Flesh & Bone - a contemporary romance: The Minstrel Series #2 (7 page)

She dared a glance at him. When? She was sure he hadn’t seen her when Annette waved at him from her window.

“In that soup kitchen,” he offered. “You were playing guitar.”

Oh man, if she could just move her tongue. Form at least one word.

“I’d like to see you again.” She couldn’t hide her startled look and he quickly added. “To talk music.”

The act on the stage ended, so they were forced to break from the awkward chat and applaud. Annette shouted at Sebastian now that the room had grown loud. “I love your music!”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“And,” Annette continued, “Eva would love to talk music.”

“Eva,” Sebastian mused. “I should officially introduce myself. I’m Sebastian Weiss.” He held out a hand.

Eva swallowed dryly and allowed him to shake hers. His hand was warm and strong. She mustered up the ability to form her own name. “Eva Baumann.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sebastian said.

“And I’m Annette Vogel.” Annette could barely conceal her celebrity crush. A squeal escaped along with the handshake.

Other patrons began to notice the guy who’d joined their table and before too long, someone recognized him.

“That’s Sebastian Weiss!” Within minutes of this declaration, the table was swarmed with people wanting his autograph. Eva was pressed against the table and her cane that had been hanging on the back of her chair fell to the floor.

Sebastian whispered in her ear. “I have to go before this gets crazy. Can I come see you sometime? At the soup kitchen?”

Eva could only nod. Sebastian’s closeness turned her into a helpless mute. Her eyes stayed trained on his back until he disappeared and the crowd with him.

Annette laughed out loud. “What a night!” Then she cocked a brow and wiggled it at Eva. “I think he has a thing for you.”

Sebastian broke into a jog to ditch his fans. Fortunately, they were a group of girls in heels and not fit for racing across cobblestone streets. He zigzagged through a narrow lane and down an alley in the opposite direction of his building until he was certain he’d lost them. Then he circled back, keeping his head down and fists ready. Just in case.

His pace slowed as he entered his building and headed up the stairs. He flicked the switch and lit up the flat. It was an untidy mess with dirty dishes scattered about and sofa cushions out of place.

Sebastian collapsed on the couch, stretching out with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse in a coffin. He closed his eyes and thought about the girl and the song. At moments, the image of Yvonne kissing Karl would pop into his mind, and he’d shake his head. Focus on the girl and the song. The girl and the song.

Most people had paintings and photographs hanging on the wall: he had guitars. Some were vintage collectibles, including a 1957 Gibson Gold-Top and one Fender Stratocaster which was once owned by Clapton, but most were just recent impulse buys from the corner music store. He also had a Baroque violin, the chin piece worn by a million hours of practice as a kid. He hadn’t touched it since Hollow Fellows took off.

He’d set up a mini studio in the corner. Two flat-screen monitors and an audio/midi interface sat on a dusty desk. Long black cords twisted around two condenser microphones in metal gooseneck stands. He liked to work on ideas and get them down when inspiration struck, no matter the time of day. It was something that hadn’t happened for him in a good long while.

Sebastian needed noise. He searched the room for the remote, finding it under a cushion and turned on the TV projector. He fell into a chair and let out a long hard breath, working to focus on the program.

Normally, he liked being alone—he hardly ever was—but tonight the solitude mocked him. He no longer had the comfort of knowing his relationships extended beyond these doors. If he couldn’t trust his girlfriend and best buddy—correction,
ex
girlfriend and
ex
best buddy—then who could he trust?

His fame had grown, but his world had shrunk. He hadn’t called his parents in years. He commented on his sister’s Facebook status once in a while, but that was the extent of that relationship. His band was his family, and now that too had gone to hell.

A dark cloak of depression settled on him as he stretched out once again on his couch. He wished he would’ve turned out the lights, but he was too weary to get up and shut them off. Instead, he placed a cushion over his face.

He was alone. He didn’t even have a pet. Not a good idea when you’re only home half the year in spurts.

The image of Yvonne and Karl passionately kissing in front of her building burned stubbornly at the back of his mind. How could they do this to him??

Now that he thought about it, he could see the signs that something had been amiss. Yvonne had been pulling away for some time, and Karl rarely held his gaze. Right. Now it was fricking obvious. They’d both played him, and Sebastian was the fool. Now he wished he’d blackened Karl’s other eye.

The TV program was nonsense that got on his nerves and he clicked the remote to turn it off.

“The Water Song” from Eva Baumann ran through Sebastian’s head, tugging him out of slippery despair before he slid too deep. He hummed the haunting melody over and over again. So achingly beautiful.

He had to meet up with this girl. He had to get to know the person who could write a song like that. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful like the groupies who wore too much makeup, or like Yvonne, whose Goth edge caught attention, but she was cute in her own way.

Too bad about the limp and the cane. He wondered what happened to her? Was it a birth defect? Had she been born with a withered leg?

Whatever it was, it hadn’t affected her pipes. The girl could sing. And she seemed to like him, even if it was directed at Sebastian Weiss the icon and not Sebastian the guy around the corner. It wasn’t the first time he used his fame to his advantage. Just flash his winning smile, turn on the charm, flex his tattoo. Worked every time. If he could get her to sing for him, just for him, that might soothe the angst that ate away at the core of his being. He hummed her tune like a lullaby and let the emotional weariness overtake him. He fell into a deep sleep and surprisingly never had any nightmares.

