Page 21 of For Eva

A laugh sputtered from between Matt’s lips as he hooked up his amp across the room, and Angela made a gagging sound.

“Hey, we wouldn’t have been able to print those flyers for the last show if Eric’s sugar mama wasn’t around.” Will screwed the last piece of his kit together and stood, brushing his palms against his jeans. “And Danny’s allowed to take a fuckin’ break once in a while. So, how about both of you shut the fuck up so we can practice?”

Matt adjusted the knobs on his amp, then plucked a loud note on his bass and grinned. “Yeah. What Will said.”

“Fine.” Eric rolled his eyes and handed me the bottle of Jack as a peace offering.

I nodded and took two long pulls before pushing myself up from my seat. I grabbed my guitar and glanced over at him before heading to hook up my gear, still pissed, but knowing he was partially right.

I needed to get my head back in the game.

But I had to figure out what was happening with Eva and me first.

NINE

Eva

January 1988

“This, Eva. This right here is why I don’t date Matt,” Denise proclaimed as she teetered through the gravel parking lot in a pair of red pumps.

I skipped ahead in my slouched black boots. “We’re getting to experience a band on the verge of greatness, Denise. This is exciting!” I twirled to the music wafting from inside the building in front of us, raising my arms in the air. “Ilivefor this!”

“Oh my God, I should’ve never let you wash down that tiny little salad with that huge bottle of wine at dinner.” She squealed as her ankle rolled under her, steadying herself before she went down. “And I should’ve cut myself off after rum and Coke number two.”

I stopped, waiting for her to catch up. “You deserve a million rum and Cokes. You spent the last three days in the office, and you weren’t even supposed to be working this week.”

“If only financing deals on the verge of collapse had more respect for my personal life.” She sighed before waving her free hand in the air. “But at least now I get to stare at your gorgeousface instead of having to look at Marcos for thirteen hours a day.”

“Marcos…he’s the one I met when we brought you lunch the other day?” She nodded, and my eyes widened as I fanned myself. “Latin lover alert,Denise. That guy’s hot as shit. Why aren’t you all over that? Or under that? Whatever position you wanna be in with that.”

“Not. Interested.”

“Well, he seemed pretty interested in you.”

“Ugh, enough, Eva. Not happening.” Denise grabbed the handle of the warehouse door and grinned. “Anyway, you obviously found other things to occupy your time while I was working.”

I giggled like a twelve-year-old girl as we stepped onto the concrete floor of the rehearsal space. The band was in the middle of a song which I gathered from the lyrics was the one Eric had refused to do at the Troubadour.

“Another cigarette, another drink.

Tellin’ myself it’s better not to think.

Hours turn to days, how long has it been?

Just another night without her again.”

His voice stopped me in my tracks, the perfect mix of soul and grit weaving in and out of the sultry groove flowing from Danny’s guitar. Danny tossed his hair out of his eyes and raised his brows, flashing me a suggestive grin and holding my gaze. He finally broke our stare to remove the cigarette woven through the strings at the end of his guitar, and I gasped, snapping out of my trance as Denise yanked me farther into the room.

The song ended, and Eric grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, practically turning it upside down, the muscles in his throatworking overtime to swallow the continuous pour. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gestured in our direction. “What the fuck are they doing here?” He was staring at me and Denise, but clearly addressing Danny.

A pit formed in my stomach, and red heat scorched my skin. All eyes in the room were on me, and I froze. Had Danny not told them I was coming? And why was Eric once again acting like I should apologize for daring to enter his presence? My eyes darted to Danny, who quickly pulled his guitar over his head and set it in the stand beside him.

“Man, shut the hell up.” He strode across the room toward me, shooting Eric daggers the entire way. “You invite people here all the time.”

Eric’s hair spilled over his arms as he crossed them in front of his chest. “Yeah, people who can comment on our sound. Not chicks who cause you to miss notes during shows.”

“Look, so, Eric, is it?” Denise cleared her throat. “If this is a problem”—she circled her finger between us and him—“we can go find some other band to hang out with. One whose lead singer isn’t an asshole.”

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