Page 72 of Driving Beats

I place my fists on my hips. “Coop.”

I can read his expressions. Without words, he’s telling me we’re done. He has no further interest in me. Something more, too. Sadness.

Suck it, Grandpa.

He separates his torso from his wet shirt and airs it out. “Let’s head back.”

“Sounds good.”

We walk through the sand. This time I take a lot longer since I’m babying my foot. We pass by the now familiar buildings and stores, some of which we’ve shopped at and/or made purchases. My time here is over—I need to move on.

In the Rover, I flip through my texts and land on the one from a bunch of UC coworkers inviting me out to a club tonight. Sounds good. It’s my last night in LA and I’m sure Coop would prefer to read a book or something.

We enter his house via the Zen Garden. This time, I’m careful not to disturb the precious lines in the sand. And it hits me. Coop is the sand. Carefully arranged. Deliberate. Peaceful. I'm the one who keeps disturbing it. I add color to his life, but at his core, he doesn't want to be disrupted. Call me many things, but I have an innate ability to disrupt his staid life.

He leaves me at my door, and I text the group back:

Sounds fun! Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there!

My friend the makeup artist replies, telling me she and a few others are meeting at a restaurant beforehand. Makes sense to me.

I gather my luggage—minus tonight’s outfit—and start packing. In the bathroom, I collect my toiletries and say goodbye to the most wonderful private space I’ve ever had. Coop’s mansion is amazing, yet he takes everything as a given. I hope never to be so rich that little luxuries don’t mean anything to me.

As I’m putting my jewelry together in its travel case, Coop knocks on the open doorway. He puts his hands in the back pockets of the jeans I helped him select. Objectively, they hug him in all the right places. Good for them.

“I was going to ask you if you’d like to go out to dinner? We could knock another place off your Restaurant Bingo card.”

“That’s thoughtful, but I have plans. I’ll be leaving shortly. But don’t worry, I’ll be here in time to make it to the airport.”

“Oh.”

We stare at each other, neither knowing what to say. I lift my jewelry case. “Well, I better finish packing.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it. Glancing around my room, he says, “Have fun tonight.”

“I will.” I don’t tell him I plan on getting laid, considering he’s told me—in no uncertain terms—he’s not interested.

He knocks on the door once, then leaves, a trail of patchouli and jasmine lingering. I sit on the bed, where he played my body like his favorite guitar. Pushing away our interlude, I ensure all my things are in my luggage. Especially considering I don’t plan on arriving here with more than one hour to shower and dress for the airport tomorrow.

Itake my second shot of tequila from the server’s tray and down it as quickly as the rest of my friends. Dinner was a smart idea, particularly given this club specializes in tequila. Just as smart was my taking pain relievers before heading out.

As a group, we laugh and dance to the tunes being played by the DJ. The dance floor is filled to capacity, exactly how I like it. I check and the jewelry clips adorned on my sneakers jazz up the sturdy—yet necessary—footwear. My dinner companions have been joined with more of UC’s roadies and crew, such that we’re over twenty people. We mix and mingle with others from LA, as well as people in town for a good time. This club certainly is delivering.

Someone taps the back of my shoulder. Kieron holds up a mug. “Beer?”

“Thanks.” Shoving aside my earlier creepy vibes from him, I take the drink from the tall and lanky member of UC’s team. He’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a long-sleeved fitted maroon shirt, and loafers. His long blond hair is pulled into a ponytail, and his goatee seems well kept. Totally acceptable. We begin dancing to one of Hunte’s newest chart-topping anthems.

“What have you been up to during the break?”

“I’ve actually been working,” I reply to him. “Luke asked me to help Coop buy a new wardrobe, since his luggage got lost.”

Kieron takes another sip of his beer. “Wow. That must suck. He’s the boring member of the band.” He winks at me. “I should know, given I’m his guitar tech.”

“He’s not too bad,” I defend Coop. Then, considering all that’s gone on between us, I amend, “Well, all the time.”

“He plays a mean guitar, I’ll give him that.” He watches me finish my beer. “Let me take the empty for you.”

“Thanks.”