Strum Your Heart Out (8 page)

The music picks up. Faster, harder, but still distinctly melancholy. Still threatening to tear me in pieces and leave me to blow away in the wind.

I open my eyes and watch Drew play. There's a hint of sadness on his face. He's off somewhere else, somewhere that hurts him. But even with his eyes turned down and his gaze drifting off into the distance, there's something comfortable and satisfied about his expression.

He's at home. Exactly where he belongs.

The door swings open and the music stops.

Pete storms inside, his hoodie up around his head, his attention on the floor. He pulls his hands from his pockets and flips off the open door.

Oh. Tom steps inside, all huffy and puffy. He must be the object of the middle finger. God knows he deserves it.

Tom spots me. He winks at me then turns to Drew. "What happened to our no-girls rule?"

Drew only barely looks up from his guitar. "Miles happened."

"You really going to bring one of your floozies to practice?" Pete asks.

"That's my prerogative." Tom pulls his hoodie over his head and tosses it on the ground haphazardly.

Pete rolls his eyes and kicks the hoodie into the corner.

"Don't take your blue balls out on my clothing," Tom says.

"Fuck off, asshole." Pete hides behind his dark hair.

Drew lets out a sigh. "You want to fight or you want to play?"

"You volunteering to fill in for Miles?" Tom asks. "Fuck knows I don't ever need to hear Pete screaming or groaning again."

Drew glares. "We don't need the fucking vocals to practice."

Apparently, Tom agrees. He shakes his head as if to say
whatever
and hightails it to his drum kit.

The instruments are all set up in the same area. It's not quite a stage. It's more like a large section of the room.

Still, I scoot back until I'm pressed up against the wall. There's a good ten, fifteen feet between me and the guys in the band, but it still feels awfully close. It still feels like Drew can see inside me.

Then again, it always does.

Drew looks at Pete as if to say
e tu, brute?
Pete must want to fight. Pete and Tom are always like this. But, then, Drew did mention that they're brothers. Foster brothers, no blood relation, but they grew up together.

They certainly fight like brothers.

"You two want to pull this shit, fine. I'll leave," Drew says.

Pete pulls his phone from his pocket at stares at it. His face flashes with concern. "You want to indulge Tom's bullshit, go ahead. I'm busy." He taps a reply.

"I can't help it I'm the only one with a fucking mind for business." Tom snaps his fingers at me.

I fight a scowl. I'm playing along here. "Don't snap at me. I'm not a puppy."

Tom pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses that on the ground. "Let me ask you something, Kara."

"Yes?"

"You go to Club Blue?"

It's one of my favorites, actually. Good music. Decent drink prices. Plenty of room on the dance floor. "I do."

"You like dancing," he says. "And I like dancing."

Oh God.

Tom makes eye contact. He winks. "We could go dancing together."

Pete laughs. "Are you really hitting on his girlfriend in front of him?"

Cue the death glare from Drew. It doesn't scare Pete or Tom, but it's nice to know the idea of dating me is still just that disgusting.

"She's not his girlfriend," Tom says. "And it would not be a date. Just two sweaty people moving their bodies together." He looks back to Drew. "What do you say—do I have your permission?"

"Are you here to play or are you here to talk?" Drew glares.

"The guitar prince is so temperamental." Tom looks at me. "Doesn't sound like a no."

"Leave her alone." Drew huffs.

He's about fifteen seconds from protective caveman mode. Tom looks at me, raising his eyebrows as if to suggest success. I'm not so sure. It's easy to make Drew protective. It doesn't do anything to convince the man I'm anything more than a friend.

Tom grabs his drumsticks and stretches his arms in the air. Done with flirting for now. It's funny. Tom is clearly attractive. He's handsome. He's ripped—more than Drew even. Yes, he's controlling and bossy and slutty as all hell. He's also funny and competent and totally take-charge.

He's the kind of guy who used to make my heart race and my breath hitch.

But, right now I'm staring at his defined, tattooed chest and... nothing. My heart is plodding along at some sixty beats a minute. My breath is slow and even. There isn't a hint of heat in my body. In fact, the thought of dancing with Tom makes me utterly queasy.

