Denver: A Bad Boy Romance (FMX Bros Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter 6

Jami

Everything I’d heard about California weather had not been exaggerated. It was crystal clear and warm, with just enough of an ocean breeze to make everything in the world seem right. Even with the niggling reality that most everything in my world was far from right. But for the short span of time that my mom had so lovingly called my
selfish tantrum
, I was going to pretend I was someone other than Jami Holliday. I was going to enjoy the beach and my new neighbor and all the freedom that came with being several states away from my controlling mom and stepfather.

Of course, the one aspect of my life that I could never ignore or even want to forget was Stuart. I double-checked that the violin case was locked tight and picked up the handle. My iron-fisted manager, aka Mom, had frozen my checking account hours after I’d told her I was taking off for a short, self-exploration journey. Everything in my professional life had begun long before I’d reached the ripe old age of eighteen, and stupidly, mostly because money had never interested me, I’d allowed my mom to keep control of my finances. It had been lazy and ignorant on my part. Now I was seriously regretting not taking over my own accounts. I’d avoided it, knowing full well that taking my mom on legally would be like taking on a hungry, ruthless tiger shark. Then there was the terrible notion that she had what I liked to call joint custody of Stuart. I never wanted to risk losing my violin. I wasn’t completely sure I had the mental strength to take the woman on. But her quick action in freezing my bank account had assured me I was going to have jump into that shark infested water once I got back home. Back home. That thought grew more depressing each day.

Fortunately, I’d wired the owner of the beach house five weeks of rent before my mom had caught wind of it. But food and gas for the car would be helpful. Five weeks of eating limp sandwiches from a mini-mart would get old fast. Stuart and I had always managed to make money together and I decided to set up on a corner near the street fair and play a little music. If the right crowd was milling about, I might get lucky with a few dollars tossed my way.

I’d heard Denver and his friends head out an hour before and hoped I’d eventually run into him again. My well-planned towel dropping stunt had come to me the second I’d stepped out of the steam filled shower. I’d even strategically placed the donut box so that he’d have a direct line of sight into my bedroom. It had been completely out of my nature, but I was determined to play out every little fantasy during my newfound freedom, freedom I’d only dreamt about until now. 

I’d left on this trip to find myself, and I was damn well going to do just that. I was tired of being a commodity, a fragile, valuable object packed carefully in a box, let out only when it was time to make money and fulfill contractual obligations. It was time to break free from the packing tape and twine. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect diversion than Denver. It was almost as if my extreme need to have fun had conjured him out of thin air. Until now, it had been way too hard and complicated to form any kind of relationship with a man. I’d had a few boyfriends, but with my mom always perched around like a great black raven waiting to swoop in and scare away anyone who got too close, relationships had always been more hassle than fun. My only regret would be having to eventually walk away from Denver to go home and climb back into my box.

The beach path was crowded with foot and bike traffic. The colorful banners and booths vibrated in the distance. Thin streams of barbecue scented smoke curled up over the heads of the attendees.

The violin case swung along next to me as I headed to the section of parking lot where some of the artists and performers who hadn’t made it into the actual fair had parked themselves. The only other music was a tired, almost mournful sounding accordion played by a heavyset, older man who looked close to passing out from the direct sunlight showering down on his mostly bald head.

I stopped to listen for a few minutes. He glanced down and grinned at the case in my hand. Street musicians had a culture of their own. Most hung out in the same places and met in the same coffee houses to talk about the craft and the music. For a short spell of time, we’d moved to New York and I’d managed to make friends with a group of street musicians who played on various corners around town. They were a fun mix of friends. Ginger and Tad, a twenty-something couple, had traveled to New York from Texas, on foot. Tad played amazing, homespun folk songs on his guitar and Ginger caught the attention of every passerby with her beautiful voice. At that time, they were homeless but quite content living off the donations they earned from passing listeners. There were so many things I’d envied about their simple existence  that I’d often fantasized about running away to do the same. From New York, Mom, Harold and I had gone on to live in London for six months. I’d never heard from Ginger and Tad again. I liked to think they were still just as happy and free.

I tossed a five dollar bill into the accordion player’s jar and moved on. While the man looked close to the end of his day’s performance with his beet red cheeks and sweaty brow, I didn’t want to disrupt his show with my own music.

