Page 17 of Bone Dust

I shake off the introspection and head to the kitchen.

“Did you get a little rest?” Cora places a bowl of stew in front of me.

“I did. I think power naps have become my new way of operating.”

“Why? Are you having trouble sleeping?” Cora’s tone is one of concern.

I shrug. “I haven’t slept well since my parents died.”

“Death robs you of a lot of things,” she says, with a sad tone. She places a comforting hand on mine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ian

Afew weeks have passed, and I find myself heading to Mad Dog Run once again.

“You’re becoming a regular, ain’t you, Ian? Is it the food or my winnin’ personality?” Sam’s smirk is laughable.

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a regular.” I chuckle.

“The hell you ain’t! You been here nearly every night for the last month.”

“Not true.”I roll my eyes.

Sam pops from the barstool and leans forward onto the counter, his bushy eyebrows forming a knot between them before hitching up. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“Never,” I assure him. “So, stop raggin’ on me. I’d think you’d appreciate paying customers.”

“I do, and you’re a regular good one.”

Disbelief shakes my head.“You don’t give up, do you, old man?”

“Never,”he assures with a triumphant smug.

The stage lights cast long shadows over Savannah’s high cheekbones and long, smooth hair. She packs up her equipment with her back to the tables, oblivious to the way my eyes follow her every move.

We bothwatchas she steps off the stage, crosses the room, and waves to Sam before exiting. He returns the gesture, then turns to me. “She still ain’t wantin’ no part of you.” He says under his breath.

“I don’t expect her to.”I shrug off the comment, unfazed. “She’s got a right to her opinion.”

“I don’t like it. She’s acting like a child,” he states, emphasizing the sentiment.

“Maybe, but it’s her prerogative. I’m not everybody’s cup of tea.”

“I don’t like it. You’re good people—both of you—but you’re both hardheaded too.” He straightens up.“Be back in a minute. I gotta take care of something.”

I’m grateful for the reprieve. I haven’t been coming to Mad Dog as much as Sam implies but it’s more than I planned to be. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve developed a taste for seeing Savannah perform. I like her soothing sound, so much so that it’s grown like a cancer. The more I see her the more she’s in my head. I see her in my fantasies, and, like any man, I like the relief I feel after I imagine the things I’d do to her. When I was a teenager, I chalked up my insatiable sex drive to being a growing boy with active glands. Drinking, getting high, and screwing any girl who’d let me felt good. It felt even better when the band was on the road. I didn’t have to look for it. Somehow, memories of those days don’t compare to the unadulterated physical sensations that course through me when pleasuring myself to mental pictures of Savannah—and that’s a problem.

I shake my head. If Sam knew how much I’ve been thinking of his ‘niece’ he’d kick my ass. Maybe it’s wrong but I’m not hurting anyone, and I’m not ashamed. She’s a gorgeous woman. The woman barely tolerates me but my attraction to her is undeniable. So, I appease the urge, stroking the beast inside until I’m spent.

I take in the crowd, my gaze drifting from face to face. Although another performer is setting up, the place has thinned out now that Savannah has finished. The scent of alcohol lingers in the air, the heady aromas mixing with the familiarsmellof sweat that always comes to a crowded bar. She’s got some pipes and, the more I listen, the more I think Sam is right; her voice is perfection. She hits every single note with precision. Savannahcouldgeta music deal if she met the right people and though I do knowexactly who the right ones would be to talk to, I’m not sure they’d welcome my presence, much less my recommendation.

I’ve followed my bandmates, Charlie, and Tom. Both are still playing but with different groups. I haven’t spoken to them in years, but I would for her sake. They might have a better insight on who’s looking for what in the business and that knowledge might prove valuable to Savannah if she’s looking for a contract.

The creaky kitchen door springs open, revealing Sam pushing through with four buckets of ice; two in each hand.

“Need some help?”I rise from the barstool I just claimed and approach to assist. As I do I take a quick look around for the bar back. “Where’s Mac?”

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