A Beat in Time (4 page)

I met with the realtor at one of the properties Ann picked out. It was a split level a few miles from the heart of Flagstaff. It was a cute neighborhood and very quiet. I learned the hard way that if a house comes up for rent, you better be the first one there.

They go fast.

I walked through the remodeled kitchen and looked out the back sliding glass door. I had a deck and a fenced in yard. Upstairs was a master room with a bathroom and two more bedrooms. I followed the stairs down to the last bedroom and took a look around. This was going to be my office.

“I’ve got a few more clients coming to look at the place.”

I turned to look at the realtor, and smiled. “I’ll fill out the application right now.”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” he nodded. “We’ll call you when we make a decision, Ms. Devane.”

“Thank you.” I handed him my business card.

I went back to my hotel and stood on the balcony, watching the city as the sun set. My phone beeped and I looked at the caller I.D. The realtor was calling. I hit talk.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Devane. Sorry to call you so late. The owner of the house would like for you to be the renter. Can you come to the office tomorrow and fill out the paperwork?”

“I can. Thank you very much for calling me so quickly.”

“You’re very welcome. See you tomorrow.”

I hung up and sighed. This was going to be my home for a year while I tried to write a book about a man and woman in love.

Fuck my life.

~*~

My first order of business after signing the lease was to find a rock band to get some info from. I wasn’t walking into this book blindly. I didn’t know shit about instruments or how to play them. I drove around for a while with my GPS off. Amanda would be so proud of me. I didn’t go anywhere without my GPS or stopping for gas when I come off full. I guess I have a tad of OCD. I switched the radio to satellite and pressed my hair band rock station. I loved the eighties hair bands. For the hundredth time, I wondered if I should be looking for Jensen. I exhaled loudly and looked in the rear view mirror.

“Can you give me a sign? Tell me I’m supposed to look for him or something?”

I stared at the radio as “Signs” by Tesla started to play. I scowled and shut it off.

I found what looked like the center of town and proceeded to get irritated with all the one way signs. (Ha) I ended up parked at least four blocks away from anything. I got out of my car and looked at the street sign.

J Pratt Ave.

What. The. Fuck?

I pulled my phone out and snapped a picture of it, sending it to my godmother. My phone pinged seconds later with a reply from her.

I told you!

I hated that. This shit was even freakier than I imagined.

I set out up San Francisco Street, which was named correctly. It was up hill all the way and I was wearing high heeled boots. Lovely. Music poured out of one of the establishments and I peeked inside.

“Looking for someone?”

I turned to find a dark-haired kid with huge green eyes smiling at me.

“I’m looking for a band.”

“The whole band?” he eyed me up and down. “That’s pretty ambitious of you.”

“Not for that.” I laughed. “I’m a writer and I need some information.”

“Well, I’m your guy then. I’m in a band.”

“What instrument do you play?”

“Bass, and not very well,” he winked.

“What’s your name?”

“Aarin. What’s yours?”

“Serena.”

“Well, Serena. How do you want to do this? Do you want to grab a tape recorder and hit a coffee house?” He eyed me again. “Or maybe a bar? I have this visual of you chain smoking while drinking hard liquor.”

“Ah, but I’m not that kind of writer. Everything gets stored up here.” I tapped my temple. “But I do chain smoke and drink coffee.”

“Excellent!”

Aarin led the way and I followed because I had no idea where I was going. This was my favorite part though, I loved moving to a new town and finding my way around. When I got bored or restless, I was out. Being a writer afforded me that option and I took it every time. Maybe I was just used to running. I’d done it since the day Jensen left me. Aarin took me to a bar called Maloney’s and we grabbed a booth in the corner. We both ordered Guinness and I grabbed a menu.

“So, you’re a writer. Would I have read anything you’ve published?”

I snorted.

“Not unless you like gay male romances.”

“Well, me and the guys have often said we’re the gayest band in Flagstaff.”

I laughed.

“You’re not gay though, are you?” I peered at him closely.

“Nah. I got a girlfriend. All of us do. We’re just…” Aarin tilted his head to the side in thought. “Open minded?”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

“So you’re writing a gay rock book?”

“No, I’m actually writing a heterosexual novel this time.”

“Oh. My. God!” Aarin held his chest in mock horror. “Do your fans know this?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I always had excellent luck when it came to people I chose to work with, and it seemed as if Aarin would fit right in.

“They do,” I nodded. “They aren’t very happy about it either. My publisher is hoping to bring some male/female readers to the gay male romance genre.”

“That’s a tall order, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I just hope I can pull it off.”

“Well, I’ll help anyway I can. What do you know about the music business?”

“Not much. I dated a couple drummers when I was younger, so I know things like Yamaha drums, Zildjian cymbals, and Fender guitars.”

“I’ll tell you what, meet me and the guys at The Hive on Saturday. We’ll all sit down and give you the goods.”

“Sounds like a plan, Aarin.”

~*~

I spent the next two days unpacking all my shit and decorating my new space. I went into town a few times to get pictures for my extra bathrooms. I ended up with a four bedroom house and not enough shit to fill it. I placed a picture of the Eiffel Tower in the guest room, made the bed with a French-themed comforter, and placed a lavender oil warmer in the corner. I stepped back and eyed the room. My mom would feel right at home. I chuckled and headed back into the kitchen.