I walked to the other side of the lot and found an empty spot to stand. If I angled my head just right, I had a crisp view of the water and the sand. The beach was dotted with people out to enjoy the beautiful weather and the delicious treats being sold from the food trucks.

The clamor of the nearby street fair was probably just loud enough to muffle the violin’s sound, but I was all right with that. I opened the latches and lifted Stuart from his case. He felt light and lively in my hand. It was silly, but it always seemed that the violin was as anxious to make music as I was to produce the sounds. Once Stuart was tucked securely under my chin, we became connected spiritually and physically. Stuart had been on this earth for a lot longer than me and he’d had plenty of owners, but I liked to believe that he had just been biding his time, waiting for me to grow up and have fingers long enough to play.

The picturesque scenery and the people and noise faded away as I lifted the bow to the strings.

Chapter 7

Denver

Rodeo lifted his paper basket of food. “Deep fried macaroni and cheese. Who knew?”

I didn’t lift my head from the tree I was sitting against, but I peered at him over my sunglasses. “Pretty much everyone. I mean if you take one of the world’s favorite foods and drop it into frying oil, you’re going to have something good. Even if it is clogging up every one of your arteries with each bite.”

“Yep, but if I have to die from substance abuse, I’d much rather off myself with deep fried mac n cheese than drugs. Much better high as far as I’m concerned.” He took another bite off the stick. “And cheaper.”

Sayler leaned back on her hands and turned her face higher toward the sun. “I hear music. It sounds like some Celtic tune being played on a violin. Makes we want to get up and dance.” She remained perfectly still. “Only this warm sun is making me lazy.”

Cole had propped himself against the brick wall separating the beach from the bike path. Kensington was leaning against him sipping a lemonade. She looked in the direction of the music and lifted her sunglasses. “Whoever is playing, they’ve gathered a pretty big crowd.”

Sayler sat up. “That’s it. Now my curiosity has got the best of me. It’s hard to hear clearly over the crowd and ocean, but it sounds great from here.” She hopped to her feet and dusted off the sand. “Let’s walk over there.”

Rodeo was licking the last bits of food off the stick. “I’m wondering if I should first buy a deep fried Twinkie. Seems like the most logical follow up dessert.”

I pushed to my feet. “You do realize that an extra fifty pounds around that gut of yours might make the backflip on a bike a little more challenging.”

Rodeo shrugged. “But I’d bounce a lot better if I hit the ground.”

We headed in the direction of the music. “Last of the Mohicans theme song,” Sayler noted as we neared a sizable group of onlookers.

“I’m no music expert,” Cole said. “But that sounds damn good.”

I was holding back a smile, and he caught it. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

Kensington answered for me. “You grew up in Nicky King’s house, but you’re no music expert.”

“It is pretty pathetic, isn’t it? Guess not every kid had their dad bellow out rock tunes for bedtime. Growing up, silence was like music in our house.”

“Yeah, you had it rough all right,” Rodeo quipped as we neared the corner that was now filled with people gathering to listen to the music. “Let me get my violin.”

Kensington peered through an opening in the crowd. “Speaking of violins . . .” She glanced back at me. “. . . and neighbors.”

I stretched up higher to see over the heads. And there she was, the girl who I’d already defined as pure and utter daylight was standing in the center of a rapt group of people, people who didn’t necessarily look like the type who would appreciate a violin solo or Celtic music, for that matter. Every face in the crowd watched in awe and with good reason.

Jami’s long lashes cast a fluttery shadow over her pink cheeks and the spray of freckles as her thin arm moved the bow back and forth over the strings. The sound emanating from the instrument was deep and smooth and completely mesmerizing. It blotted out all the surrounding noise. The music streamed from beneath her fingers, holding every person in the circle captive. I couldn’t draw my eyes away from the musician. Jami was incredible, but with that violin on her shoulder, she was nothing short of breathtaking.

“Damn,” Cole whispered next to me.

Seductive. It was the only word I could think of to describe the sounds floating through the air. I thought briefly back to Jami and my discussion about Paganini.
A little
. She’d told me that she played a little. Liar. A beautiful, sneaky liar.

A round of applause rang out when she finished the song. Plenty of coins and bills were being tossed into her open violin case. She caught a glimpse of me standing in the sea of faces and winked.

Cole caught the gesture and put his hand on my shoulder. “Guess I won’t hold my breath about you moving back in with us. Not with a woman like that living right above your head.”

