Low Tide Bikini (A Pleasure Island Romance) (8 page)

Pausing to face Sam, Leah’s expression turned serious. “Listen, you gave me quite a scare the last time you spent the night in that dungeon. You’re more than welcome to come stay with me for as long as you need.”
 

Sam appreciated the offer, but she and Leah had been roommates in college. Living together almost put an end to their friendship. Sam was too messy and Leah was too prissy.”Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

“Remember what happened last time you stayed down there? Don’t do that to yourself again. Come stay with me.”

A few years ago, when Sam hadn’t taken any Xanax before attempting to sleep in the dungeon while the Marshalls were in town, Leah had come to her rescue. Sam had propped the door open so she wouldn’t feel trapped, but during the night a gust of wind had caused the door to close. The blasted thing had gotten stuck. Sam panicked and hyper-ventilated. Within minutes, Sam had spiraled into the mother of all panic attacks.
 

Her palms began to sweat just thinking about it.
 

She’d managed to phone Leah, who’d come rushing over. After Leah wrenched the door open, she took Sam to the hospital. Sam had blacked out before they got to the ER. The rest of the evening remained a blur.

Scary memory, but that was years ago. She was better now. She hoped.

Sam patted Leah’s arm. “I’m good. I promise to take my meds this time.”
 

Leah gave her a doubtful frown.

“Seriously, I’m fine. I’ll be sure to call if I have the slightest twinge of anxiety.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t just stay in the master bedroom like the guy offered. You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“I love you too.”

That made the creases in Leah’s brow fade as she broke into a bright smile. “All right. Have it your way. Let’s go get tuned up.”

They joined Mazy and Kendal, giving Sam a chance to answer a few of their questions about Brock and her current situation. She kept it short, and let them know she was done talking about it for the night. They didn’t press it any further. Subject closed, they set to the task of tuning their instruments and rushing through their warmups.
 

The clock struck six. Showtime.
 

“One, two...one, two, three, four.” Mazy counted in, clicking her sticks overhead.

The band started out with a double-time swing. Sam walked her fingers up the bass line at top speed. Leah took a sax lead with a bebop introduction harmonized by Kendal on the keys, while Mazy brushed the high hat cymbal and snare with a syncopated beat.
 

Their music shot out like a cannon, just the way Sam liked it. No sissy-tiptoeing into the water, getting used to it before diving under. No, sir. Just jump. Head first into the jazz pool.

The patrons stopped eating and looked up, their heads bouncing along to the beat and their feet tapping.
 

Sam caught Leah’s eye. Leah leaned way back with her sax tilted toward the ceiling and trilled, slapping a side-key so fast her hand became a blur.

Hell yeah. This was exactly what Sam needed.

Kendal took the first improvised solo, fisting treble cluster chords that cascaded into intricate double handed runs, proof the girl knew her stuff, a virtuoso by the highest standards.

Leah stood back, her eyes shifting from one band member to the next, patting her sax and neck-grooving to the jam.

Mazy kept the beat churning, brush-spanking the high hat with her left hand while twirling the other brush in her right.
 

Sam stomped that walking bass line into the ground, thumped it out, ripe and juicy, fat bottom notes resonating through the hardwood floor.
 

“Get it, girls.” Carl, the local ostrich farmer called out, his wrinkly carved-apple-looking face pulled into a jack-o-lantern grin with a couple teeth missing. His turkey neck stuck out of a tacky neon-fish motif button-down. White shorts, skinny pale bird legs, black socks, and brown sandals finished off his ensemble.

Kendal dragged the back of her hand across the keys, pounced on those runs, and tossed her curls.

Aww man, this was good stuff.

“Take it, Leah,” hollered Jack, Leah’s handsome and happily married brother, dressed in black from head to toe, slaying his air-drums as his chin-length brown hair flayed about his face. Leah adjusted her neck strap and drew her sax to her lips. She gave an upward nod to Mazy. Bam. Mazy smashed both ride cymbals with her brush handles and kicked that bass drum hard just as Leah let out a shrill sax scream.
 

Kendal and Sam froze on a dime, held their breath and counted. One,two...back in they went, joining Mazy and Leah in a whirl of notes.

