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“Oh, yes, look.” Dean climbed to his feet with his phone in his hand.
Killian growled. “Don’t look at his ass, man.” He climbed to his feet and helped Matthias up. “Uh, sorry about your chair. Tell your parents I’ll buy them a set of new ones.”
“Yeah, they probably won’t care. They’re older than I am,” I assured him.
“Wait, did you call me thick-thighed?” Dean suddenly blurted. “I don’t have thick thighs. I couldn’t pull off these skinny jeans if I did. Right?” He pulled at the skintight part of pants he wore.
Matthias leaned forward to say something to him, but I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes were glued to the blond-haired, green-eyed man who had stepped onto the deck wearing his own pair of black skinny jeans and a Mulligan shirt that had the arms cut off and sides ripped out. My breath cut in my throat at the sight of him. Blake was beyond beautiful.
“I need to talk to you,” I blurted. Everyone turned to stare at me. “Blake, I mean. I need to talk to Blake. Alone. Please. Right now.”
He looked like he wanted to say no. Like he wanted anything but that, but instead he started toward the house, and I had no choice but to follow him inside.
Chapter Eleven
Blake
Five Years Ago
Tommy: I’m almost home.
Tommy: Are you at band practice? I can stop there first.
Blake: In the rehearsal room.
Tommy: I can’t wait to see you.
Blake: I can’t wait to see you, too. How was the game? Did they win?
Tommy: It was fun and all, but next time I hope you can come with us.
Tommy: Yes, they won. Jax is amazing in the crease.
Blake: I’m so happy you got to see that.
Tommy: I got you something.
I blinked when Killian snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Blake.” He grunted when I flinched. “Are you playing with us, or you are texting Tom?”
“I’m not texting anyone.” I shoved my phone in my back pocket as Maverick started leading us into our newest song, “Smalltown USA”. It was something Killian and I had just finished, but I thought it was our best song yet. It felt so perfect.
I closed my eyes as the music moved through me. Killian’s throaty voice filled the air, and I slapped out the notes on my bass. This, this was what I was meant to do with the rest of my life. Music had always been such a big part of my life the first time my dad had put on the album Core by Stone Temple Pilots. He grew up in the era of Seattle’s grunge rock, as had Mom. They had shown me numerous photos of them decked out in flannel shirts, ripped blue jeans, and converse sneakers. Oddly enough, Mom was the one with the blue hair while Dad had multiple piercings. But, like grunge, their relationship didn’t last, and their divorce was messy and nasty. I only went with Mom because I was worried she might kill herself with her drinking.
My eyes popped open when Dean tapped me with his guitar and jutted his chin toward the door. Tommy gave me a quick wave before he moved to sit down on the old couch we kept in the band room, and now I was completely distracted. His dark eyes danced happily as he bounced his knee to the music, and I realized just how much I had missed him while he was gone. It was only for the weekend. We had texted the entire time, he’d sent me pictures, but it made me realize that that was what it was going to be like when the band left and he went off to college. We wouldn’t be in the same place at the same time, and it would be rushed calls, hurried texts, and missing him.
“Blake!” Killian barked. “Pay attention. We have to get this right if we want to play it on Saturday night.”
Tommy’s brows shot up. “Relax, dude.”
“When did you join the band, Yoko?” Killian shot back at him; his blue eyes narrowed. When Tommy didn’t answer, he turned back to me. “Is he going to be a problem?”
I shook my head. “No, but Kill, we wrote this. You don’t have to worry.”
“You wrote the music, not the lyrics. You sing backup. Again.” He waved his hand at the other two and they started again.
“Everything matters in smalltown, USA. Every kiss, every date, every word you say. Doesn’t matter how much you love someone. Everything matters in smalltown, USA.
The hits you take, the marks I leave, everything matters in smalltown, USA.