I rummaged through the kitchen box until I found my coffee pot. It was the first thing I unpacked in my kitchen every time. I set it up and headed to the couch with my book of notes. Remembering all the characters I’d written wasn’t easy, and now I would have to come up with two more for my already cluttered mind. My doorbell chimed and I glanced over my shoulder with a frown. I’d only met Aarin and the realtor since I’d moved, so who the hell was ringing my doorbell?

“Open the fucking door, Chica! I have beer!”

I laughed and jumped off the couch. I yanked the front door open to see Amanda on my front porch.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“I figured you could use some company. I’m only staying for one night, so don’t get all excited. I thought you might need some help unpacking.” Amanda looked around my neatly organized house and sighed. “But I see you went all OCD on it.”

“Habit.” I shrugged, moving to let her in.

“So? Have you met anyone yet?” Amanda walked into my kitchen and put the beer in the fridge.

“I did. I met a guy named Aarin. He’s in a band and he said he would help.”

“That’s cool.” Amanda handed me a beer and flopped onto my couch. “See any hot guys? This
is
lumberjack country.”

“It’s also a college town and I’m not Mrs. Robinson.”

“You could be,” Amanda winked.

“Not that I’m opposed to twenty-something year old men, but I’m here to write a book, not get fucked.”

“You can do both. You do know how to casually fuck someone, right?”

“Yes, I do.” I frowned at her.

“Okay, enough about sex. Tell me all about the town.”

I told Amanda about the places I’d hit since I arrived. She was extremely impressed when I told her about my jaunt without the GPS.

“I’m so proud of you!” Amanda hugged me.

“I did stop for gas, though,” I admitted.

“It’s a start.”

~*~

I said goodbye to Amanda in the morning. We stayed up late watching movies and drinking. I was really glad to have her back in my life. I’d seen her about three times since I moved. She was part of those memories and I had to get over it. I grabbed my purse and locked the door behind me. The music store was downtown, so I headed that way. I drove right past it and sighed in irritation. I did a U-turn and headed back.

I pulled into the parking lot of the music store and cut the engine. Pulling out my paperwork from Ann, I scanned the page. The guitar teacher was listed, the drum teacher did private lessons from home. Great, I was going to have to GPS that one. I shook my head and opened the car door, stepping out in to the parking lot. Grabbing my purse, I headed for the front door of the music shop, and right as I reached it, the door swung open and voices floated out.

“I have a drum lesson tomorrow, but I wanted to stop in and see what you were up to.”

I stopped cold and my fingers gripped the papers in my hand as I met eyes with the person talking. The face was older, but the dimples were still there as were those green eyes and right then, they widened.

“Serena?” Jensen whispered.

I put a finger up in a “one minute” gesture and grabbed my phone out of my purse. Walking around to the other side of the car, I dialed Ann.

“Love muffin!”

“Don’t love muffin me!” I whispered harshly. “What are you doing?!”

“You’ll have to be clearer, dumpling. Right now, I’m getting fucked.”

“You answered the phone while fucking??” I asked, incredulously.

“Why not? Now tell me what’s got your pubes in a knot.”

“Oh my God,” I sighed and hung my head. “Do you know who my drum teacher is?”

“Some guy named Jensen? I was told he’s the best. Plays in a famous rock band. We were lucky to get him.”

“You knew,” I whispered. “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“Don’t play games with me, Ann. Do you know how long it took me to get over Jensen Pratt? And you just threw him right back into my life! He’s my drum teacher? How could you do this to me?”

“I must go, darling, the finale is coming.”

“This conversation is not over!”

I stared at my phone as the connection was lost. Pulling myself up, I pocketed my phone and turned to find Jensen a few feet away. My cheeks heated at the sly smirk on his face.

“How much of that did you hear?” I asked.

Jensen shrugged and crossed his arms. “Not much. I have to say, I’m surprised to see you.”

“Yeah? Well, so am I.” I turned and walked toward the building. “I’m meeting my guitar teacher here.”

“You’ll be working with me as well.”

I stopped walking and turned slowly. “You
did
hear the conversation, didn’t you?”

“No, but you’re taking drum lessons and I just took on a new student.”

“Well, this is just fantastic!” I threw my hands up in the air. “Where is the guitar teacher?”

“Wyatt? Oh, he’s here.”

“You know him?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the guitarist in my band.”

“So you got the dream,” I said, quietly.

“Yeah. I did.” Jensen seemed to stare right through me. He coughed and held his hand out. “Well, let’s go inside.”

I met Wyatt Presley, my guitar teacher, as Jensen checked in with the rest of his band. He was younger than Jensen was, with dark, curly hair and light brown eyes. We went over what he expected and what I needed. Jensen poked his head in the room and nodded to Wyatt.

“You about done?”

“Yep. See you soon, Serena.” Wyatt shook my hand.

I followed Jensen back to his recording studio and sat in a soundproof room as he went over the details of our drum lessons. I couldn’t believe I was sitting right next to him. Damn Ann. She had to know who he was. I watched him as he talked, his hands holding the contract I was supposed to sign.

“Serena?”

“Yep?”

“Are you listening to me at all?”

Nope.

“Yes.”

“Look, if you’d feel more comfortable with someone else, I’d understand.”

“Who says I’m not comfortable? Do I look uncomfortable?” I glared at him.

Truth was, I was nervous. Being that close to him again put me off-balance.

“You look constipated,” Jensen drawled.