Sebastian awoke the next morning feeling discombobulated. This wasn’t an unusual experience. For a fleeting moment his mind raced to remember what hotel he was in, then his eyes registered the familiar surroundings of his living room. Why didn’t he sleep in his bed?

Then he remembered Yvonne and Karl’s betrayal. An avalanche of anger built up from the day before swooshed down and pooled in his gut. He reached for his phone on the end table where he’d tossed it the night before. He’d turned it off when he entered the Blue Note and had forgotten to turn it back on. Nine text messages. Eight from Yvonne, which he deleted, and one from Dirk who’d called a meeting for that afternoon and wanted the band there.

Sebastian groaned. He’d hoped for at least one day off. One day to not have to look at Karl’s ugly mug. He texted back that he was sick and couldn’t make it and turned off his phone. He removed his clothing and was about to crawl into bed when he heard pounding at the door. What now?

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Yvonne.”

Damn. He really didn’t want to see her yet.

Yvonne didn’t relent. “Please, Sebastian. Can we just talk for a minute?” The handle quivered as a key was inserted—he’d given her a copy—and Yvonne pushed the door open. Sebastian huffed and realized he was standing there in just boxers. He cursed and stormed back to his bedroom, frustrated that Yvonne had followed him. He ignored her and shuffled into jeans and a button-down shirt.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Can’t you give me one more chance?”

Sebastian looked at her then. Her red-rimmed eyes and hollow cheeks. Short and spiky pink hair with dark roots. Her thin, waifish body. He waited for his emotions to kick in. Something that resembled affection, some residue of the love he’d had for her just yesterday, but he felt numb. “I don’t think I can.”

She stiffened and a hardened look crossed her face. “So, you’re just going to throw away six years.”

He snorted. “I didn’t throw them away. You did.”

Someone else was pounding on the door before Sebastian could even get his buttons done up. How were people getting in the building without buzzing? Yvonne had a key, which he needed to get back, but whoever was on the other side of that door must’ve slipped in behind another tenant.

He opened it to Dirk and Markus.

“I said I was sick.”

“Which is why we brought the meeting to you,” Dirk said. He pushed his glasses up as he took in Yvonne. “Hi, Yvonne.” Then back to Sebastian, “Karl is on his way.” He lowered his voice. “I had to squeeze his balls. He said you two had a falling out.”

Sebastian huffed. “You could say that.”

Dirk nodded to Yvonne, his face registering that maybe something was wrong. “Sorry to intrude.”

The tension in the room was thick. It was Yvonne’s fault. She was the cheat.

“She was just leaving,” Sebastian said, holding out an open palm. “My key?”

Yvonne dug into her purse and handed it over slowly, her eyes hard, and lips in a firm, thin, line. She let the key fall to the wood floor, where it landed with a clink and slid under the couch. Then she turned sharply and slammed the door on her way out.

“Whoa,” Markus said from his position on one of the low-lying living room chairs. His feet were crossed at the ankles and rested lazily on the coffee table. “Did you guys just break up?”

Sebastian lowered himself to the floor to reach under the couch for the key. “Yup.” His fingers wrapped around it and he shoved it into his pocket.

“Wow,” Markus continued. “You two were together, like, forever.”

Dirk frowned and took a seat on the couch opposite Markus. “So
that’s
the sickness. What happened?”

Sebastian moved to the kitchen and gulped orange juice from the carton before answering. “Ask Karl.”

“Ask me what?” Karl entered through the unlocked door and stood there sheepishly. His dark hair hung over the black eye that had formed there.

Sebastian scowled. “Your girlfriend just left.”

Dirk and Markus’s gazed moved back and forth between them. “Whose girlfriend?” Dirk asked. “What’s going on?”

Sebastian pointed at Karl. “Him and Yvonne. That’s what’s going on.”

Markus gawked. “You hooked up with Seb’s girl?”

“It was stupid,” Karl said. “I know. But it’s over. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian shook his head. “You think you can fix this with a lame apology?”

“What else do you want from me, man?”

“I want you out of the band.”

Dirk’s wide eyes cut back and forth between them, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel’s. “Hold up, Sebastian. Let’s just calm down here.”

“What? You can’t expect me to keep playing with him?”

Dirk’s fingers tapped nervously along the top of his tablet. “I know. It… sucks. But, you’ll need to work it out somehow.”

Sebastian thrust his shoulders back. “I’m not working anything out. Either he goes or I go.”

Dirk broke into a sweat, which caused his glasses to slip down his nose. “Well, his name is on the record contract. So is yours. Unfortunately, neither of you can quit.”

Sebastian stepped into his shoes and headed for the door. “Yeah. Watch me.”

It was a lot easier having a celebrity crush from a distance. Having Sebastian Weiss sit right next to her and whisper in her ear almost blew her circuits. Eva was sure he’d been drinking too much and that she’d never see him again. Still, the high of it along with her performance kept her from falling asleep until dawn. In fact, she floated along in a happy daze for a couple days afterward.

“You seem especially chipper,” her mama noted at breakfast. “Is there something we should know about?”

Her papa eyed her over the newspaper he read each morning, bushy eyebrows taut with curiosity.

“I already told you,” Eva said, keeping her eyes averted, spreading marmalade on her toast. “I finally had the courage to sing at the open mic night.” She couldn’t tell them about Sebastian, but the way they kept eyeing her it was like they already knew. “What?”