 
Leah cooked the sax line, wailing on her horn. It was steaming Charlie Parker style. Sax licks that made your thighs twitch.

The door opened, and Brock entered the room, looking like a young Sean Connery with mega-muscles. He wore a white button-down and black trousers and shoes. Sam was shaken and stirred. Parts of her body definitely needed to be put on ice. Gulp.

She closed her eyes and let her mind do all those things her body wanted to do to him. Fingering down the neck of that bass with notes climbing higher and higher and vibrations tickling her breasts, she imagined the part of the bass that rested against her bosom was Brock’s thick chest. She lifted her leg and pulled the bass closer, placing her inner thigh against the side of the instrument. Whew. Back to Earth, it was her turn to solo.
 

She pulled herself out of that steamy fantasy before she did something extremely inappropriate. The rest of the band came to a halt and gave her the floor, completely.
 

She closed her eyes to keep from looking at Brock. Time to slap that bass and make it sting. Thick strings vibrated against her fingertips. The wooden body buzzed against her. Tickling. Ringing in her belly. Her ear was so close to the neck she could hear her nails tap against the fingerboard. Damn. It was good. So good she let out an orgasmic groan.

She clamped her eyes shut tighter and burned it down, squeezing all her frustration and pain out of her heart and into that coffin-sized cradle in her arms, rocking that anguish to sleep.
 

Escape.
 

Playing music was like taking the lid off a boiling pot, hearing the hiss, watching the foam dissipate and bubbles pop until the raging boil lulled into a gorgeous simmer, where all the flavors braided themselves together into a delicious brew.

Wow....

Head up, eyes open, she turned it over to Mazy like they were in a relay race.
 

Mazy was off and in a full on sprint. Wild child, teasing the crowd with a few naughty drum kicks like they were emphasizing the hip action of a burlesque dancer. She knew how to make’em beg for it.

Next thing Sam knew, Mazy threw those brushes down and grabbed her sticks. It was on. She cranked out beats that tribal thundered and river danced all at once, seizing Sam’s pulse and making it succumb. Mazy owned it.

Nothing compared to this. Nothing.
 

Sam mentally exploded again and again, painting the music with whatever color found its way out of her. She was a part of something spectacular, and she didn’t touch ground again until the last note of that first set.
 

Mazy killed the final stinger with a machine gun riff. “Dayum...”

Standing ovation.

They never had
that
at the restaurant before. Applause, yeah, but not an abandon your lobster, pull your butt out the chair, and clap for a long ass time kind of applause.
 

Cool. Very cool. They were hot tonight. And the look in Brock’s eyes as he stood with both hands over his head, clapping and cheering, told her he was definitely impressed. Even if she did need to keep her distance, she got satisfaction knowing he’d be able to see her as something more than a clumsy, bumbling idiot. Make that a clumsy, bumbling, gay idiot and prize-winning shagger.

She should probably go over and say hello, just to be civil, but she couldn’t make her way to the table Jack had set for the band fast enough. Shrimp scampi, hushpuppies, fruit salad, cole slaw, and crab cakes. Greetings would have to wait until the growling animal in her belly was fed.

She sat down at the table and began to pile food on her plate.
 

“Dang, girl. You must be hungry,” Mazy said as she took a seat next to Sam.
 

Sam was too busy shoveling food in her mouth to respond.

Leah said, “Eat your fill. Jack made an extra large batch of scampi.”

Kendal picked at the food she’d loaded on a plate for her. Her large brown eyes were dolled up with makeup. Sam couldn’t remember ever seeing Kendal look so glamorous.
 

Sam caught sight of Myrtle slipping in the side door with a big manila envelope tucked under her little chicken wing arm. She wore an off the shoulder blue satin dress that looked like it belonged at an ’80s prom. Sam was tempted to bust out singing “Footloose.”
 

Leah spoke up. “I just can’t get over how gorgeous you look tonight, Kendal. Anything special going on you want to tell us about?”

Kendal pressed a napkin to her glossy pink lips. “Nah. I just felt like dressing up. Y’all are always telling me I shouldn’t dress like an old hag.”

