Alluring Infatuation (7 page)

Daddy reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Cricket, you can’t beat yourself up over the past. You both weren’t entirely truthful. But, unless you talk it out and get everything out there, you’ll be miserable. And I can’t have my little girl miserable.”

I chuckle. “Easier said than done. Did you miss the part where he walked out and told me to have a nice life?! He hates me. Besides, he’s a famous rock star. I’m a doctor. We live in different worlds, Daddy.”

He harrumphs. “The way I see it is we all live in the same world. I’ve always told you that no one is any better than anyone else. He’s a successful rocker. You’re a successful doctor. Both of you are damn good at doing something you love, right? That makes you exactly the same. And as far as his parting comment, well, we all say things in hurt and anger. Things that, once we calm down, we don’t mean.” He looks at me pointedly.

I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You’re the best, Daddy. I love you.”

He cups my cheek and kisses my forehead. “I love you too, Cricket.”

My nose wrinkles at his nickname for me and I laugh.

Momma pats my hand again as she stands up. “Do you have to get right back, Mel or can you stay to listen to the music for a bit? Daddy and I are heading into the bar to listen before we head home.”

I am tired and exhausted, but the music sounds lovely coming through the door. “I can stay for a few songs. I can’t stay too late though. I have a C-section in the morning.”

Momma links her arm with mine and we stroll through the restaurant to the bar.

We find a table in the back. George’s Piano Bar is a popular place, and people travel to hear the music, so it’s rare to find an empty table, especially once the music starts.

I order a Cranberry and Tonic Water with a splash of lemon since I’m driving back to Baton Rouge in a bit.

The atmosphere is soothing. George has spared no expense on the décor and the entire room is rich and elegant. The floor is polished wood and the walls are draped in red fabric while the tables and booths are black and white. It’s both sultry and romantic while giving the air of mystery.

I can see the piano from my seat, but the performer is shrouded in darkness so you can concentrate on the music. The song flows over the room and helps create the mood. My drink is delivered and I close my eyes to absorb the beauty of the playing.

Whomever this performer is, they are quite good. The notes flow seamlessly and I can feel the passion in their playing. I stay for four songs before I realize what time it is.

My parents are as absorbed in the sound as I am.

I check the time and determine that I can stay for one more song and then I have to get on the road. Tapping my daddy on the shoulder I point to my wrist, where a delicate gold watch is sitting and point at the face. He nods in understanding.

The song finishes and I stand up to grab my purse from the chair back. I can see the performer stand up as well. He’s very tall. He stretches and smiles at the crowd as they applaud. As he turns towards my side of the bar, my gaze connects with his in the dim light and my stomach drops.

I drop into my seat as my knees give out. “No, it can’t be…”

Dade

I
drove out to Hammond tonight to play at one of my favorite piano bars. There aren’t very many around and this is truly one of the best. I found this place when I was a sophomore at Southeastern Louisiana University. I’ve always played piano. It was a welcome respite when I was younger and once my parents left and I took on caring for Clove, it was a way for me to express my frustrations without hurting anyone.

George lets me play whenever I show up and I come out a few times a year whenever the tour schedule allows it. He treats me exactly the same now as when I was a twenty year old Political Science major.

I showed up tonight and he took one look at my face and pointed to the piano. I never had a father figure growing up and, of course, the one we did have was a joke and not worth the cost of the drugs he was so fond of. George became a friend very quickly. He opened this place about forty years ago because he loved good food and good music. There are only a handful of piano bars in the state that I know of and his is the most successful, as far as I know. He’s stumbled on a goldmine and since his wife died, George’s is his life. His customers are not just his livelihood, but also his family. He knows most people by name and welcomes everyone with open arms. He was a godsend during my college years and we’ve stayed close. He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve had.

I’ve been playing for at least two hours. It’s dark on the stage, so no one can see me and I can’t really see around the stage either. The lights are set just right so that everyone has a sense of privacy and anonymity.

I finish playing and I feel rejuvenated. Standing I stretch to work the kinks I didn’t know I had out of my back. My gaze rakes the crowd and stops on a blonde head in the back of the bar. She’s standing too and looks like she’s about to leave. She raises her head and our eyes meet.

Son of a bitch!

Am I hallucinating? She can’t really be here. Why would she be here? I think I played too long. Am I dehydrated?

I see her gasp and clutch her chest before she roughly sits back down. It
is
her. Melonie is here?!

Before I understand it, my legs are taking me across the room to her table. She stares at me the entire time. I approach the table and realize she’s not alone. She’s sitting with an older couple. She resembles the woman and man, so I’m assuming these are her parents. As I near, I hear the woman asking her, “Melonie. Baby, are you alright? What happened?”

Melonie meets my eyes and says flatly, “Momma, this is… Dade.”

Shrewd brown eyes cut me. I’m frozen to the spot. I look from her to her mother and then to the man who’s also staring at me. Holding out my hand, I offer to shake his. “Hello, sir. I’m Dade. Dade Rodrigue.”

He looks at my hand and then my face before looking towards Melonie and then back to me. He takes my hand and shakes it. At the end of the shake, he squeezes. His grip is strong. I don’t miss the warning issued.

Melonie is staring at me with her mouth hanging open. She gets her bearings and stands back up, making sure to exit on the side of the chair opposite of me. She kisses her parents’ cheeks and grabs her purse before smiling tightly. “I’m heading out, y’all. It’s been a long day and I have a longer one tomorrow. Goodnight.”

She’s just going to leave? She’s ignoring me?!

Oh no you don’t. You might be leaving, but I’m following you. We are talking, Ms. Bird. You bet your sweet ass, we’re talking!