My gaze shifts to Drew. His guitar strap is tugging his t-shirt down his shoulders. Mmm. That chest piece is begging for my fingertips. My tongue.

I press my lips together. My heartbeat picks up. That flutter builds below my bellybutton. Drew's shoulders are broad. His chest is strong.

My breath picks up. The guitar strap isn't doing enough. It should pull his shirt all the way to his belly button.

The door opens and everyone's attention turns to it. Thank God. Miles is here. His hair and clothes are messy like he just got out of bed. More likely, he just got out of Meg.

"About time." Tom huffs. "Where's your girl?"

"Recovering from last night. She needs to catch up on sleep after—"

"You're late." Tom glares.

Miles glances at the clock—ten minutes after noon—and he shoots Tom a sarcastically sweet wave.

Miles nods hello to me. "Nice to see you, Kara. These guys giving you trouble?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I say. "I should really get back to reading. Thanks for inviting me to practice."

Tom motions to Miles. Miles moves close enough for Tom to whisper something. Both the guys laugh.

They look straight at me.

Miles turns to Drew with a smug look in his eyes. "What happened to living alone?"

"Helping out a friend," Drew says. His voice is impossibly even.

I nod to my book like I'm just so done with this conversation.

The guys banter for another ten minutes. Mostly, I stare at my book. The words
housewarming party after practice
are thrown around half a dozen times before Drew finally agrees.

Someone dims the lights. I set my book back in my lap and turn all of my attention to Drew. It's dark enough that he can't make out my expression, the way my gaze travels over his body, the way my tongue slides over my lips, the way my fingers dig into the fabric of my jeans.

The flutter builds to my belly and thighs. I get lost in Drew's playing—the intense expression in his eyes, the delicate curves of his lips, the hard lines of his shoulders, the finesse of his hands.

It's magic.

CHAPTER NINE

There's furniture in the house. When we left, it was empty. Now it's furnished.

I rub my eyes to make sure I'm not seeing things. It's still furnished. It's not a lot—a couch, a TV, a table and chairs—but it's still shit that appeared magically during a three-hour absence.

"I took care of it." Drew nods to the rooms upstairs. "I figured you'd want a queen bed, a dresser, and a desk."

"How the hell did you make that happen?"

"Trade secret." He drops takeout sushi bags on the table and digs out the plastic silverware. "You better stake a claim on this before Meg gets here and eats all the sashimi."

Pete and Tom walk in the open door. Pete is still hiding in his hoodie, his gaze on the floor.

He plops down on the couch and pulls his phone from his pocket. He stares at it with this strange mix of anger and fascination.

Tom grabs my arm. "Give him space."

Drew glares at Tom like he's going to hit the guy. Tom smirks as he releases his grip.

"Either of you fuck with Pete and you're dead." Tom frowns, empathy in his eyes. "He and Cindy were up all night screaming. He said some bad shit. Kind of shit you can't take back. I couldn't hear quite as much from her side, but it didn't sound good." He shakes his head and returns to a demanding look. "Stay out of it."

"You don't stay out of shit," Drew says.

"Because I know what I'm doing."

Tom tries to shrug it off but there's worry all over his face. He and Pete are foster brothers. It's easy to forget since they look nothing alike, but they fight like brothers and they care about each other in that
I love you enough to tell you I hate you because we're family
way.

Was Drew right? Do the guys talk about each other because they like to gossip? It sure seems like Tom likes to gossip.

But there's something in his eyes, and in Drew's eyes too.

They really do care.

***

"I haven't seen you in a million years." Meg throws her arms around me and squeezes tight.

"More like five days."

"It sucks we don't have any classes together." She bites a piece of salmon sashimi in half.

"It was bound to happen eventually." I glance at the guys in the band. They're all sitting at the table together—even Pete—and whispering about something.

Meg follows my gaze to the guys. She leans in close and lowers her voice. "Are you really going to be okay living with Drew?"

"Better than Nadeen."

Apprehension flares in her expression. "What if he brings another girl home?"

I clear my throat. "That crush is ancient history."

"I'll do you a favor and not call you on that today."

My cheeks flush. "Thank you." An immediate change of subject is the best way to avoid any further discussion of my feelings for Drew. "How's everything with Miles?"