“Liar.” Mazy grinned and poked a strawberry in her mouth. “A guy Kendal met at the marina is supposed to be coming to the gig tonight.” Mazy didn’t believe in holding secrets.

“Tell us about him, Kendal.” Leah used her encouraging school-teacher tone to coax more information out of Kendal.

“I doubt he’ll show up. He probably was just being nice and never meant to give the impression he was interested.” Kendal pinched the doughy center of a hushpuppy.

“He wasn’t just being nice. I saw the way he looked at you. He was totally checking you out.” Mazy scooped another spoonful of scampi onto her plate.

Myrtle moved from table to table, teetering in her white stilettos that made her stand, maybe, five foot three. She chatted with various patrons and repeatedly looked at Brock then Sam. People were handing Myrtle money, and she was stuffing it in that big envelope of hers.

“Is Myrtle holding some kind of fund raiser?” Sam knew she should be focused on Kendal, but Myrtle was acting so freaking suspicious.

Mazy mumbled, “Something like that.”

“So, Kendal, what time did this guy say he might be stopping by?” Leah meticulously swirled pasta onto her fork with the aid of a spoon.

“He said it’d probably be around seven. So, any time....” Kendal’s voice trailed off when the door opened and a tall blond guy with a sunburn walked in.
 

Mazy reached toward Kendal and tapped on the table. “He’s here.”

“What do I do?” Kendal’s voice trembled. The poor girl looked like
she
could use a Xanax.

“Go say hey to him.” You could always count on Mazy to be direct.
 

Sam scoured the restaurant, looking for Brock. She found him seated at a table across from Jack, who talked with his arms waving in the air. Brock nodded and smiled, listening attentively. He was in good hands. Jack made everyone feel at home when they came to his restaurant. That’s why Reel to Real Good had so many regulars.

Leah leaned in closer to Kendal and said, “The young man came to see you, and you look stunning. Shoulders back and head held high. Now, sashay yourself over there, and say hello.” Leah slid her chair to the side so Kendal could get up.

Kendal took a deep breath and stood.

Sam reached over and gave her friend’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You look great tonight, Kendal. You got this.”

Exhaling slowly, Kendal turned. She smoothed her dress and walked toward the blond lobster man.

The guy met her halfway and led her to a table. They took a seat, Kendal’s back to the band. Sam studied the guy’s face. He was staring at Kendal’s boobs. Asshole Alert.

Speaking of potential assholes
....
 

She looked over at Brock and caught him staring back at her. An electrical current zinged through her body and caused her to buzz in all the right places. She took such a big bite out of a hushpuppy she bit her own damn finger.

Brock spotted Louise, the elderly redhead from the hardware store, swaying in front of the flashing lights of an old-fashioned jukebox to the right of the stage. She was barefoot and had a red boa wrapped around her neck to match the catsuit she’d poured herself into. Her cane was nowhere in sight. Apparently, something had made her ailing joints feel better. Drugs? Steroid shots?

Every time the chorus of the current song said, “I love beach music,” Louise patted her heart and sang at the top of her lungs.
 

Couples of all ages flooded the tiny dance floor in front of the stage. Each couple performed a similar dance that required the man to do a lot of spinning and complex footwork while the woman simply kicked and shuffled her feet.
 

Brock watched from the sidelines and soaked in the contagious joy that emanated from the smiling dancers. When he contemplated joining in on the dance, however, his stomach became a queasy ball. Being petrified at school dances as an adolescent sprang to mind. Well over twenty years had past, yet he was still terrified when it came to the prospect of dancing. He envied the gentlemen twirling their partners about the floor of the restaurant. Men twice his age moved about with agility and grace. Due to sports injuries, Brock would never be able to move as smoothly as some of those old men.

Liquid fire shot through his shoulder. That’s what he got for thinking about the injuries. He’d let the Vicodin wear off so he could drink tonight, but the pain came back before he’d even had so much as a beer.
 

He needed a distraction. Where was that gorgeous Sam? She could make him forget about everything but her. Watching her pluck that bass with an orgasmic look on her face did him in. She was unbelievably talented. He hadn’t expected that. He’d never heard anyone play the bass like she did.