Her mother looks between the two of us as she walks away and just leaves me standing there. I look at her dad with my brows drawn together. He smirks and slightly nods his head toward the door. “It was nice to meet you, Dade. Have a safe drive home.”

I think I’ve been dismissed. Nodding back, I reply, “You too, Sir. Sorry things were so awkward.”

Her mother smiles at me and her face transforms. She looks just like her daughter. “Make it right, Mr. Rodrigue.”

Swallowing, I nod again and then with a grimace, I head toward the parking lot.

I pass George on the way and he says, “Back left corner of the lot. White BMW,” with a wink.

Grinning, I call back. “Thanks, George. And thanks for letting me play tonight.”

He calls through the door as I race out, “You know you’re welcome anytime, Dade.”

I head in the direction George said and I see her leaning her forehead against the top of her car with the door open and throw her purse into the front seat.

I can tell she hears me approach, because her back goes ramrod straight. Yet, she doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

I just stand and watch her. I want to see if she’ll turn around or try to just drive off. Not that I’ll let her.

After about a minute, she turns and glares at me. “What do you want, Dade? Why did you follow me?”

I stare. She stares back. Finally, I cross my arms over my chest. She follows the movement before looking into my eyes again. Her brow arches in a silent challenge.

Damn, she’s stubborn. Ok, I guess I have to be the one to talk.

I laugh at both of us. She starts tapping her foot. It draws my gaze down. She’s wearing black sandals, her pants are white and form fitting. Her top is white with black lace trim. She looks very professional. Her jewelry is small and understated. She hardly resembles the woman I knew on St. John, but she’s still incredibly sexy.

With one final glare, she throws her hands in the air and whirls on her heel. “I’m over this! I don’t know what you want, but I don’t have the time or inclination to play!” She leans into the car and sits.

Before she can shut the door, I’m at her side.

She glares and mutters out through clenched teeth,
“What do you want, Dade?”

Leaning down into a crouch, I give her about a foot of space. She retreats until her back hits the seat. I grin, “Hello, Melonie. We need to talk. Can we talk?”

“You’re in my personal space. Back up!”

Chuckling, I back up an inch. “There. Happy? And what’s the problem? Do I unnerve you?”

She slaps the steering wheel and mutters under her breath, “Does he unnerve me?! Egotistical bastard!”

I’m not a bastard. Ok, I am kind of acting uncharacteristically asinine. “I’m sorry. I honestly do want to talk. Can we talk, Melonie?”

She closes her eyes and leans her head back on the seat before opening at them. She asks dejectedly, “Why? What do we have to talk about, Dade? What’s the point?”

Grabbing my hair before squeezing the back of my neck, I tell her honestly. “I’d like to talk about the stuff we didn’t talk about before. Can we do that? Without screaming at each other or flinging insults?”

Staring into my eyes, she rubs the middle of her forehead and purses her lips. She nods slowly. “Ok. But not tonight. I can’t. I’ve had a really long day and I have a surgery in the morning. I need rest.”

I let out the breath I was holding and smile. “Ok.” I reach out my hand, “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen and she opens and closes her mouth before she asks, “My phone?! What?”

I point and reach over her, grabbing the phone out of the cup holder. Swiping the screen, it unlocks it. Grunting, I say, “No lock code?!” She shakes her head as I open her contacts and add myself and my number. Then I lean back, take a selfie, and save the photo before handing it back to her. She wrinkles her nose as she stares at the phone in her hand. The urge to kiss away her confusion overcomes me. I force it down.

She just looks at me. I smile. She looks away and swallows before sighing and looking back.

I say, “Text me.”

“Huh?”

Chuckling, I point at the phone again. “You. Text me. Right now. So I can save the number.”

“Oh… Oh, right.” She clicks a few keys and then presses the screen.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Opening the text, I laugh.

“555-555-0091:

You are a seriously perplexing man. Call me tomorrow. After 4pm.”

Looking at her, I see her hiding a smile. I save her info and add her name, before replying.

“Dade:

Yes, Ma’am.

PS. You look incredibly sexy, all professional like.”

She reads the text, and then shaking her head and trying to hide a smile, she closes the door and as I step back, she backs out and drives out of the lot.

Chuckling and whistling, I head to my truck a few rows away.

Well, that was unexpected. I have her number now.

I’m not sure what I’ll do for the rest of the night since it’s only 9PM and I’m not tired. On my way back to Baton Rouge, I send a mass text out.

“Dade:

Be in BR in about an hour. Anyone want to get a drink?”

My phone stays quiet until I get to the city limits.

“Cruz:

YES. Where do you want to meet up?”

I’m driving, so I call him. We talk for a minute and decide on heading to the house. He says he’ll meet me there. He sounds strange.

I get home and see Liam’s truck and Clove’s new car in the garage, so I pull the truck up next to my Hummer and hop out. I can hear them talking and laughing in their room. I head into the media room, and crack open a beer as I wait for Cruz to get there.

I’m flipping through the guide when he walks in. He walks over to the bar and grabs a shot glass and a bottle of Jager before plopping back onto the couch. That is not like him. At all. I look at him, waiting for him to tell me what’s going on.

He opens the bottle and pours a shot. Slamming it back, he coughs as it goes down.

“You sure you don’t want a chaser with that?”

He grunts. “No. I’m good.” And pours two more, back to back.

I’m getting concerned. Cruz doesn’t drink like this. “What’s wrong, man? What’s up?”

He looks at me and I can’t decipher the look in his eyes, but I know him well enough to be alarmed. He takes another shot and stares at the wall.