Backstage Pass

Chapter 14

“I didn’t say that. I just said—”

“I heard what you said. Tattoos are suspicious.”

“No, I said they make you look suspicious.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not the same. At all.”

“You sure are bitchy this morning,” he muttered.

Myrna’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me. Did you just call me a b***h?”

“No, I said you were bitchy this morning.”

“Same difference.” Realizing she’d mimicked his words, she chuckled.

He grinned at her. “We should argue more often.”

“Let me guess. It’s turning you on.”

“Yeah, my balls have come out of hiding and The Beast is ready to roll.”

Her eyebrows rose suggestively. “Can I ride The Beast?”

He put his fingertips against her forehead. “You must be at least this tall to ride The Beast.”

“Looks like I qualify.”

“Secure your belongings and keep your arms and legs around the ride at all times.”

The trooper cleared his throat outside Brian’s window. Brian started and then glanced up at the officer as if they’d been discussing the weather.

“Everything checks out fine,” the cop said. “You have no outstanding warrants, Mr. Sinclair. And the car hasn’t been reported as stolen.”

Brian scowled. “You sound surprised.”

The officer laughed nervously and handed Brian his license and other papers. “Next time, make sure you do this at a rest area.”

“A rest area?” Brian ducked his head to hide his grin. “Okay, next time we’ll do it at a rest area.”

Myrna laughed, leaning heavily against the passenger door as she clutched her midsection in hysterics.

“Am I missing something?” The cop scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face.

“Nope.” Brian returned his license to his wallet. “She forgot to take her meds again.”

Myrna slapped at him and wiped tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. “Thank you for checking on us, sir,” she said to the cop.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Brian said.

Myrna burst out laughing again. The two men stared at her as she struggled to contain her hilarity.

“We’d better switch drivers now,” Brian said.

He slid to the center of the seat and Myrna climbed over his lap to settle behind the wheel. She gave his crotch an appreciative squeeze beneath her skirt as they switched places. She waved at the trooper and rolled up the window before shifting the car out of park and easing back into traffic. Brian slid closer and squeezed her thigh.

“Now,” Brian said, “let’s see how well you can concentrate on driving with my head under your skirt.”

She grinned at him and took his wayward hand in hers. “Wait until we get to a rest area. I already know I won’t be able to concentrate with any part of you under my skirt.” She squeezed his hand. “Not this.” She lifted her hand to touch his lips. “Or these.” She cupped his package through his pants. “And definitely not this.”

“What about these?” He pulled his boot off and wriggled his socked toes at her.

“Hmmmm,” she said, keeping one eye on the road. “I’m not sure about those.”

Tampa 78 miles. Brian shifted his gaze from the green road sign to his watch. Eleven a.m.

“We’ve got plenty of time before we have to be in Tampa,” he said. “Let’s take a detour.”

Myrna took her eyes off the road long enough to glance at him. “What kind of a detour?”

“I don’t know. The spontaneous kind.”

“I like spontaneous detours. We have to be careful not to get lost, though. No Master Sinclair means no Sinners show.”

“We won’t get lost. At your next opportunity, head west.”

“That won’t take us far. The Gulf of Mexico is west.”

“Exactly.”

She smiled. “West it is.”

Within ten minutes, they were off the main highway and headed west. “It looks like it might rain,” she commented, gazing at the western horizon.

Brian scowled at the bank of black clouds rolling in from the distance. It figured the weather wouldn’t cooperate on their first real date. He hoped he could manage to keep his hands off her long enough to romance her a little. He had ten days to convince her to stay with him in L.A. In order to get her to comply, he’d need to seduce more than her body.

“Oh wow,” she said. “Look at the water. It’s gorgeous!”

“Not bad,” he said. “California has spectacular beaches.”

She glanced at him sidelong. “I suppose you mean in the Los Angeles area.”

And she was on to him already. “San Diego is better, but yeah, Los Angeles isn’t too shabby.”

“Uh huh. I thought the beaches in California were toxic.”

“Not all of them. Have you ever been to California?”