A dreamy look spreads over Meg's face. "It's like paradise spending the day with him up in Malibu." The dreamy look fades. "Of course, it means I have to spend all day Sunday studying."

"Small price to pay for paradise."

Someone clears his throat. Sure enough, it's Tom, calling our attention.

Okay, fine. Meg and I join the discussion at the table.

Tom nods to the bottles of liquor. "We're going to play a game: truth, dare, or drink. Except for Miles. He's stuck with truth or dare."

Meg looks at me as if to ask
okay?
I nod. Yeah. Fine. I'm not fourteen. Truth or dare doesn't scare me.

Drew looks at me the way Meg did. Like he's concerned about me. I turn on the bubbly. I am not about to be some kind of pity homing beacon.

Meg slides into Miles's lap. She kisses him on the cheek. "I'm not drinking either."

"I'll start." Tom turns to Pete. "Truth or dare."

Pete mumbles his answer. "Dare."

"Call Cindy and tell her what you really think about—"

Pete grabs the bottle of whiskey, pours a shot, and slams it. "That's the drink part of the game." He turns back to Tom. "Truth or dare, Tom?"

"Truth."

Pete shakes his head. "Pussy choice." He rubs his chin like he's thinking. "Is the reason you've never had a girlfriend that women can't tolerate your personality, or is it that you're so bad in bed no woman dares let you touch her twice?"

Tom raises a brow. "I've fucked plenty of women three or four nights in a row."

"Must be the former then," Pete says. "Your turn."

Tom holds Pete's stare for a moment. He shakes it off and turns to me. "Kara, truth or dare."

"Truth." I hesitate. Dare is a better choice. Dare can't open me up or make me reveal anything personal.

I shake my head. This is a stupid game. It won't open me up. Worst case scenario, I can take a shot.

"Do you regret moving in with Drew yet?" he asks.

My neck relaxes. An easy question. "Not yet. But there's always time." I clear my throat. I have to smile. I'm supposed to be the fun friend. "Meg."

"Truth," she says.

I throw her a bone. "Is Miles as good as he says he is?"

She turns back to Miles and plants a kiss on his lips. "Don't know. Miles has a big mouth."

"Pretty sure you like it." He sucks on her neck.She giggles. "So cocky. So smug. Why do I put up with you anyway?" She leans into his kiss with a slight groan.

He grabs her and holds her against him. Okay. Now they're making out. She turns away with a little giggle and a "Miles" that seems to mean
oh my goodness, not in front of our friends.

"You're not doing that in my place." Drew glares.

Meg pushes off Miles. She turns back to the table with a shy look on her face. "I'll have to take him to the bedroom to verify. I can't be sure I until I test out that mouth—"

"One more word and I'm dragging you to the car, babe." He grabs her thigh.

Tom clears his throat.

They keep making out.

Pete looks up, then his eyes go back to the table. "We can call that a yes."

Meg pushes off of Miles with a desperate sigh. She makes a circle with her finger like she's deciding who to pick. It stops on Pete. "Pete, truth or dare."

He pulls his hoodie up over his head with a sigh. "You pick."

Meg frowns. "Uh, I guess truth. Why do you choose to live with Tom? I don't think I've ever seen you doing anything but fighting." She slaps her hand on the table. "And don't say it's because you're brothers, because I had a sister, and I know how that relationship actually goes."

Pete sits back in his chair. "He's a better friend than he seems."

Tom beams, proud of the compliment. He shifts back into mayhem mode. "The game is only fun if people pick dare."

"The game is only fun if you're fourteen," Drew says.

Tom holds his gaze. "Okay, Drew, I have a dare for you. Kiss Kara."

Is this Tom's idea of helping? If the angry look in Drew's eyes is any indication, it's only making things worse.

I guess subtlety and drumming don't get along too well.

"You can't just dare someone to do something," Drew says. "Those aren't the rules."

"Okay, fine. Truth or dare," Tom says.

"It's not your turn," Drew says.

Pete shrugs. "He can have my turn."

Drew shakes his head. "Truth."

"Pussy." Tom smirks.

"Fuck you," Drew says.

Tom's eyes narrow. "Okay, I have a question. Why didn't you pick dare?"