But the end of this tour has been suspiciously silent.
The only reason I could figure was that he was lining up his own ducks to go solo.
Which left me where exactly? A forty-two-year-old guitarist with no band.
What was I going to do with my life?
Saylor tugged on my hand. “That was a mighty big sigh. What’s going on?”
“Just wondering what I’m doing with my life.”
“Ah, so just the usual existential crisis then. Gotcha.”
“Yeah, no biggie.” I laughed.
She laughed with me. “Same.”
“Fuck, I can’t believe we’re here—” I pulled away to gesture at the gorgeous beach we were standing on and the beautiful blue ocean stretching out in front of us. “And we’re being such sad sacks.”
“You know what would cheer me up?” Saylor asked with a naughty smile.
My dick flexed under my shorts. “I have an idea, but you tell me.”
“Sandcastles!” Saylor shouted, raising her arms over her head and wiggling her fingers. Which consequently made other parts of her wiggle.
I looked up from her swaying tits to give her an incredulous look. “Wait, are you serious? We’re finally fucking and you wanna build sandcastles?”
The glee leached out of her expression, and her body sagged. “Oh.” She shook her head. “I mean, no, of course not. That was totally a joke. Ha ha. Um, let’s go back to my private pool. We can—”
“I’ll go see what equipment they have on hand. I’m sure Jone can rustle something up for us.” I turned back the way we came, tossing over my shoulder, “Find us a good spot. Preferably sandy, not too rocky, and no logs.”
Saylor grinned and saluted. “Aye aye, Captain.”
“I thought we agreed on Daddy.”
She squinted. “I think that should stay in the bedroom.” She gestured to the beach around us. “It’s a little icky in the wrong context.”
“Noted.” Sandcastles and Daddy. I shuddered. I got the ick too.
But a thought at the back of my mind nagged at me. A dim mental picture of a blonde little girl, running around on the beach, splashing in the water, and calling me daddy.
But that was crazy.
I was an aging rock star. Not daddy material at all.
* * *
After an afternoon of sandcastles, another naughty shower, and a nap—twined together in Saylor’s bed with zero naughtiness—Saylor and I headed for the dining hall for dinner, holding hands and enjoying the evening air. Unlike this afternoon, our silence felt comfortable. Companionable, even. Easy between us since we’d spent so much time together.
Sand crunching under our shoes was the only sound until Saylor piped up, “So what’s the wildest thing that happened on tour?”
I laughed. “Seriously? Do you not remember what happened last time you asked that?”
“You’re not in danger of choking now.” Saylor gestured at the empty beach around us. “And for the record, I answered your reciprocal question, so you owe me.”
“Yeah well I’d rather pay in a different way. And wait, you only asked that question to make a point about how I was prodding into your life about—you know.” I gestured to my cheek. “And considering your answer was a non-answer, I don’t owe you jack.”
“Wait, give me a second; I’m trying to map out your reply in my head.” She tilted her head and gave me a teasing look. “So are we back to tit for tat again?”
