Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) (9 page)

“Will do,” he said and hung up. Okay…

***

“I want to hear about the drunk and disorderly thing you referred to at dinner,” Genna said after her parents were in bed and the kids went off to do their own thing.

“Yeah, especially if it involves nudity,” Piper piped up.

“You seem to have a huge capacity for accepting the things I did as a lad, Genna, but eventually you will tire of hearing it and start to think ill thoughts,” Connor was serious and Genna had a guilty pang. He smiled at her and touched her cheek. “But this story is not the one to break your back.”

“Which one is it, then?” Tate asked and when Ryan and Connor looked at him he shook his head. “No, mates, not
that
one.”

“It’s not
that
bad, Tate-o,” Ryan said with an evil grin. Genna loved his evil grin, those stories were the funniest.

“By Christ, is this ‘the crossing of the Amstel’?” The three band mates burst out laughing. “Okay then, but the water was cold, keep that in mind. No one likes judgey haters.” More laughter.

“We were signed by Belladonna Records and were paid real money for the first time in our lives to make music. We cut our first album,
Filthy
Lucre
, and Eammon wanted us to get our name out there. So he had us buy a great big tour bus…” Ryan began and Connor interrupted.

“Rocinante,” he said.

“Aye,” Ryan sighed slightly. “Rocinante. That was a great chapter, wasn’t it?” Connor and Tate smiled at him and Christie squeezed his hand.

“You spent the whole summer away from me, it couldn’t have been that great,” she said.

“No, that was when I decided I couldn’t live without you, but I also knew I had the best mates a man could have.”

“That’s all right, then,” Christie said with a stunning smile for her husband. He leaned over and kissed her.

“You named your bus after Don Quixote’s horse?” Genna asked. Connor loved how she got every single literary reference he ever made, how did she do that? Aping Ryan, he leaned down and kissed her.

“I was reading it at the time, and we were in Spain, and the poor old bus was way past its prime. Trust me, the name suited,” Connor said to grunts of agreement from the band.

“I wish Razz was here to tell his part of the story,” Ryan said and Tate chuckled. “We started in the south, we circled Spain and moved through France. You lot found yourselves a pair of American girls in Arles, was it?” Tate shrugged and Connor shook his head.

“San Sebastian, mine was a Hemingway fanatic.”

“That’s right, San Sebastian. It was a good thing I had Razz to keep me company.”

“Get on with the story, mate,” Connor said a little irritated by the topic shift.

“We weren’t playing venues like we do now, these were small clubs and outdoor festivals where we were supporting the headliner. Mikey drove us and we wrote songs, played cards in the back, drank too much and saw the sights. We slept in these cubbies, couchettes, really, with a wee curtain separating us from the rest of the bus, there was very little privacy,” Ryan said glaring at Connor and Tate.

“And they were minute, not built for someone my size,” Connor complained.

“You would have fit in my couchette, lamb,” Ryan said to Christie. She beamed up at him.

“I remember it being tight, too,” Tate said. “Like a torpedo tube.” Connor was nodding vigorously and laughing.

“Because you both were sharing it with people,” Ryan complained. “My only companion was me hand.” Everyone burst out laughing.

“We tooled around Germany, the Berlin Wall had only just come down and we were welcomed with more vigor than we deserved, I thought. They were so happy to have western influences, it was beautiful,” Connor said with a smile.

“That’s not where you got arrested, was it?” Piper asked and Connor laughed.

“Well…Almost, but not quite,” Connor said. “That’s another story for another night. And for the record, we were never formally charged with anything.” Ryan pointed at Connor and grinned.

“The Berlin story’s quite funny, too, but there was less nudity,” Ryan said.

“Only because you were dressed, the rest of us weren’t,” Tate said.

“I was dressed… mostly,” Connor said. Ryan rolled his eyes.

“The fedora,” he said and everyone laughed. “We get to Amsterdam, and the Americans had just about done with us…with them, and well, it was Amsterdam. They pissed off to find the next free ride,” Ryan said.

