Dirty(60)
From deeper within the shop came voices, the sound of music. I followed it into an open area hidden behind a wall of amps. It was a secret garden made for six strings. Sort of.
“Hi,” said Andre, leaning against the end of a ceiling-high rack of guitars. How the man managed to look dapper in a bright red vintage Hawaiian shirt I had no idea.
Some people are simply born cool. I wasn’t even remotely one of them.
“Hi, Andre.”
“Check this out.” He jerked his chin in the same direction the music was coming from.
Vaughan sat on a low stool, playing an acoustic guitar, while three kids of varying ages stood watching. Their faces were rapt. I completely understood why. Vaughan with a guitar in his hands would enthrall anyone.
He was magic.
The precision of his fingers and the dance of muscles in his arms. Jaw set and eyes distant, he wove the music out of thin air, filling the shop with its beauty. It wasn’t anything fancy, full of finger picking and over-the-top showmanship. Just a simple old soft rock song. By Dylan, I think, though I’d heard it covered a million times. The care Vaughan gave it, however, the heart, made it special.
“C to G,” said one of the kids, who looked like she was in her early teens.
“That’s right.” Vaughan smiled as he kept on playing.
“Then D,” added another, pointing at the bottom strings.
“Yep. You got it.”
The third remained silent, staring at his fingers.
“He’s good with them,” I said quietly to Andre.
“No, he’s fucking great with them,” he whispered back. “This has been going on for over an hour now.”
“Really?” I stared at the group in awe.
Andre slipped his hand in mine, drawing me back so we wouldn’t disturb them with our conversation. He led me over to the counter, giving my fingers a squeeze before letting go.
“The kids belong to the owner of the hair salon across the road,” he said. “She’s been over twice to check on them, wants to sign all three up for lessons with him. Already bought a half-size guitar for them to use.”
“Don’t you do lessons?”
His smile slipped a little. “Honestly, I’m not that great with children. Older teens, adults? Fine. But kids under sixteen generally have a two-second attention span. Annoys the living crap out of me. Plus they never practice.”
I laughed. “Did you tell her Vaughan was only visiting?”
“Yeah. She said I need to talk him into staying.”
In a swarm of noise and movement, the kids ran past us and out the door.
“Don’t run!” Andre swiftly followed them, swearing under his breath. “Use the crosswalk! Hey, are you listening to me?”
A hot rush of summer air blew in then the shop door swung shut again, the bell above the door jangling. Andre’s voice faded into the distance, still shouting orders at the kids as he escorted them across the street. Out of a shop across the way came a woman with bright blue hair. All three children basically fell on her, their excitement obvious even from a distance. She hugged them back with exuberance. Nice to see someone engaging with their kids, being affectionate.
An arm slipped around my shoulders, a familiar body stood at my side. Worn jeans, a pair of battered green Converse, and a tee. (Today’s was the Clash. He would have enjoyed Boyd’s punk music.) It was Vaughan’s usual wardrobe, and damn, he wore it well. Ray-Bans sat on top of his head, holding his beautiful hair back out of his face.
Even fully dressed, the man made my mouth water. What he did to me undressed was best not mentioned in polite company.
“How was the bar?”
“Fine,” I said, reaching up for a quick kiss. Being able to do such a thing? Best. Feeling. Ever. “Rosie had accidentally overbooked but I moved some tables around, asked a couple of people if they didn’t mind sitting at the bar. All fixed.”
“No one gave you any shit?”
“Nope. Just don’t ask me where those bloody body parts in the Dumpster out back came from.”
“Got it.” He stole another quick kiss.
“I hear you’ve started giving guitar lessons.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Unintentionally. It was actually kind of fun.”
“I saw. You had them in the palm of your hand.”
“Yeah?” Getting closer, he rubbed the tip of his nose against mine. The man was a perfect mix of hot and sweet. “I think I’d rather have you in the palm of my hand.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out. Tongue-tied. Brain dead. Cock struck. He made me all of those things and more. Standing so close, looking at me like he was, the man rendered me next to useless.