Page 21 of A Way Out
“My mother is going to get the kids to bed. You and I are going down to the recording studio.”
“Why?”
“My band is coming over to practice. She thought you might like to hang out with us.”
Maria’s eyes went huge. “Really? How fun.”
He’d honestly hoped she would decline. Because he was fully aware of what watching musicians play did to women, especially one who was already attracted to the guitarist.
And he did not need Maria to be any more attracted to him than she already was.
The recording studio was on the lower level, a soundproof room with a drum kit already set up and a pile of drumsticks ready to go. This was the home of a drummer, after all.
There were also a variety of guitars, some for practicing, others that had once belonged to rock gods from bygone eras and were now for display purposes only.
The wet bar was always stocked with a nice variety of beer and bottled water and a few hard liquor options. So far, Maria had only drunk wine in Oz’s presence, so he might have to run back upstairs for a bottle.
“This is so cool,” she said. She seemed to gravitate toward the guitars, but that was probably Oz, reading into the situation. Wanting her to be impressed by the guitarist.
And yet, not wanting that. Because if she was, that made her just like every other wealthy woman who had ever hit on him, right?
The door was still open, so he heard the door buzzer. A few seconds later, feet pounded on the stairs, then Travis and Cash were strutting into the room.
They both gave Maria the once-over, and he saw the flicker of attraction mixed with curiosity in both sets of eyes.
“Maria,” he said tightly, “this is Travis Clutcher, our drummer, and Cash Torrence, our keyboardist. Maria is Holly’s sister.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cash said, shaking her hand and then busying himself with setting up his board.
Travis eyed her speculatively. “How come you’re here instead of in Missouri?”
“Long story,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But I am heading that way on Thursday.”
Travis’s gaze flicked from Maria to Oz, and Jesus, the guy could sense Oz’s interest in the woman. Travis had certainly called out Parker and Lacey early on, when they’d been trying to hide their relationship from the rest of the band.
Except Oz and Maria didn’t have a relationship. They hadn’t even kissed, so why was Oz so damn nervous?
“Where are Parker and Lacey?” he asked, trying to deflect.
“Probably fucking,” Travis replied. So much for deflection.
Maria’s cheeks had gone adorably dusky pink.
“They’ll be here in a minute,” Cash called out from behind his boards. “Got stuck in traffic.”
In truth, Lacey and Parker ought to be the ones staying here at the house. Lacey was Sam’s sister, after all, and when the band first formed, they had been living here while Panic Station toured overseas.
But both Lacey and Parker had hang-ups about “taking handouts” from people, a.k.a. staying in Lacey’s brother’s house for free, so as soon as their first royalty checks cleared their accounts, they’d rented a tiny, overpriced apartment in a significantly less impressive zip code. And now they were almost always late to jam sessions.
Five minutes later, they rushed down the stairs, apologizing (as usual) for their tardiness. Oz’s gaze swept over them, for the first time curious as to whether they really had been screwing around instead of getting stuck in traffic. Lacey did have a bit of a glow about her, and her lips were more swollen than usual. Parker’s hair looked like he forgot to brush it today, and was his fly open?
They had been fucking.
Lucky bastards.
“Okay,” Oz said, picking up his favorite guitar and swinging the strap around his shoulders. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Eight
