumming and fingerpicking the strings with the other, composing the rhythm part in his head. The rudimentary beginnings of one, anyway. Because without Kit’s bassline and Bo’s groove, it fell flat.
His stomach grumbling, Matt set his guitar down on the sofa beside him. He’d been at this for hours, and after adding some notes of his own to Taylor’s scribble, he picked up the phone to order himself dinner.
“Twenty minutes?” His fingers rubbed over his bare chest. “Sounds good, Nick. Thanks.”
He knew Gina’s last name now. Her kid brother could tell him what he wanted to know. Did she still live at the townhouse on Willow Street? What was her schedule like? Her phone number?
Restless, Matt got up, and walking past the clock on the wall and the photo of him and his grandmother that stared at him from the shelf, he cracked the blinds open to peek out the window. Nearly dark, the last remnants of what had likely been a magnificent sunset rapidly faded from view.
And the Fates shone down on him once again.
Pizza box in hand, he watched her come up the porch steps. Smirking, Matt opened the door. “You’re not Luca.”
“I thought we established that already.”
Her stance casual, Gina cocked her hip, attempting to appear unaffected by him. He knew better, though. Dilated pupils. Rapid, shallow breaths. Her gaze fixated on his torso. She was nervous, but desire oozed from her pores.
“Filling in tonight?” Matt asked, and taking the pizza from her, he placed it on an entryway table.
Biting at her lips, she shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Wanna know what I think?” He rested his elbow against the doorframe.
“What?”
The muscles in her fingers twitching, she tucked her just-brushed hair behind her ear. No doubt it had been up in a messy bun not ten minutes ago. A touch of mascara. Gloss on those tempting lips of hers.
“I think you wanted to see me.”
Closing her chameleon eyes, Gina shook her head.
He reached out, his fingertips brushing her arm. “It’s okay. I wanted to—”
“This was a mistake,” she whispered and fled down the steps to her car.
Matt watched her taillights until she made it to the gate and closed the door.
A mistake? Yeah, maybe so.
Stunned, he picked up the pizza box and tossed it onto the kitchen island. Intent on grabbing a slice, Matt opened the lid, but found he wasn’t very hungry anymore. Then the doorbell rang.
She came back. He knew she would.
“Wanna fuck?”
“What?” Gina cocked her head, indignant.
But then, why else would she be here? That’s all any of them ever wanted. It disappointed him in a way. He wanted her to be different.
“You heard me. Do you wanna fuck?”
“Wow!” She slowly shook her head. “You’re bold.”
He didn’t have time for bullshit. “The answer to an unasked question is always no.”
