Page 16 of The Second Deal

“HowwasAtlanta?” he asks. “Younever text back or post anything online, soIdon’t know what’s been goin’ on.”

“Thestudio kept me busy.”

Heblows a gigantic cloud of white vapor into the living room.Smellslike cookies and skunk. “Toobusy to answer the phone unless it wasShannonorRob?”

“Soundsabout right.”

Adriantaps his fingertips against the book sitting on the cushion between us.Thesilence is marked by epic vocals and wailing riffs at a low volume, and a peculiar tension grips my stomach.

“Wasit the studio, orTy?”

“Tsk, fuck’s it to you, dude?”

Hesnorts. “Goodto know that attitude hasn’t changed.”

Iroll my eyes, cross an arm over my stomach, and take an extra large gulp of beer.HimandZakboth have always made their opinion onTyknown, butIdon’t give a shit—Ty’sbeen around a hell of a lot longer than they have.

“So,”Adrianstarts after another hit from his vape, “surprisedInever heard anything about you joining a new band.”

“Leftmy guitars here,”Irespond curtly.

“Uh-huh.Youmean to tell me the notoriousStephaniWadehasn’t picked up guitar since she quitTimeless?”

“Ididn’t see a point in playing anymore.”

“Why?” he asks, turning to face me after blowing more vapor.Histerra-cotta skin glows, probably from spending every free moment on tour soaking up the sun poolside or floating the river.

Imiss tubing.

“That’swhat you do: you’re a guitarist.”Atiny simper brightens his face. “You’rethePetruccito myPortnoy, princesa.”

“Ha, you’re good, but don’t compare yourself toPortnoy, hon.”

Adrianslaps his hand over his heart as if he were wounded.

IwishIcould sayIhate sharing a laugh with him.

Ilean my arm against the back of the couch and rest my head in my hand, searching the house beyondAdrianand drinking the cold cerveza.Mycuriosity is piqued by the notebooks full of lyrics and musical notations scattered over every available surface.

“Isee that look,Steph.”

Mygaze snaps back toAdrian. “Whatlook?”

Hiseyes glimmer as he watches me. “Youmiss it.”

“What?”

Adrianthrows his chin towards the guitars. “Playing.”

Istare long and hard at the guitars and ideas and plans, remembering what it was like hanging out here all the time, rehearsing and screwing around on the guitar until a single riff set off a bar that turned into a whole song.Likeour brain waves aligned perfectly with the universe to translate its message into something personal with words and sounds that would one day speak to someone through their earbuds or speakers.Then, one day, that same someone would come to aTimelessgig to worship us playing our hearts out on stage, resurrecting the universe’s message right before people’s eyes over and over and over—

“Isee it, alright,”Adrianinterrupts.

Irecognize the look on his face: admiration.

Adrianholds his vape to my lips, beckoning them to part.Icover his hand with mine, taking the rig from him, and breathe in.

Herises from the couch and ambles towards the guitars.Ican’t stop staring at the way his red gym shorts cling to an ass you could sink some serious teeth into.

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