Jack Who?

CHAPTER 2

     "Sure." Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, she waited, expecting him to pop inside the bus and out again, but upon ascending the stairs, he held the door invitingly open.

     As she gaped around taking in the extravagant interior, he played host verbally offering up the fridge contents until she settled on a beer. Courteously, he popped the top from the bottle before handing it over. After selecting the same for himself, he filled a water bowl for Rusty. Water sloshed as he set it on a tiled floor and then straightened to lean a hip against the mahogany looking cabinets.

     Quickly, she averted her eyes, but she had looked long enough to find his backside as pleasing as his front.

     "Thanks again. About Rusty. Probably shouldn't have brought him on tour, but I did. And it would kill me if something happened to him."

     Genuinely impressed by his attachment to his pet, she smiled as she sipped, and his eyes seemed to hone in on her throat as she swallowed.

     "So, are you here with someone? At the fest?"

     "My friend." Switching her drink into the other hand, she pressed cooled fingers against the back of her neck as she joked, "But she deserted me for the first junk this side of the fence."

     Only the barest husky chuckle followed that answer, and she wished she could take it back. Had selling Liv out as a groupie made herself look like one?

     "What kind of music do you listen to? Obviously not mine." Again, the sweet yet sardonic smile, which was already becoming addicting.

     Rusty finished lapping up at least half of the water and sprang onto a cushy leather bench style couch. Swinging her eyes from the pup to its master, she again felt wowed by both his looks and the charisma exuding with his every breath.

     Just a few weeks ago, she had learned to hate tattoos. Yet now, as her eyes ran over the ink decorating both arms, she saw not hurtful memories, only beautiful art. The inside of his left forearm depicted a guitar neck faded into his wrist. Sheet music bars spiraled around biceps and triceps, and she wondered what the song was. He took another sip, and the movement of his arm broke her fixation.

     Remembering he had asked a question, she answered, "Everything. Mostly rock. A little metal. But I don't know most of these bands." With the last part, she alluded to the festival. "They are harder than my normal listen."

     "You don't know mine?" Shaking her head, she asked if he had played his set yet. Now he was the one to shake his head. "It's two hours from now. I'm just chillaxing. Trying to get in the mindset, you know?" She found herself nodding, as if she knew, and he held up the beer with yet another engaging grin. "Best cure for stage fright."

     "Stage fright?" Dubiously, she doubted this claim while her eyes riveted to the way the bottle touched his lips and the swallow convulsing his Adam's apple.

     "I guess you find that funny too." Challengingly, his gaze held hers, and a slight grin quirked the corner of his lips.

     "Who wouldn't?" Defensiveness coated her words, and determination kept her shy gaze on his face. "A musician afraid to perform..."

     "It's not uncommon."

     Although he sounded slightly rebuffed, she still couldn't seem to stop debating her position. "Well, if I were afraid of dogs," here she pointedly glanced at Rusty, and the pup's ears flattened against his head, "I wouldn't be a veterinarian..."

     "No?" Those dark brows mockingly arched, and the gleam in his eyes was amused, no longer offended. "Not even if you put a Band-Aid on a lost puppy, and some guy saw that and decided that you were great with Band-Aids. Then, the guy offered you a quarter of a million dollars to take care of a whole litter of puppies?" Rusty's ears quickly perked when his master glanced his way.