Page 33 of Driving Beats

“You’re no fun.”

“Says the woman wearing white powder all over her body.” He pauses. “Agreed?”

“Fine,” I grumble. Coop’s probably right, though. The kitchen is now a mess, and I have to clean it up. “Where’s your dust broom?”

“In the hall closet.” He puts me down, eyeing me up and down to see if I’m going to bolt. When he’s confident I won’t run, he says, “I’ll get it.”

When he leaves the room, I wet some paper towels and begin to scrub. It was more fun during the fight rather than having to clean it up. I spy a television and turn it on, flipping the guide until I see The Lord of the Rings. This will make the time cleaning up pass much faster.

I’m wiping down the island when he returns. As we did before, we work as a team and soon the kitchen is immaculate again. The Shire is on the screen.

“I love this film,” I admit.

“It’s one of my favorites, too.” He points to the bread dough. “How long until the next step?”

“About half an hour. Then we put it into loaf pans and bake them. The dough makes two loaves.”

“Cool. The movie just started. Want to go to the media room to stream it from the beginning?”

“You have a media room? Of course,”—I tap my forehead—“what self-respecting rockstar doesn’t have one?”

“Smart ass. It came with the house. Shall we go?”

I set the timer on my phone. “Sure. But I’d like to make jewelry while it’s on. I’ve seen the movies so many times I can recite the lines while I work.”

“Makes sense. I’ll grab one of my new books, too. Meet me in the family room and I’ll lead you downstairs to the media room.”

“Said every serial killer ever.” I throw my head back and laugh. He shakes his. “You’re too easy! I’ll meet you here in a sec.”

I take off down the hallway, unsure which I’m more excited for—the movie or making jewelry. As I walk, I reflect on all Coop’s shared today. About Lillian. About books and his new bookmark. About his hidden playful side. I wonder if his ex hasn’t messed with his head in more ways than he’s admitting.

In my room, I gather my jewelry making supplies and then zip down the hallway to his oversized family room. Honestly, all the rooms are oversized. You could fit my apartment in Gainesville in this house (really a mansion) at least twenty times.

I round the corner, and Coop’s waiting for me, book in hand. “This way.” He points to a door I haven’t noticed before. He opens it for me, and we descend a staircase to his basement.

Unlike the mansion Bennett bought on Long Island, this basement is more utilitarian. No arcade games, for one. We pass by another door with an inlaid window that leads to a workout room, complete with an elliptical, treadmill, and weights. Across, there’s another closed door, without any windows.

I stop. “What’s in here?”

He turns around. “Oh. That’s my music room.”

When he doesn’t seem inclined to give any more details, I ask, “Where you practice? Do you have your guitar in there?”

“Inquisitive, aren’t you?”

I don’t move, simply wait for him to respond. His life fascinates me, well beyond anything I’ve ever known. I want to soak it all up.

“Yes, I practice in there. I also write music and send it to the guys. Come on.” He opens the door. “I can tell you’re dying to see it.”

“Thanks!” I place my kit on the floor and rush into the room. A whole wall is lined with guitars. “You don’t only have one guitar—there’s an entire store in here.”

He chuckles. “Some were gifts.” He picks up an acoustic guitar. “I mainly use this one to compose.” He strums it.

“This is sick. I mean, I’ve seen you on the bus, backstage, and onstage. Never in your natural habitat. Does the band come here and jam with you?”

“Sometimes. When we’re on tour like this, no. We like to go our separate ways during the little time we have off. Río comes over often, though. That’s his extra drum kit.”

“Of course he has an extra one just lying around. You guys live the life, for sure.”