She hesitated. “Well, no, but I’m sure I’ll get there eventually.”

Did that mean she was considering joining him? Doubtful.

They entered a small gulf town. Every sign they passed had some depiction of a clam. Brian’s stomach rumbled. “Do you like seafood?”

“It’s okay. I’m not a fan of fish, but I love clam chowder.”

“Manhattan or New England?”

“New England. The thicker, the better.”

“Hungry?” he asked, watching little restaurants pass.

“Starved. As per usual.”

“Let’s find a place to eat.”

“Just no fast food. I think I’d rather die than eat another french fry.”

“Park over there.” He pointed to the common lot at the end of the block. “We’ll walk until we find a good place.”

“How will we know?”

“Follow the locals.”

“Good plan.”

As soon as she pulled into the nearest parking spot, Brian climbed from the car and hurried around to her side to open her door. He watched her try to straighten her hair in the rearview mirror with her fingers. He liked to keep it in that “just took a toss in the hay” style. It suited her. And him.

He opened the door and she looked up at him.

“I look like crap,” she said.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to lie?”

“I never lie.”

“You just did.” He took her hand and helped her out of the car.

“I have eyes, you know.”

“They must not work very well. You look gorgeous. You always look gorgeous.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently.

She surprised him by smiling instead of arguing. “Thank you. You’re very good for my ego.” She stared at the ground as she walked beside him. “Even if you are blind.”

“Are you fishing for compliments, Professor Evans?”

She pointed to her face. “Does this face look fishy to you?”

He shrugged. “It is a little scaly.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh really?”

“No, not really. I already told you that you were gorgeous. Everyone’s going to wonder why you’re hanging out with a thug like me.”

“I’ll tell them I’ve been kidnapped.”

“They’ll probably believe it.”

She took his hand. He smiled, his heart warming. She could deny it all she wanted, but he knew she cared. “What that trooper said bothered you, didn’t it?”

Actually, he hadn’t thought about that trooper since his toes had been used in ways they’d never been used before. He shrugged. “Eh, I’m used to it.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. No one should have to tolerate being discriminated against based on their looks.”

They paused at a street corner and waited for the traffic to thin enough for them to cross. Brian watched the patrons entering the restaurants in the vicinity. A construction crew, several office workers, and three well-dressed executives entered a small eatery in the center of the block. It didn’t look fancy, so the food must be good. Pam’s Clams. Myrna wasn’t watching the pedestrian traffic. She was watching him again. He liked it when she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He pretended he didn’t notice, but she stared at him a lot.

“Pam’s Clams?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to eat there?” He tugged her into the street and they hurried across.

“Fine with me.”

By the time they were seated, every person in the place had gawked at Brian at least once. It was a small town, apparently not used to men with chains, tattoos, dyed hair and leather attire. At least he wasn’t wearing his stage makeup. Had he been drunk, he probably would have cussed them out, but Myrna’s calming presence made it all seem unimportant.

“What sounds good?” Brian examined the small, laminated menu. Beer sounded good to him. Beer and battered fried clams with french fries. Unlike Myrna, he never tired of french fries.

“They have clam chowder in fresh-baked bread bowls.” She looked orgasmic with delight.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah, and a salad. A huge salad. I miss vegetables.”

The waitress appeared. “What can I getcha to drink?”

“Do you have lemonade?” Myrna flipped the menu over to search for their drink selection.

“Yeah.” She scribbled on her order pad. “What for you, doll?” she asked, pointing the end of her pen at Brian.

“Corona. And we’re ready to order.”

He ordered for the both of them and the waitress collected their menus before heading to the kitchen.

“We should take detours more often.” Myrna reached across the table and lightly trailed her fingers over the back of his hand.

He smiled. “The tour bus does get pretty boring.”

“I wouldn’t know. You never give me the opportunity to get bored.”

“That’s been my plan from the beginning.”

“I’ll be in trouble when you finally get tired of me.”

“I think you’re safe for at least a century.” He linked his fingers through hers and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Are you always this sweet?”