After a haunting, stunning rendition of Guns and Rose’s Sweet Child O’ Mine, Jami bowed to her audience and thanked them for listening. More than one onlooker stopped to have a conversation with her.

Rodeo knuckled me on the arm. “You have my full approval, dude. Not that you needed it, but you have it.”

“Yeah, I’ll rest a lot easier tonight knowing that.”

Kensington was reading something on her phone. “You said her name was Jami Holliday, right? In fact, looking at the pictures, I’m sure this is the right girl.” She tilted the phone to get a clearer view. “It says she was a child prodigy. She was already playing with professional symphonies at the age of eight.” Kensington looked up at me. “How cool is that? You’re living downstairs from a girl who people have nicknamed ‘the female Paganini of modern times’.”

I glanced across to where Jami was standing. Her warm, friendly smile had her surrounding fans just as entranced as when they were listening to her play. She seemed to be the one person not aware of just how extraordinary she was. She’d already lived a huge life, but none of it showed in her attitude or character.

Cole tapped my arm. “We’re going to head out so you can walk back home with her. I’m sure you don’t need all of us tagging along. You coming out tomorrow evening for practice? I bought some steaks to grill.”

“I’ll be there.”

The crowd around Jami had thinned to just two women. She was signing her autograph on their linen shopping bags. She handed the bags and pens back to the women, and they each posed with her for a picture. I walked over as Jami was taking the money out of the case. She held the violin protectively under her arm and smiled up at me as I neared.

“Hey, neighbor, how was the fair? I heard they had deep fried pickles. Always wanted to try one of those.” She stuck the last dollar bill in the pocket of her jeans and lowered the violin into the case as if she was tucking a baby into a cradle.

“
A little
?”

She glanced up at me in question.

“When I asked, you told me you played a little.”

“That’s because there’s always room for improvement.”

“Improvement? Really? You had every person out here hypnotized. Not sure what type of improvement you’re looking for.”

She straightened with the violin case in her hand. “So, are you going to buy me a pickle, or what?”

I reached and took hold of the violin. She released it reluctantly. We walked back toward the line of food trucks.

“Any other hidden surprises I can expect?” I asked.

“If I told you them, then they wouldn’t be surprises, would they?”

“Good point. How long have you been playing?”

“Started when I was five. Boring story.” She circled around in front of me and stopped. Her blue eyes sparkled under the midday sun. “Just to let you know, when I saw your face in the crowd just now, my heart did this little skippy thing.”

“A skippy thing, eh?”

“Yep. Skippy.” She hopped up on her toes and kissed me briefly before dropping back down to her heels. She took hold of my hand. “Might be because you’re kind of perfect. Wait.” She stopped. “A little test to see just how perfect.”

I raised a brow. “Right out here in the middle of public?”

“Ooh, your mind went right to dirty stuff.” She licked the tip of her finger and drew a line in the air. “Another point in your favor. And, yes, that part of the perfection test will come later. No pressure, of course.”

“Nope. No pressure at all.”

“The song I was playing when you walked up—it came from a movie.”

“Last of the Mohicans.”

“Good. You know it.” She squinted her eyes. “But it plays during the kiss scene, the best damn movie kiss scene ever filmed. Do you remember it?”

“Really? That’s your perfection test?”

We started walking again. “Already tried the real kiss.” She peered my direction. “That was a ten by the way, especially considering it was in the kitchen over a box of donuts and it still made my toes curl. So you’ve proved yourself in that area, and I know you ride motorcycles and you’re good with tools—still more testing to come in that area—but if you can remember the scene, then it will mean you’re a true romantic, and packages like you always seem to be lacking in that area.”

“Packages like me.” I laughed. “I think I’m a victim of reverse feminism if there is such a thing. Not that I mind that much. Package is better than some other names I’ve been called.”

The crowd was thinning out and several of the food trucks were folding up their awnings and shutting down their grills. Jami stopped. “Damn, the pickle cart is sold out. I’ll have to settle for some kettle corn.”

We bought a bag of popcorn. Jami opened it and took a quick peek over her shoulder. “Feeling kind of paranoid about those vigilante seagulls now. I’ll bet this is just their kind of snack.” She pushed a few pieces in her mouth and held the bag up for me.

