Declaration (10 page)

I burst out laughing, wiping beer from my lips. “Wow.”

“It could happen.”

“No,” I objected on a lingering chuckle, “definitely not. Other Montgomerys, maybe. Me? Never.”

“You never played any sports when you were a kid?”

“Hell no.” I pointed to my thin frame to emphasize my point. I was in shape, but I sure as hell wasn’t an athlete. I did not sport the Ryan Campbell swimmer abs, much to my chagrin. “Do you see this physique? Come on, woman, seriously?”

“There you go again, talking yourself down.” She reached over and poked at my torso. The poke turned into a gentle pet, her fingers brushing my abdomen. “You’re fit!”

“Healthy, maybe. Lean, yes. Cut like an athlete? Please, no need to stroke my ego. I’m not like Jackson—or your friend Ruben, for that matter.”

“Oooohh don’t even call that asshat my friend!”

My body shook with laughter, watching this tiny little thing get all fired up over something so trivial. “You’re really fun to get a rise out of, you know that?”

The creases in her forehead softened and she laughed along with me. “So I’ve been told. Anyway, back to more important matters, sir. I don’t think you should pass up those hours. You need them.”

“So does Jackson.”

“Jackson will be fine. He has a second job.”

“I already told him I’d talk to our boss and turn them down. I don’t want him to lose this job because of me, Whitney.”

“Hey.” She suddenly bolted up, standing to her feet. One hand flew to her hip and she glared down at me, her look hard and determined. “If he does lose the job, that’s not on you, do you hear me? Jackson made his choices. And he knew exactly what he was doing when he helped get you that damn job. Now, he’s a good guy—despite his dumb douche baggy ways—and he’ll understand if you choose to accept the extra hours. He might kick and pout at first, but he’ll get it. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not spiteful.”

“So what do you propose I do,” I glared back up at her, grinning, “just tell him I changed my mind and take his job right out from underneath his feet?”

“No, you just march your happy ass up to your boss tomorrow, tell him you need all the extra hours he can give you, and then tell Jackson it’s nothing personal but you have to do what’s right for you. I promise, he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t, then let me know and I’ll kick his tan, trouble-making ass into next week. Deal?” She thrust out her right arm, her hand straight and firm, waiting for me to shake and agree. “Are ya with me, Montgomery?”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“Ha. Okay, okay.” I gave her my hand and she dramatically helped launch me up, bringing me straight to my feet. We wandered back to the hotel bar and had another drink, and then another. Before I knew it, we were racing down the shore, a little more than tipsy, laughing hysterically. At what? I had no damn clue.

“Oh, oh!” Whitney reeled in her giggles. She was jogging backward, facing me, and I was jogging after her. “Do you hear that?”

“Other than me, gasping for air?” I panted, slowing as she came to a stop. “No.”

“‘Paint it Black!’” she shrieked, as if I were crazy for not recognizing The Rolling Stones over the labored sound of my ragged breathing.

“Shit,” I coughed, reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes. I lit up, and released a contented sigh. “If you don’t kill me first, woman, then these will.”

“Dance with me, Montgomery,” she rushed forward and grabbed my free hand. I shook my head and smiled, letting her tug me back and forth as she hopped around in pure bliss. I moved and bobbed with her, smoking with one hand while I eyed her moist, glistening skin under the moonlight. Her free-flowing black hair billowed around her shoulders, sticking to her sweaty skin, and her sparkling eyes were positively wild. Full of light and a spark I’d never seen. Right then, I knew I wanted—no, I needed—to know more about this girl.

“I thought we nixed the Montgomery business,” I said, twirling her under my arm and watching her move.

“Shush, you’ll ruin the moment.”

“Did you just…
shush
me?”

“Shush!” She sent a faux karate chop to my neck and I stumbled back. “Come on,” she yanked me forward, toward the shore’s hotels, “we need to find which of these bars is playing that music.”

“Uh, Whitney…there is no way on God’s green Earth I’m drinking another drop tonight.”

“We’re not going to drink, we’re going to dance!”

Before I could object any further, I was hoisted forward. She towed me behind her, her smooth, bare legs tearing over the sand. We found ourselves face to face with a wall of sweaty, rowdy bodies, jammed into an open-air, wraparound bar at the base of one of the shore’s hotels. Palm trees lined the patio’s perimeter, and just about everyone in the crowd was wearing shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. Many were bare foot. If this wasn’t a sight straight out of a travel ad for a tropical island, I didn’t know what was.

That’s when it hit me just how homesick I truly was. The beer probably intensified it, but there was no mistaking the feeling.

“Look!” Whitney shouted to me, pointing to the small stage past the crowd of people. It was tucked back into the corner of the bar, where three guys who looked like they could’ve passed as Jimmy Buffet’s neighbors sat on stools, playing the Stones cover we’d just been dancing to out on the beach. She laced her fingers through mine and I quickly stomped out my cigarette, tossing it in a nearby ashtray, letting her drag me through the crowd. We slowly worked our way to the front, off to the side, and she resumed jumping and waving her hands around like a maniac. I joined in, allowing my relaxed limbs to kick and jump around, surrendering me to a night of fun I hadn’t had in a really long time.

Images of Kate and Dean threatened to surface and invade my buzzed, happy state of mind, but I pushed them back, telling them to screw off. They weren’t welcome. Not tonight.

“Paint it Black”
came to an end, and the three musicians stood, announcing to the crowd that the mic was open for business. The crowd clapped and the bar filled with hoots and hollers. It was then that I registered the tugging on my shirt sleeve. Whitney was gesturing for me to look at the wooden sign hanging to our right.

It was open mic night.

“Get up there, Montgomery!” She moved fast, jumping behind me to place her palms on my back and shove me forward. I was shocked at her coordination, considering she’d had far more to drink than I had.

