“What’s the name of the last song?” I ask over the music, fanning my face with my hand.
“You’ll have to wait and see.” Sal raises an eyebrow, and that, paired with his relaxed demeanor, makes him at least twenty percent sexier. And he was pretty damn sexy to begin with. Especially tonight. While he’s still wearing a dress shirt—I doubt he owns anything else—he’s paired it with jeans and sneakers, and even left the top buttons of the shirt undone. Very un-Sal like. I love it. “The next one was a last-minute change in the roster,” he continues, oblivious to my inner thoughts. “I noticed the singer had another talent.”
My eyes flash to the band, but I didn’t have to see it to guess. “Saxophone?” I ask. “Ralph’s got a gift. He also produces a lot of their music.”
“Ralph? You know these guys by name?”
“I do.”
Sal stiffens slightly and if that’s jealousy, I want more of it. It’s been a long time since someone was jealous over me.
“I’ve been a fan for a while. They’re still indie, but I have a feeling that’s about to change after their tour.”
“I can see that. They’re a talented group. And credit toRalphsince he plays my favorite instrument.” The way he says “Ralph” has me biting back a smile as a giddiness runs through me. He’s totally jealous. He may be “too old” for me, but that doesn’t mean he’s a man without needs.
“What you’re saying is that you saved the best for last?” I ask, keeping the conversation flowing while I swoon, my body swaying to the music, or perhaps because of the alcohol coursing through me.
“If you want a song that makes youfeel, throw in a sax. This song is no exception. It’s not necessarily the lyrics that evoke emotion—although, they always get me thinking about my life—it’s the saxophone riff. The power of the notes. You’re going to love it.”
The way Sal speaks about music evokes a feeling of its own. His passion is infectious. If I wasn’t already always drawn into every word he says, I’d be listening intently now.
He speaks about music like it’s color. Or something tangible that you could reach out and grasp. When he tells you music is for the soul, in that deep raspy voice of his, he makes you want to sing to the heavens. And I mean thatexactlyas it came out, dirty connotation and all.
“I can’t wait,” I say excitedly, and while I’m referring to the song, a little part of me pictures something else too.
“Any guesses?” Sal asks, his mind still on our seemingly innocent conversation.
“Not yet. But the suspense is killing me.”That and the tension.
God, I’ve had too much to drink.
Sal nods before his gaze flits back to the band, and there’s something almost childlike in his expression. This is the Sal no one gets to see. The man I’ll bet his ex-wife first fell in love with. If only she could see him now.
My stomach twists at the thought of his ex. My best friend’s mom. Until I realize what’s happening and cut those thoughts off faster than they came. I’m just as jealous as he is. Over nothing.
God, this is messed up.
I focus on the music for the next fifteen or so minutes, and when a certain seventies song comes on, I know instantly that this is for Sal.
I glance his way as I smile, and when the saxophone comes in, I melt into my chair.
Once again, he’s right. I love this song.
“Oh, ‘Baker Street,’” I announce proudly over the instrumental opening, drawing Sal’s attention, watching his mouth as his lips curl.
“That’s right. Do you know who originally sang it?”
“Definitely not.”
Sal laughs before confirming it’s Gerry Rafferty, his smile telling me this song is a favorite of his.
“Fine, you win. For now.”
“For now?” He shakes his head.
“I was thinking that maybe next time I can find the band, and challengeyouwith some songs.” Sal’s brows furrow and I laugh out loud. “Trust me. You’ll know them all and you might even love them.” I paraphrase his words to me, and his chuckle morphs into a full-on laugh.
“Maybe.” He bites his lip as he winks, and fuck me, that just about does me in.