His eyebrow shot up in question. “Sweet? Now there’s something I’ve never been accused of before.”

“Really? I’m surprised. You’re so considerate and complementary and generous.”

“Actually, that’s not typical of me. It’s only because I lo—” He caught himself and shifted his gaze to the red-checkered vinyl tablecloth. “I like to see you smile.” He’d almost spoken that forbidden word of hers. Had she noticed? When she didn’t speak for a moment, he forced his gaze upward, expecting her eyes to be watery as she thought of that other man. That bastard he despised. What was his name? Jeremy. Myrna wasn’t teary-eyed though, she was staring at their joined hands reflectively.

“I do seem to smile a lot when I’m with you,” she said, smiling as usual. “I guess that means you’re charming, too.”

He chuckled. “You forgot virile and sexy.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Are you saying I’m not—”

She glanced up at him. “I meant that I didn’t forget. It’s obvious, you know. Goes without saying.”

“But you could say it.”

“I could.”

Their waitress returned with their drinks and Myrna’s salad. While Brian sipped his beer, he watched her methodically move the cherry tomatoes and red onions to the edge of her plate.

“I thought you missed vegetables.”

“I don’t like raw tomatoes. And I thought I’d skip the onions so I could make out with the sexiest man alive after lunch without subjecting him to my dying breath.”

He grinned at her compliment. He was used to girls stroking his ego, but when Myrna did it, it made him happy. She had such an unusual effect on him. He didn’t try to fight it. He was ready for this and hoped she’d come around soon. He knew he had to keep a rein on expressing these powerful emotions in front of her. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

“You want it?” She speared a tomato with her fork and offered it to him.

“If you put some dressing on it.” Can’t have vegetables without dressing.

She dipped the little tomato into her cup of ranch dressing and held it out to him. He chewed slowly, watching her devour her salad.

“So how much data do you think you need to enter into your computer?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Why do you ask?”

He was wondering how much of her time her work was going to take. “Just curious.”

“Let’s see. I’ve been doing about twenty interviews a night, each with forty-two questions. And there have been eight concerts, so that’s about 6,500 pieces of data I need to enter. Give or take.”

“That’s a lot!” he sputtered. “You have to enter all that stuff by hand?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t have an assistant in my back pocket.” She laughed. “It’s not the data entry that’s hard, anyway. It’s the statistical analysis and reporting the results in journal articles that takes so long.”

“You’re going to be really busy, aren’t you?”

“I tried to explain that to you earlier. You seem to think I don’t want to go to L.A. with you because I don’t want to spend time with you.”

He shrugged. Was he that easy to read?

“I don’t want to go to L.A. with you because I want to spend too much time with you.”

When he tried to respond, she popped another tomato in his mouth.

“So I hope you won’t make it harder on me by getting all pouty.”

He swallowed. “I don’t pout. What if you get done with all your work early? Will you come with me then?”

“I’ll consider it, but don’t get your heart set on it.”

“You don’t want to meet my parents?”

She paled. “Your parents?”

“You realize who my dad is, don’t you? You being a collector of guitar riffs and all.”

“Uh.” She paused. “I don’t know any other guitarists with the last name Sinclair.”

“He used a stage name. I can’t believe you don’t know this.” He grinned. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Her brow furrowed with concentration. “Is he as good as you are?”

Brian scoffed. “Better. Way better.”

She shook her head. “Now I know you’re making up stories.”

She’d eat those words after she figured it out. Brian had stood in the shadow of a legend his entire career.

“Does he still play professionally?” she asked.

“The occasional reunion tour, but not really.”

“Leftie?”

“No.”

“Malcolm O’Neil.”

“So you did know. I wondered how you didn’t know something like that.”

She dropped her fork and stared at him in shock. “Malcolm O’Neil is your father? Oh my God!”

If people weren’t staring at them before, they were now.

He scowled in puzzlement. “You didn’t know.”

