Page 61 of Driving Beats

“Ha. I wish. She’s been dragging me to all these stores. I swear I tried on no less than fifty pairs of jeans and ended up with five. Today, we shopped for luggage. Dude. Luggage shopping. Who does that?”

He chuckles. “Sounds like you do.”

“Well, she scored a set for free, provided I do a photoshoot for them.”

“That’s pretty nice. What brand?”

“Uh—” I remember driving to the store. “Twin? Tuni? Tumi! That’s it, Tumi.”

He whistles. “Damn. That’s some good stuff right there. You say you got it gratis?”

“Not exactly. The cost is a photoshoot.”

“Nice deal, Coop. Those pieces cost a small fortune.”

“I’d rather pay than do this stupid photo op.” I stuff more chorizo in my mouth.

“Come on. Make it fun. Think of the camera crew in sexy lingerie. That always gets me.”

An image of Nese in only her birthday suit surfaces, which I shove away. It doesn’t matter how well we fit—physically. She and I are from opposite sides of the world. 007 understands. I pick my words carefully. “The last thing I need or want is any sort of entanglement.”

He swallows. “I hear you. Women are good for a few hours, then they can go back from wherever they came.”

My stomach tightens. “That’s certainly a way.”

“We have the life, man. I get my needs met then join you in doing important things like creating music or playing a video game. God bless Bennett and Río, but we don’t need their lifestyles.”

“Good point. So long as I can wail out on my guitar in front of a stadium of people, I’m happy.”

“My brother.”

After our conversation ends, I put my dishes into the dishwasher. On the way to my bedroom, I pass by a sleeping Nese. She’s curled into a tiny shrimp. Is she chilly? Not wanting to be a worse host than I already am, I grab a throw blanket and toss it over her perfect form. Something inside of me unlocks when she sighs at the added heat.

I study her in slumber for a long minute. Stop my hand from reaching out and stroking her soft cheek.

Lillian laughs at me from the doorway.

No way. I’m not falling for UC’s stylist.

18

NESE

Iwake only to realize I’m on Coop’s couch in the family room and not in my own bed. Well, the bed in Coop’s guest room. My hand skims my body to confirm I’m still fully clothed. That is, except for my foot, which is stretched out over the arm. Noises from the kitchen prick my ears. Who’s here?

Tossing the blanket onto the floor… when did I get this? Whatever. I stand and take one step, then cry out. “Ouch!”

A barefoot Coop—in only grey sweats, of course—rushes to my side, his strong arms going around me. “What are you doing? You need to stay in bed.”

I point out, “That’s the sofa.”

“You know what I meant.” He assists me back down. Rather, hovers until I’m sitting again, with my leg elevated. “I was making you breakfast so you can stay off your foot and rest.”

My arms cross over my chest. “I don’t need to be catered to.”

“You’re right. But take it from me, the less you use your foot now, the sooner it’ll heal.” He takes a step toward the kitchen. “Let me finish with breakfast. Don’t get your hopes up, though. I can’t make much from scratch or anything.” With that, he tosses a kitchen towel over his shoulder and leaves the room.

Dammit. There are things to do, like going with Coop to the Tumi photoshoot. Crap. He can’t go there by himself! I need to take a shower. I push away from the sofa and tentatively put weight on my left foot, but it hurts like a motherfucker. I make it three steps until I grab onto a table. At this rate, I won’t get to my room before nightfall. Shit.