Keep Coming Back To Love. Christa Maurice

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СКАЧАТЬ not calling in sick.” Candy checked her look. Tight dark wash jeans. Filmy black shirt. Leopard print heels. Perfect hair and makeup. Dangling earrings. Slick and complete. And Joe’s shirts were finished and folded in a bag by the door so he could pick them up at the store tomorrow and pay her.

      “Why not?”

      “Because I’m not sick.”

      “You’re going to make me leave the club between sets to come get you.”

      “Would you?” Of course she would. Jody wanted to get backstage and get her hands on Jason Callisto. It was all she’d been able to talk about for months and that was before she had a valid opening.

      “If I have to, but you have to promise to introduce me to the band.”

      Bingo. “I’m going to meet them tonight. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” The doorbell rang. “That’s him. I gotta go.”

      “You are so lucky.”

      Candy walked through her empty house. “Yeah. Lucky. See you tomorrow.” She set the phone on the charger on the table under the last family photo from seven years ago. Mom, Dad, and precious Candace. Six months after the picture was hung, Mom ran off, Dad started working all the time and, as soon as she could, so did Candy. “Hi, Tyler. Ready to go?”

      “If you are. Shouldn’t I say hello to your parents or something?” He was dressed in the green button-down shirt and straight leg jeans she’d picked for him, and even a couple of days on the skin and hair care regimen made a difference. Between her and Jody, they were going to make a rock star out of him if it killed them.

      “Nobody home.” She snatched her purse off the table before she closed the door behind her. “Where are we going to dinner?”

      “Mama Lena’s?”

      Next up on the hit list was his lack of confidence. Mama Lena’s was always good. The sit-down restaurant impressed her because half the time her dates thought McDonald’s bought them a park hopper pass to her body. “I love Mama Lena’s.”

      He also had a car. A dark blue Grand Marquis with bumper stickers that read “My Child Made Honor Roll at Fort Island Elementary” and “My Child Made Honor Roll at South High School.” Pretty nice part of town. No wonder his mom could hand him a credit card to go shopping. After they ate, he drove her to a residential neighborhood not far from the restaurant. A beat-up car sat in the driveway and the living room lights were on.

      “You’ll like the guys. They’re all really nice.” Tyler hurried her up the path. Before he knocked, he smiled at her. “You look really pretty tonight.”

      “Thanks. You look great, too.”

      “Thanks to you.”

      “You fill the clothes out good.” She grinned. He did. All through dinner she’d been wishing he’d sat on the same side of the booth as her so she could at least feel his thigh against hers. Wouldn’t have happened. Every time she’d brushed his leg under the table, he’d moved it as if he thought he was crowding her.

      He knocked.

      A stocky, middle-aged man with a buzz cut answered. “Hello Tyler. You brought a guest.”

      “This is my girlfriend, Candy.” Tyler settled his arm around her shoulders as if she might crumble if he pressed too hard.

      Girlfriend? That was fast. Maybe he had more confidence than she’d thought. Candy held out her hand. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

      The older man softened as he shook her hand. “And it’s nice to meet you too, Candy. I’m Mr. Dale, the boys’ manager.”

      Touchstone had a manager? Most of these garage bands were lucky if they had one member with his shit together enough to book gigs. But then Touchstone was doing better than most garage bands.

      “Come on inside. Jeff and Michael are downstairs. Brian and Jason are running late as usual. Candy, would you like something to drink?”

      “No, thank you.”

      Tyler took her hand and led her to a basement door. Downstairs were two more long-limbed rejects from the flannel parade.

      “You brought a fucking girl?” the one with the bass shouted.

      “Jeffery!” Mr. Dale barked. “Watch your language.”

      “But it’s practice, not the school dance.”

      “I—I didn’t—” Tyler stammered.

      “It’s not a problem.” Mr. Dale put up his hands. “You boys should perform in front of any audience you can get. Michael, clear the recycling off the couch so Candy can sit down.”

      The kid behind the drums shuffled to the bowed flowered couch along the wall and started moving bundles of newspapers off it. The doorbell rang and Mr. Dale went to answer it.

      “I’m Bear,” he said when she leaned down to help. “Only my parents and Mr. Dale call me Michael.”

      “Candy.”

      “You’re really pretty.”

      “Thank you.”

      “You and Tyler serious?”

      Candy glanced at Tyler. He was fiddling with a microphone, but his attention was on her. “Yeah.” As serious as a first date got anyway. None of these schmoes could probably manage a girlfriend and a bourgeoning music career so it would give Tyler some points in their eyes.

      “Figures. Mr. Dale ask you if you wanted something to drink? He probably did, huh?”

      “He did, but thanks. Pretend I’m not here.” Candy sat down and tried to be invisible.

      Tyler was talking to Jeff. Michael went back to messing with his drums. Two more boys thundered down followed by the heavier tread of Mr. Dale. The dark-haired one stopped when he hit the bottom. “Who brought a date? Bear!”

      Bear held up his hands. “It wasn’t me.”

      “I’m sorry.” Tyler glanced around the room. “I didn’t know it was a problem.”

      “It isn’t.” Mr. Dale clasped the dark haired boy’s shoulder. “Say hello to Candy, Jason.”

      “We can’t have somebody here watching us practice. He just started and he still sucks with us.” The boy gestured toward Tyler who was turning an awful shade of red that clashed with his hunter green shirt.

      “Then it’s a perfect time for him to get used to playing with the band and you all need to practice together in front of an audience. Say hello.” Mr. Dale angled Jason toward her.

      The blond, who dressed as if he was still mourning the death of hair metal, stepped around them and approached her with his hand out. “Hi, I’m Brian.”

      She stood to shake his hand. “Hi. I think you shop at my store. I work in young men’s.”

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