“I was joking when I said Malcolm O’Neil. He was the only classic rock guitarist I could think of who was better than you are.” She grabbed his hand. “No offense.” She dropped his hand and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I mean, I think you’re better than he is, but…”

Brian laughed. “Calm down, Myrna. Is that enough incentive to get you to Los Angeles? Well, they actually live in Beverly Hills.”

“I couldn’t,” she said. “I’d make a total ass of myself.”

“Like now?” He was teasing, but she glanced around the room and flushed in embarrassment.

Their waitress delivered their lunches. “Can I get you anything else?”

Myrna clutched her chest. “A defibrillator.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Are you having a heart attack?”

“She’s joking,” Brian assured her. “Myrna?”

“I’m joking,” she agreed, still breathless. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were Malcolm O’Neil’s son.”

“You’re Malcolm O’Neil’s son?” the waitress asked. “Winged Faith’s lead guitarist?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brian said.

“You do sort of look like him, if you had huge sideburns and a chubbier face,” the waitress said. “I saw them at Woodstock. That was right before they made it big. Do you play guitar, too, doll? You have that rock star look about you.”

“A little,” Brian admitted. He hoped she didn’t make a scene. He’d been enjoying his obscurity, even if he had been the object of curious stares.

“I’d love to stay and talk, but I’m so busy,” the waitress said. “Do you want another beer?”

He glanced at Myrna, who was cautiously slurping steaming chowder from her soupspoon. “Just water.”

When the waitress left, he started eating his fried clams. They were grubbin’. Tender instead of chewy. Fried to a perfect crisp, yet not greasy. Deliciously seasoned. “Try one of these, Myrna.” He placed one on her plate next to her bread bowl.

She bit into the fried clam. “That is good.” She scooped some chowder on her spoon and leaned across the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Her chowder was good, too. “I know how to pick ’em,” he said, grinning to himself.

“Then how do we always end up eating fast food?”

“It’s fast.”

“Hence, the name.” She stole one of his french fries. “Now, that’s a french fry.”

After lunch, Brian headed for the restroom. On the way back, he cornered their waitress near the kitchen and convinced her to disclose the location of a nice, quiet beach. He left her a nice tip, double the cost of the meal, and escorted his lovely date back to the car.

“I’ll drive,” he said, opening the passenger door for her.

Myrna reached up and slid her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. She rose up on tiptoe to claim his mouth in a searing kiss. His heart skipped a beat when her tongue brushed against his lip. She knew how to get his blood boiling, but he had other things in mind for their romantic beach visit.

“Thanks for lunch,” she whispered. “Are we going to Tampa now?”

“Not just yet.”

Myrna leaned forward to gaze out the windshield. A gorgeous view of the Gulf of Mexico stretched as far as the eye could see. Tall palms punctuated the narrow strip of white sand beyond the grassy dunes. Rough waves sloshed against the shore as the storm clouds in the distance continued to march across the landscape. Brian had driven half an hour into the middle of nowhere, but their venture off the beaten path had been well worth it. Here, she could imagine they were the only two people on earth.

“How did you know about this place?” Myrna asked.

He smiled. Smugly. “I persuaded our waitress to disclose her secrets.”

She couldn’t explain the pang of jealousy that pierced her chest. “Persuaded? Did it have anything to do with those amazing fingers of yours?”

“Not telling.”

She slapped his shoulder and then opened the door. He grabbed her and pulled her across his lap, wedging her between his body and the steering wheel. “I just asked her where I could find the most romantic beach in the area. She called you a lucky girl and pinched my cheek as if she were my Great Aunt Stella.”

“I am a lucky girl,” Myrna whispered. She touched his face, staring deeply into his eyes. She expected him to kiss her, but he didn’t. He held her gaze until she had to look away.

“Let’s go watch the waves,” he said.

She nodded and slid from his lap.

They walked hand in hand to the beach. Brian settled on the sand and urged her to sit between his legs in front of him. He tugged her against his chest and rested his cheek against her hair as they gazed out at the water.

“There’s something about the ocean that feels eternal,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. “I get disconnected when I don’t see it for a while.”

“I find it soothing,” she said. “Being from the Midwest, I haven’t seen the ocean many times.”

