Page 31 of Driving Beats

“Dude. UC begs to disagree. And I’ve heard you play live, remember? You’re frickin’ awesome on that guitar of yours.”

A compliment? Lillian never gave me one. More like begged to join us on tour and be treated like a rockstar’s wife. She was all about adoration, which I happily bestowed upon her. Until band life took over all my attention and left me with nothing more than little scraps to offer her.

Nese continues, interrupting my descent into Lillian-world. “I think you’ve got the better end of the stick. Your lead singer and drummer get mobbed almost everywhere they go. Jenna and Hayden told me this, so you can’t dispute me. Tris, to some degree, has a bit of reflected glory because he’s new to the band. But you and 007? You get to have black credit cards and a life. I call that a win-win. Probably makes it that much worse for the bitch Lillian.”

Out of habit, I open my mouth to correct her assumption about Lillian, then shut it. Nese isn’t wrong. And she’s not judging me.

She doesn’t know the full story.

I pick up my sunglasses. “Well, no matter what, I can’t imagine you’re going to get me to like clothes shopping.”

She repeats. “Game on!”

10

NESE

We return to Coop’s Range Rover, and he looks at me. “Where to next?”

I consider all he’s told me this afternoon. Combined with bathing suit shopping, I think he’s put in a very full day. Not to mention he gave up another week of his meditation retreat for the cause. He deserves a break. “How about we call it quits? We’ve been shopping non-stop for a few days straight⁠—”

He interrupts, “Five.”

“Right. Five. I say we both have earned time off. How about we return to your place? I can put this new cookbook to use and make the bread. You can meditate or practice guitar, or do whatever you like to do.” What does he like to do?

His response: a megawatt smile I’ve only seen him bestow upon Río on tour. My lady bits sit up.

Calm down. This is Coop I’m dealing with!

Still.

“I’ll take your smile as you’re in agreement?”

“Damn straight I am.” He turns on the SUV and soon we’re cruising the freeway back to his place.

As we drive, I fish out the recipe and ask him if he has sugar, salt, flour, raisins. Yes to all of these. “How about yeast?”

“Uhm. I don’t know?”

It’s cute his sentence ends higher. “No worries. I’ll check your pantry when we get home. Oh, I presume you have beer?”

“That I’m positive I do.”

Man has priorities. “Cool. The yeast has to proof, so we should have fresh bread for a late-night snack.”

“You don’t have to do this. There’s bread in the freezer.”

My hand goes over my heart. “You wound me! Once you’ve tasted homemade bread, you’ll never go back to store-bought.”

“Unless I’m on tour.”

My lips turn downward. “Well, true. Hey, if you like it, I could use the oven on the tour bus to make it for you. I’m sure the rest of the crew would enjoy it, too.”

“Seems like a lot of work. Not to mention, even though our busses have ovens, there is very little counter space.”

“Good point.” I glance out the window, then return my gaze to him. “Then you better eat up now while you can!”

He smiles. “I’ll do that.”