“Ryan, they were lovely, what crawled up your arse?” Tate defended them.

“It was past time for them to go, they were getting bored,” Ryan said. “They started harassing poor wee Razz.”

“I don’t remember that,” Tate said. Ryan barked out a laugh.

“You don’t even remember their names, mate,” Ryan said. Tate grinned.

“Sure I do,” he said but then suddenly realized he didn’t. “The one with Con was…” he looked at Connor for help.

“Michelle,” Connor said.

“Aye, that’s it, Michelle and Barbara,” Tate made a stab in the dark.

“Brenda, man. She called herself Brenda Starr after the comic strip,” Connor said.

“It was a long time ago, I’d forgotten,” Tate said.

Christie clucked at him disapprovingly.

“I treated her right for nearly two weeks that summer, am I expected to remember everything?”

“What was the name of the girl who left your bed this morning, Tate-o?” Christie asked. He looked across the room at her. He had no idea what her name was, and Christie bloody well knew it. He considered making up a name, but Christie was not the kind of person to be unkind for no reason, she was making a point, and he let her. They held eye contact for a whole minute while the others sat waiting in the uncomfortable silence. Tate had the unpleasant feeling that Christie was warning him off of wee Fiona Brooks, and that was not something he wanted.

“So, Amsterdam, you all know it, there’s the one river and a bunch of canals, and thousands of bridges.” Ryan was trying to move them off of the subject of Tate and his myriad of women. “Apparently those bridges are much easier to fall off when you’ve had a skinfull.”

“And when you’re walking on the handrail in the rain,” Tate said. Everyone looked at him like he was indeed an eejit, but he put his hand up. “I wasn’t walking on the handrail in the rain, the mad Dutch girl was. She got locked out of her flat…naked, so naturally I introduced myself and we hit it off. We finished whatever it was she was drinking, and before I knew it we were both naked and on the bloody bridge in the rain. She was standing on the rail, bending over, balancing herself by holding my hair one minute, the next minute she was gone, vanished, with a handful of my hair, I might add. Then I heard the splash.”

“As it so often happens, we were coming the other way on the bridge,” Ryan said. “There’s Tate, naked as a rock star in Amsterdam for the first time, peering over the railing at the water. Razz doesn’t swim, but he was the only sober one out of the four of us. Well, he was more sober than the rest of us, I should say. He says: ‘Christ, the poor lassie’s done for if you don’t all go in after her!’ And as we were all shitfaced, it sounded reasonable, so we all strip down and jump.”

“It’s dark, the water was bloody cold, and we were all right rubbered,” Connor said.

“We couldn’t find her,” Ryan pipes in again. “Then we hear Razz on the bridge laughing at us. ‘She was out by the time you got naked, lads, come on out and let’s go back to the bus.’ The bastard.” They are all smiling at the memory.

“We call him all the bad names we can think of in our inebriated state and discover that it won’t be easy getting out of the river without stepping on someone’s wee houseboat first,” Ryan said.

“And we hadn’t exactly been stealthy up to that point,” Connor added with a smile.

“The three of us climb onto the same boat, tipping it wildly on its side, and a toothless old hag wearing a black watch cap greets us with her elephant gun. We’re all freezing, holding our privates ‘till she says ‘Put your hands up.’” Tate explained and everyone laughed. “We have no recourse but to comply, sharpish.” Connor, Tate and Ryan raised their hands in the Fleming’s living room as if they’d told this story many times.

“The old hag points her gun at Ryan and says ‘You’re the only one who brought your pecker to the party,’” Connor said in an old hag voice.

“It disappeared as soon as the words were out of her mouth, I don’t mind telling you,” Ryan said and the room erupted in laughter. “She points at Con next and says ‘It’ll have to be you then,’ and we all three jump as one, back into the water and swim to the other side of the Amstel as fast as we can and into the welcome embrace of the local constabulary.”