“What?” I felt her fingertips dig into my back. “No way, you crazy woman. Nuh-uh.”

“You said the stage is your element. Come on, play me something good, damn it. This is my night out. Entertain me!” She beamed at me and succeeded in shoving me to the edge of the small platform. My eyes roamed around, watching the crowd begin to bustle as people headed for the restrooms and to the bar for another round. No one else seemed to be stepping onto the stage at the moment, so I stepped forward, nodding to the guys walking down from their set.

“Uh, hey man, mind if I borrow that for one song?” I was prepared for a big fat “hell no,” because I knew how most musicians, including me, were about just handing over their baby like that. But something in me was fueled by the little firecracker raven at my side, and I found myself asking, hoping he’d say yes.

Much to my surprise, he didn’t think twice. He handed me his guitar with a big, warm salty smile and nodded. He leaned in so I could hear him over the bar noise and let me know he’d be there until 2 a.m., and that he’d already played his share for the evening, so his baby was mine.

I thanked him and took my place on one of the empty stools, quickly testing the mic and tweaking the guitar to make sure everything was just right. Or as right as it could be, for a guitar that wasn’t Liz. Pulling at my bottom lip while I ran over which song I wanted to play, the halo of tranquility and intoxicating excitement settled over me like a blanket, letting me know I had arrived.

I was in my element, and blimey, did I bloody miss it.

With an encouraging holler from Whitney, I quickly settled on a mellow cover of David Guetta’s “Titanium,” figuring it’d be a good way to slow the momentum down after “Paint it Black.” And there was something about this song, something that cut right through me and tore me open right there on the stage, every time. I felt like everyone in the room could see my soul, like it was wide open and on display for every greedy eye in the crowd.

I began to play, and little by little, the noise began to dwindle. I only chanced a peek out into the crowd once before I shut my eyes, because honestly, as soon as my fingers started to move and my voice followed, the faces in the crowd were drowned out. Visible, but seemingly invisible. It was just me and the music, just the way I liked it. No one could touch us in our little bubble, and we set the pace. No rules, no heartbreak.

Just a pure cleansing of the soul.

My voice was quiet at first, caressing the mic with a light brush of my lips.

“Turn up the volume, Montgomery!” Whitney shouted. “Louder!”

I found her through relaxed, lazy lids, smirking and sending her a wink. She continued spurring me on and I finally raised my voice as I began the next verse, slowly increasing the power until I was belting the chorus and owning the crowd. I didn’t have to look out at the faces to know I was in control.

They were quiet—so still that the clinking of glasses being served at the bar could be heard over their silence.

I let my eyes drift shut as I wrapped myself comfortably in the bubble with my music, missing The Hellions and what it felt like to be on stage with them back home, but for now, this would do.

For a split second, I glanced over to where Whitney was standing, her energy calling to me, even as I found myself completely immersed in my own little zone. Her twinkling greens and explosive smile smacked into me, her fingers flitting a hello, overflowing with giddiness.

I shut my eyes.

Yeah, this would definitely do.

6
SOGGY CRUMPETS

I woke with a groan, my nostrils assaulted with the delicious smell of eggs and bacon as I pulled myself up from Emma’s couch . Oh dear God, did I want eggs and bacon. My mind sifted through the memories of last night. When we made it back to Emma’s place, we exchanged a few sloppy hugs and an awkward ‘goodnight’. I quickly dove onto the couch, while Whitney hurried into Emma’s bedroom. The temptation to kiss her had been all too real, so I made it a point to crash on the sofa the second we stumbled in through the front door. I couldn’t bring myself to make a move on her.

Not that I didn’t think about inviting her to sleep on the couch with me.

My body and mind really liked that idea. But I was here to help her out, not take advantage of the situation.“Hey,” I said, my voice thick and raspy from our night out.

“Hey Super Star,” Whitney chimed, her voice lively and much more enthusiastic than mine. I dragged my feet into the kitchen and went straight for the coffee, my stomach grumbling with intense hunger when I reached over the stove and caught a better whiff of the bacon.

“Hungry?” she asked with a smile, stirring the scrambled eggs with a spatula.

“
Hhhhmmmm
.”

She laughed. “I take it that’s a yes?”

“
Hhhhmmmm
.”

She piled some food onto a plate for me and then handed me a glass of water and some aspirin. “I have to get dressed for work. Can you manage from here? Emma’s already left for work.”

That news made me mildly alert. “She did?”

“She did. Thank God, there was no need for me to drag her out of bed this morning. I think this means she’s on the mend!”

“Let’s hope so.”

“You sure the bus will get you home on time for your shift this afternoon?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I am worried. I hate that I can’t give you a lift today. But I’m going to have to drive straight to the diner when I get off from the hotel tonight. No time to come home. I’ll have to change there.”

“Really, it’s fine. You do what you gotta do. I’m going to talk to Jackson today about his friend Jeff’s old truck. He’s looking to get rid of it, I guess.”

“Ew.” Her nose scrunched up as she started for the hallway. “Anything Jeff owned is bound to be a disaster waiting to happen. Don’t let him swindle you.”

“Nah, I won’t.” I waved her off, encouraging her to go get dressed, and let my eyes follow her as she retreated down the hallway. My mind flashed back to the night before, remembering her toned legs in those teeny tiny ripped denim shorts, her perky tits, and the bare sliver of her midriff that glistened with sweat as she danced. I tried to restrain my morning wood with a long sip of coffee.

She disappeared into the bathroom and I savored my home-cooked breakfast before gulping down an aspirin with the water Whitney had given me. I was just about finished washing dishes by the time she emerged from the bathroom, all clean and dressed for work in her maid uniform. The naughty skirt was back today.