A country band was playing on the portable stage they’d set up for the fair. We stood under the shade of an awning and listened, while we nibbled kettle corn. An elderly man was playing a fiddle, but the instrument sounded like a wailing, horny tom cat compared to Jami’s violin. I gripped the handle of the case tighter. “This violin—I’m assuming you didn’t just buy it at Music Mart at their half off holiday sale. It almost sounded as if it was—”

“Alive?” She peered up at me. “When I’m holding Stuart, we share a heart and a soul. He senses the music in me, and I can feel his pulse as I play. And you’re changing the subject, so I can only assume you don’t remember the kiss scene, which is disappointing.”

“Stuart? Your violin has a name?”

“I told you, we are connected by a heart and soul. I couldn’t very well call him violin. And
no
he did not come from the store. Stuart wasn’t manufactured. He was crafted.” There was just enough pout in her bottom lip to make me want to kiss her, and not the donut kiss but a real kiss.

I grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed it around in my hand. “Fort William Henry was under attack by the French and Hawk-eye and Cora meet amidst the smoke and blood and the sadness. He takes her hand and leads her behind a stack of barricades and they kiss. And I agree, it’s one of the best kiss scenes on film.” I popped the kettle corn into my mouth.

Jami wrapped her arm around mine. “It’s settled. I’m now a firm believer in birthday wishes.”

I laughed. “An abrupt change of subject, but you have my full attention.”

“I should preface this story with the ugly little reality that I had an unusual childhood, hence me giving a name and personification to the violin in that case. Stuart was one of my closest companions growing up. Just a side note to explain my weirdness. Anyhow, when I was twelve, my mom bought me a birthday cake. Yes bought. The woman couldn’t griddle a pancake to save her life. The cake was white with blue flowers and it had a big candle in the middle. I was twelve, and boys were slowly becoming front and center in my mind.” She patted the case in my hand. “It was a dark period for Stuart. Anyhow, I closed my eyes and wished for a guy who was all the Disney princes rolled up into one perfect boyfriend. Prince Ferdinand in Snow White for his magical kiss.” She winked up at me. “You’ve already scored on that one as previously noted. Prince Charming for his looks.” She waved a hand in front of me. “Enough said on that. By the way, I might add that he really wasn’t all that charming. That title really should have gone to Prince Eric of Little Mermaid fame. But Prince Eric has that great black hair. Like you. The Beast, otherwise known as Prince Adam . . .” She paused. “Well, what girl doesn’t want a bit of a beast now and then. Plus, when he morphed back into the prince, he was quite the hottie. Always wondered what would have happened if the spell had worn off and this little, toady looking guy with a hooked nose and crossed eyes had appeared.” She tapped her chin. “Who am I forgetting? Of course, duh. Only the bravest of all, Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty, another magical kisser, and he can really ride that horse. But in your case it’s a motorcycle. Which is just as cool as the horse riding thing. Or maybe even better. Well damn, I think I just came up with a new pitch for the next Disney film.”

I gazed down at her. It always took me a second to find my tongue when she was looking up at me with those round blue eyes. “You are such a curiosity, Jami. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Uh oh. Have I scared you off already?” She licked some of the sticky sweet from the popcorn off the tip of her finger, an innocent gesture that made me stop breathing for a second.

I shook my head. “The opposite, in fact. But before you get too sure of this wish thing or my perceived perfection, I should confess that I watched Last of the Mohicans for the action and to learn the story. We had to read the book in tenth grade and I decided watching the movie would be easier than reading the cliff notes. Guess that takes me down a few notches on the list. Just thought I should be honest.”

We reached the bike path that would take us back home. “Don’t sell yourself short, Denver. Besides, you had me at Paganini.” She stopped and swung around to face me. The ocean breeze pushed a long strand of her cocoa brown hair across her lips. I reached up and brushed it off her face. Her expression looked slightly sad for the first time, still daylight but with a pale shadow. “I left home to free myself from my own homegrown version of Maleficent, my mom, and her just as evil sidekick, my stepfather. I hadn’t expected to meet someone like you, Denver. Thanks for being downstairs. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed a friend”—She smiled weakly at the violin case in my hand—“at least one who can kiss and laugh and share popcorn with me, until I met you.”

She spun back around, and we kept walking.

“You know something, Holliday? I think you were just what I needed too.”