Page 52 of Dangerous Rhythm

“No. But why does it matter?” Lina let a small smile emerge at the corner of her lips. “Are you jealous? You’re a freaking famous, good-looking, sexy rock star, Curtis.”

“That’s not why I’m jealous,” he replied. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Lina sighed. “Curtis, we shouldn’t do this. We were jacked up on adrenaline last night. It was amazing, but you know how it is.” She let it hang.

“What?” He pushed.

She searched her brain for how to drive her point home to him. “It’s like you after a show. At the end of the night, even though you’re tired, that energy from the music, the crowd, is still pumping hard inside you. And you need to get it out.”

Lina looked at him. “We needed to get it out last night.”

“Maybe that’s part of it,” he agreed. “But if sex was all it was, why did you feel the need to hand me off to Raul? You got it out of your system, right?”

“Because I broke protocol, Curtis. I broke too many rules for you.”

“Because you like me.”

Lina sighed. “I do like you, but—”

“That’s good. Full stop right there.” Curtis got up and took his dishes to the sink. “Does Ricardo Rich have a dishwasher?”

Lina threw her eyes to the sky at Curtis’ interruption and unsubtle change of topic. But she let it go. What did it matter, anyway? It looked like they were stuck together.

twenty-two

The big house was like a cave. Sounds echoed through the hallways. Lina lowered the book she was reading onto her lap and listened to the music leaking through the open door of Raul’s library.

The melody started out mellow and haunting, Lina got goosebumps on her arms. She could picture Curtis’ face concentrating on his finger work. It was incredible what he could do with that instrument. She loved the acoustic guitar and felt he ought to play it more. During the tour, though he did acoustical parts for some ballads, most of Canis Major’s songs were electric, fast, and high energy.

Putting her book aside, Lina followed the music. As she drew closer to the source, she felt the tempo pick up speed, and so did her feet, as if she was a mouse being led by a fife.

She found him in the sunroom with a view of a large pond. The room felt warm as the winter sunshine filtered in through the glass roof. Curtis sat on a couch playing his guitar with his eyes closed.

How does he do that?

Lina stood by the door and just watched him. How his fingers moved to create the notes and the timbre of the sounds. How his face expressed the emotion of the melody. He was one with the instrument and the music.

It sounds anguished.

Lina felt a wrench in her gut.

Abruptly, the music stopped. Curtis looked up in shock, but when he realized it was just her, he relaxed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Lina quickly said. “The music brought me here.”

He smiled. “Really?”

Lina went to him. “It pulled me in. It was so gripping.”

Curtis looked at her. “Yeah, I had to get some frustration out. The punching bag helped some this morning, but I still can’t get out of my head.”

She took his hands and gently caressed the redness on his knuckles. “Didn’t you wrap them?”

“Yeah. But I must’ve punched hard.”

“Why do you punch bags when you can make music like that?” Lina asked. “It seems to me the creative output is a much better way of letting out frustration.”

“Music still soothes me, but some feelings require a different approach.”

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