Page 15 of The Texas Sterling Collection
“Yes. Despite my world travels, I didn’t explore other countries’ cultures. I worked during the day and hibernated in my quarters at night.”
“You didn't run around with other marines?”
“Because of my unique kills, I went where needed instead of moving with a squadron. I’m not much of a social animal, and wandering around alone is risky.” I scooped a chip into the salsa and popped the entire thing into my mouth.
“Europe is where Western music began, with tons of listening opportunities,” Rod said as he sipped his beer. “Enjoying folk music in an Irish pub is incredible. A London Christmas concert at St. Martin in the Fields is not to be missed. And speaking of beer,” he clinked his bottle against mine, “hoisting a stein at the Munich Hofbräuhaus is amazing. The sound of a German oompah band while talking with people from around the world is something you’ll never forget.”
Rod’s excitement made Europe sound different than my experience. I realized I missed a fabulous opportunity. “Gee, you traveled a few places and took advantage of the local culture.”
“You bet. Traveling with friends makes a difference. Would you consider going back as a tourist if you found a friend to travel with?” Rod bit his lower lip.
My insides quivered at the thought of traveling Europe with Rod. Seeing the sights I missed and having an educated man as my tour guide sounded perfect. The two of us together in Europe gave me thoughts I should avoid. “With someone like you to show me around…hell, yes.” I should tone down the enthusiasm a notch, lest he figure me out. Thinking of his soft hair didn't equate to hitting on him, did it? “If you ever take students on a European music tour, count me in.” I glanced up as a quick hint of surprise and disappointment flashed through Rod’s eyes.
“Stop putting ideas into my head.” Rod grinned, masking whatever emotion flashed on his face.
The food arrived, and we dug in.
“You mentioned you play guitar.” Rod wiped his hands on a napkin. “With your fingers.” He waved his fingers in my direction. “I always wanted to learn but never did.”
Rod’s haunting, hazel eyes drew my attention. “I’m surprised. You’re a music teacher, so I assumed you played every instrument.”
“I started with piano and organ at age ten. I played the cornet in the junior high band and the baritone horn in the high school band. I studied music in college, with the French horn as my major instrument. I did graduate work in pipe organ. So, I learned to play several instruments, but not guitar.”
“Ever considered lessons?” I downed the last of my beer.
“Yes. I bought an expensive nylon string guitar, which sits in its soft case, untouched.” Rod creased his brow.
“Wipe the guilty expression off your face. I will show you a thing or two to reignite your enthusiasm. Most people think playing guitar is difficult, so they don’t try.” Waves of excitement flowed through my gut again at the thought of helping Rod. What about this guy made me want to tear down all my brick walls?
“You want to teach me?” Rod’s eyes widened.
I pondered a moment, about to propose something I swore I would never do again. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.” Rod folded his arms on the table. “As you said in the truck…talk to me, I won’t bite.”
“Since high school, my life hasn’t included many friends. I didn’t want to make friends in the Marines because I got reassigned at the drop of a hat.” And for other reasons, I wouldn’t discuss. “I never received advance information about where I would be stationed or for how long. Oh, I hung around with other guys every place the Marines stationed me, so I didn't stick to myself. While in the Corps, the one close friend I allowed myself to have, well, it didn’t work out.” I didn’t want to overexpose myself. Not my gay side, yet. “I’m in Blackfield now and find myself alone for the first time in years. Walt says I need to make friends so I won't be lonely on the ranch. He and I are a lot alike, and you’re a lot different. And a forty-year-old guy doesn’t understand college kids and older people, present company excluded.” I grinned. “We have an easy time talking, or at least I find you easy to talk to. So…” I extended my hand across the table, trying to exude self-confidence I didn’t feel. “…friends?”
The sparkle in Rod’s hazel eyes added to the warmth of the smile on his face. “Oh, yeah.” Rod grasped my hand and shook it.
“I’m glad.” The familiar sensation flowed up my arm before I let go. “You are teaching me how to appreciate music. I can return the favor and show you how to play the guitar.”
The waitress brought the check, and I grabbed it. “You drove. I’ll buy dinner.” And gain a new friend. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Now, I need to figure out how to be a friend. In high school, Stewy and I became best friends, but we lost contact. For now, spending time with Rod is a fantastic start if I can keep my libido under control. One thing at a time.
Chapter Eleven
ROD
We found our seats. Wyl read through the concert information and leaned into my shoulder. “What’s this Firebird?”
After the zing from the handshake in the college parking lot, the sensations from when he grabbed my shoulder to massage, and when we shook hands at dinner, I savored physical contact with Wyl, even shoulder to shoulder. The kind of contact I missed after Patrick disappeared. Someday, I would share the whole sordid story, but not tonight or at a symphony performance.
“The Firebird Suite is based on a Russian folk tale. The composer, Igor Stravinsky, was a Russian-born American from the first half of the 20th century. We’ll study his music later in the course. In fact, this piece is the one we study, so you’ll have an advantage. As the orchestra plays, I’ll help you understand how various instruments portray the characters in the tale. The entire piece makes more sense if you are familiar with the folklore. A brief version is printed on the back of the program.”
Wyl turned the program over and read. The lights dimmed, and the audience applauded the concertmaster. He sat after tuning up the orchestra, and the conductor came to the podium and bowed to the applause. The concert began.
During the performance, Wyl leaned several times to whisper in my ear, “What instrument is playing now?” Wyl’s warm breath sent chills down my spine. I shifted in my seat to relieve the pressure in my crotch. I whispered back in Wyl’s ear, first inhaling Wyl’s scent. I kept a firm grip on my thigh, resisting the temptation to grab Wyl’s knee every time I leaned over to answer.
At 9:30, the concert ended with a standing ovation. We left and drove out of town toward Blackfield.
