Two days of double shifts at the diner, followed by two hours of practice each night, left Sindy exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep late on her day off. An early morning session with Lucas, followed by rehearsal for the promo tour, was on today’s agenda and preempted her plan. She forced herself to get dressed and lazily made her way to the studio downstairs.
She eyed Lucas sitting on the sofa, Les Paul across his knee. Since she’d already visited his bed twice, the couch didn’t hold guilty memories any longer, and she could finally look at the thing without heat rushing to her face.
Lucas smiled up at her as soon as she entered. She knew that look, and she swore that today she wouldn’t let his charm and good looks get to her. They ran through a few songs. Sindy played the rhythm, adding her own spin and improvising where she saw fit. He loved her suggestions, and they had a pretty cool session with no arguing and no suggestive remarks. For once.
She watched him as he tightened a string on his guitar, then freestyled, letting notes and chords fly. His hands ran up and down the fingerboard so fast they were a blur. The paint on his Les Paul caught the overhead light, and it sparkled at her like a shining star.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “I see the way you always eye my Les Paul.”
“I love it. It’s beautiful.”
“Have you ever played one? It’s a heavy instrument.”
“I can handle a heavy instrument.” She bit her lip because it sounded provocative. Unintentionally. At least that’s what she told herself.
“Honey, you can handle anything.”
She smiled, undisturbed by the pet name this time.
“Follow me. I want to show you something.”
She eyed him suspiciously as he headed to the back of the studio, never noticing the door nestled in the back wall. “Where are you taking me? Tessa and Mason will be here any minute.”
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Holy shit. You want me. Bad. Don’t you?” He opened the door and flicked the light on. “I was just showing you my collection of guitars.”
She scowled at him as her cheeks grew hot.
“Are you coming or not?”
She followed him into the room and her jaw fell open. Rows of guitars hung on the wall, some protected by glass cases, others sat in racks at both ends of the room waiting to be played. They were a beautiful mix of vintage classics and modern masterpieces. She recognized a rare Stratocaster Sunburst from the 1960s and immediately gravitated toward it. “My God, Lucas.” Her eyes traveled up the neck of the guitar and then down to its curvaceous body. She scanned the room again, imagining what it must feel like to have this array of magnificent instruments available to play at any given moment. “Are these all yours?”
“Some. Most are my dad’s.”
Tommy Blade’s guitars. Sindy took in a deep breath, inhaling the greatness that surrounded her. This was incredible.
“Some are show pieces. Look at this one.” Lucas pointed to a signed vintage white Gibson Explorer behind a glass case and grinned. “Recognize that signature?”
Sindy looked closer, shocked at the name she read. “James Hetfield?”
“Yep.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It sure is. I used to beg my dad to let me play it when I was a kid. Now I wouldn’t dare touch it. It’s too precious. You can play any one that’s not in a case. Pick one.”
“No way. I’m not playing one of Tommy Blade’s guitars.”
He grinned. “Then play one of Lucas Blade’s guitars.”
“Which ones are yours?”
“The two racks on the left are mine. Take your pick.”
The acoustic Taylor stood apart with simplistic beauty in the midst of Flying V’s, Strats and Gibsons. She would be honored to play any one of them, but she had her eyes on the one in Lucas’ hands. “Can I play that one?”
He clutched the Les Paul closer to his chest. “My baby?”
She laughed. “That’s OK. I don’t have to.”