“Razz actually injured himself laughing on the bridge. He heard the whole thing with the wee old hag and practically pissed himself laughing,” Tate said.

“At least he brought our clothes,” Ryan said.

“He didn’t bring my clothes, God knows where they ended up,” Tate said to more laughter.

“So, what happened to your pecker, Tate-o?” Christie asked mischievously.

“I told you, the water was bloody cold,” he said to more laughter.

***

“I wish I could run the movie of your life back and watch it, Connor,” Genna said lying in his arms later that night. She felt him laugh and she looked up at his face. “I wouldn’t give up a moment of my time with Rick, but I would have liked to have known you then.” He kissed her.

“My sweet Genna. I was not the man I am today, I wouldn’t have deserved you. Christ, I don’t deserve you now.” She dismissed his words.

“Do you miss anything in particular from those days?”

“Yes, it might be hard to explain because my life is so perfect now. It was all so new and exciting. It was the first time I’d left Ireland at all, hell, it was the first time I’d left Dublin. And the first time we played for anyone but the Irish, and Genna, they loved us. I could reach down into the audience and grab a lass and bring her on stage with me without the stadium security getting all tetchy about it. I could see the faces in the crowd and connect with them. I think it’s why I like the karaoke so much, I like it intimate.” She laughed a husky, sexy laugh.

“I know you do,” she said running her fingers down the center of his chest.

“Christ Genna, you turn me on like a bloody switch,” his mouth closed over hers.

Chapter Three

 “’Lo,” Tate said into the phone the next morning.

“Is she gone?” Christie asked.

“Who?” He asked, still sleepy. Christie paused for a minute.

“That’s the first time you asked me that. Whoever. You don’t have the professor in there with you, do you?” She asked appalled.

“No Christie, I’m alone, there’s no one here. I slept alone,” he grumbled.

“Are you ill?”

“No, thank you very much for asking. Why are you calling?” He asked getting irritated.

“You asked me to call you, you gobshite,” she said and laughed. Tate sat up and grabbed his clock.

“Bugger, I’ll be late. Thanks, love,” he slammed the phone down and ran to the shower.

Christie chuckled and turned to Ryan. “He slept alone last night,” she said.

“Give the man a break lamb, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Ryan said. “That woman has him by the bollox, and no mistake.” He grinned.

“What was Tess thinking? I hope she’s not too angry,” Christie said cuddling up against her husband.

“Our Tess knew exactly what she was doing, starting with asking Tate to lay off. She knew he couldn’t help himself. The lassie’s up to something. I, for one, will enjoy watching it unfold,” Ryan said and pulled his wife back on to him. “If we’re quiet, the wee mannies won’t wake for a bit.” They both looked over at the crib where both boys lay inert, and grinned at each other.

“I love you, Ryan O’Brian,” she said softly.

“God knows why, but I am a better man for it,” he reached up and brought her head to his and kissed her deeply.

***

Fiona showered, put a pot of coffee on and took more Advil. Her knee started bothering her at the table the night before and despite the walking last night, it was still a little stiff. She should go for a ride before Tate came. Oh right, before Sam Gooding came, he’d be there first.

She ended up in front of her piano, instead, and played until the doorbell rang when she stopped and closed the cover over the keys.

She opened the door and looked at the man who stood there with a backpack on his shoulder. He was the fittest person she had ever seen, he reminded her of Edgar from last night. They both had the same forceful stance and assuredness. Like Edgar, Sam was also bald as an egg, but his skin was much darker. He looked the color of fine dark chocolate, his cheekbones were astonishingly high, and his dark rimmed eyes had the prettiest eyelashes she’d ever seen. He was a beautiful specimen of manhood.

“You must be Sam,” she said stepping back to let him in, but he didn’t move, he was waiting for something. “Oh, I mean, may I see some identification?” He smiled and she was knocked back from it. He was stunning. His straight white teeth looked even whiter in contrast to his dark skin, and he had a dimple on one side of his mouth which was adorable.