“Then what makes you feel connected to the universe?”

She thought for a moment. “Gazing at the stars at night. You can’t really see them well in the city. Whenever I go visit my parents in the summer, I look up at the stars for hours.”

His hands stroked her bare arms. “Can I look up at the stars with you sometime?”

“I would like that.”

“And meet your parents?”

“I wouldn’t like that.”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was teasing, but he wasn’t far from the truth. She wasn’t ashamed of him, but they’d be ashamed of her for dating him. Brian wasn’t what they would consider son-in-law material, or even boyfriend material. But they had adored Jeremy, so they obviously were poor judges of character.

“Of course I’m not ashamed of you,” she said.

And she didn’t want to discuss her parents. She wished he would stop trying to pry into her private life.

She kicked off her sandals and wriggled her toes into the warm sand with a contented sigh. She reached for Brian’s left boot. “Take your boots off.” He helped her tug it free and then the other one. She pulled his socks off and tucked them into his boots. He drew her close to his chest again and she stroked the tops of his bare feet with her fingertips—tracing the ridges of tendons and toying with the light dusting of hair on the top of his foot.

“Even your feet are sexy,” she murmured.

“Is that your favorite part of me?” he asked, his low voice so close to her ear goose bumps rose on her nape.

“You should know my favorite part of you.”

“Do you call it The Beast?”

She grinned. She figured that’s what he’d think. “No, but The Beast made the top ten.”

“Top ten, huh?” He kissed the edge of her ear. A shiver raced down her spine. “Is it my lips?”

She shook her head. “No, but they’re also in the top ten.”

His tongue brushed against the pulse point beneath her ear. “Tongue?”

“Nope. My top ten seems to be awfully crowded.”

He laughed and hugged her. “It’s obviously my hands.” He held them in front of her and flexed his fingers.

“Wrong again. Good guess, though.”

“Okay, I give up,” he said.

She turned her head to look at him. “It’s your brain.”

He covered his surprise with a laugh. “Well, I can honestly say that was the last thing I thought you’d say.”

“Why? It controls all your other parts. It’s responsible for your amazing talent, both on the guitar and in bed.” He grinned. She’d never figure out why he needed her to compliment him when he had groupies screaming his godliness at the top of their lungs. “It makes you say things that make me laugh and make me think. And it gives you that sweet, romantic streak that I try so hard to resist. Your personality, your talent, heart, soul. What makes you, you. It’s all in that amazing mind of yours. Don’t get me wrong. The body that carries it around is fabulous, too.”

“I think I’m blushing.”

She turned to face him, kneeling between his thighs, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Is that really all it takes to make you blush?”

She kissed him tenderly. He kissed her in return but didn’t turn up the heat like he usually did.

When she leaned back to look at him, he smiled and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Did you lock the car?”

He sighed. “You’re always so practical, Professor.”

“You mean boring.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He rolled his eyes at her and shook his head. He stood and helped her to her feet. While she brushed the sand from her skirt, he scooped his boots and her sandals from the sand and tossed them into the car before locking the doors. When he returned to her side, he claimed her hand and led her toward the angry surf. The cool wind from the approaching storm blew Myrna’s hair against her face and her skirt tangled around her legs.

“Great day for a walk!” she called over the crashing waves. “I think we’re going to get caught in a downpour.”

Brian glanced up at the sky. “We might.”

He kept walking, her hand tucked in his. The wet sand squished between her toes. She curled them under with each step, liking the way it felt. A wave washed across her feet and she danced sideways. “That’s chilly.”

“The water’s really churning. If you want to go back—”

“A crab!” Myrna bent to snatch a half-dollar-sized crab out of the sand. She held it up by the edge of its shell to show Brian. The creature’s legs wriggled as it tried to run away in mid-air. “Isn’t he cute?”

He chuckled. “He’s a little small to make a good meal.”

“I wouldn’t let you eat him.” She turned the crab to look it in its stalked eyes. “Isn’t that right, Pinchy?”

“You named him?”