Page 70 of Driving Beats

“Do you truly believe you’ll be able to find the time when we’re on tour to purchase the things you need? Remember how difficult it was for you guys to go shopping in Milan and Barcelona? Hell, we were in the fashion capitals of the world, and UC had to be dragged into the stores kicking and screaming.”

“Not much difference from here in LA,” I quip.

“True. But right now you have the time and no performance obligations. It would be better to continue as we have been.”

She hasn’t mentioned sex at all. Was I overblowing things? “How about a compromise? We’ll finish out this week by shopping. Then you take the final one as your break. Three weeks to rebuild a wardrobe seems sufficient to me.”

“Fine. But if we have to dip into the last week, we will.” She extends her hand.

I refuse to be pulled in. “No. This is it. Whatever you think I still need afterwards, we’ll pick up on tour.”

“We’ll see.” She gives me a quick peck on the cheek, then returns into the house. With a slight limp. My body yearns to go to her aid… in more ways than one.

Despite what I told her, why is it the more time I spend with her, the more time I want?

20

NESE

Ispend the next couple of days dragging a reluctant guitarist to as many shops as I can in the city. I make him try on a wide variety of outfits, trying to get him to prefer—or at least like—some of the trendier ones. I even succeed in persuading him to purchase a few, which I call a win. My ankle is about seventy-five percent healed, and I make an effort to overlook the remaining twenty-five. When I’m not limping.

I’ve managed to keep my comments on the strictly platonic level for two reasons. One, unlike me, he’s as skittish about sex as a newborn colt. Two, I have no desire to prove Jenna and Hayden right. It makes no difference that the times I’ve been with him have been the best in my life. I am not ready to settle down like they were. Hell, he was married when he was younger than me—an important warning!

Still, I wouldn’t mind tapping him one last time.

We’re at the final stop—looking for a watch. A statement piece.

“As I explained to you before,” he begins this conversation for the fifth time. “I can’t wear a watch when we’re performing for the same reason UC’s drummer never wears a shirt onstage. Besides, I had a watch that was in my luggage.”

“Which was lost,” I supply. “It was what? A Timex?”

He looks like he drank pickle juice, but I don’t care. It’s beyond time for him to come clean, as I suspect his ex-wife gave it to him. Finally, he says, “It was Lillian’s first gift to me in high school.”

My lips purse. “You did wear it, right? Just not during a gig. I’m only replacing what you had—with something more stylish, of course.”

“I don’t need one. My cell phone tells the time.”

I slant him a dirty look. “Do I have to lecture you on this again?”

“No.” He kicks the dirt. He must recognize he’ll never win this fight. “Fine. Let’s get a watch. But be warned—I’m not buying a Rolex or something ridiculous like that. My Timex kept perfect time.”

I open the jewelry store door, keeping my jubilation in check. “Remember, we’re only going to look at their selection.”

We enter the men’s section and a salesclerk extols the virtues of each watch he puts in front of UC’s guitarist. There’s a dizzying array, even to my standards. Poor Coop doesn’t know what hit him.

Coop holds up a Breitling, Omega, and Tissot. “These look nice.”

Only a man without any money concerns would consider watches ranging from one to thirty-five thousand to be “nice”. My guess is he’ll choose the Omega, as it looks the most masculine and heavy-duty. But, honestly, all three would do the trick.

“Do any of them speak to you?” His eyebrow raises. “Not literally, silly. Are you gravitating to any? Prefer one style to the other?” I could go on, but I’ve learned he maxes out at two questions, and I’m not going to push my luck. Especially considering what I planned for tonight while he’s been checking out the watches.

His eyes flit between the Breitling and the Omega. I’m glad I was able to speak with the clerk and prevent Coop from seeing the prices. I want this to be a purely gut-check decision.

“I think the Tissot is out.” He places it down onto the watch cushion.

I pretend to be Río and do a drumroll. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.

He turns to me. “Don’t quit your day job.”