Page 21 of Dead Rockstar

“I don't have any callouses built up,” I said stupidly, trying to maintain a sense of calm. He was so close to me. His big arms were tight around me, his fingers entwined with my own. He smelled so good that it made me dizzy. I wasn't going to be able to learn a damn thing with such a distraction, unraveling my every thread of composure.

“You don't need those yet,” he said, his voice low. “And anyway, the slide is really all about the amp. It won't sound like much just sitting around playing unplugged, but if you've got a decent pedal it'll sound fuzzy and distorted without having to use much pressure.” He took my left hand in his and placed it on the strings. “Just start down here,” he said, clasping my fingers. “Play whatever notes you're playing, then when you're ready for the slide just kind of lightly wrap your fingers around the neck and slide up. See?” His hands guided my own into the movement, and the strings gave a slight creak under my fingers.

I felt the blood rush to my face, and I blurted, “This is pornographic!”

“There's a reason people equate guitars with sex,” he said with a hoarse, sexy laugh. His lips were so close that they brushed against my ear and my body erupted in gooseflesh. “Just roll with it. The sexier you make it, the better it sounds.” His breath caressed the sensitive skin behind my ear, fluttering my hair, and I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. He had to know what he was doing to me. He had to feel it. “Don't be afraid to really grasp the thing; you'll look cool as fuck and it'll sound good, too.” His fingers, still entwined with my own, guided my hand, wrapping around the base of the neck and sliding upppp – my body twanged right along with the strings.

I leaned into him, feeling his strong thighs pressed against me, relishing the way his big arms held mine down, and practiced it again, moving my fingers up the fretboard slowly and deliberately, hoping that it was half as sexy as when he did it. I felt his breath catch behind me, so I smiled and did it again, faster this time, and one of his hands strayed from the bass and down to my hip.

Oh shit, I'm in trouble.

His lips trailed against my ear, just the slightest movement. I couldn't tell if he was opening his mouth to speak or if it was the world's lightest kiss.

Phillip made a low noise in his throat and I moved to turn and face him, not able to wait any longer, needing to feel his lips on me – and my phone vibrated in my pocket. We both jumped. I flailed, turning around, eyes wide, and came dangerously close to hitting Phillip in the face with the bass.

“Whoa!” He backed up and almost fell over the couch. “Watch what you do with that thing!”

“Shit, sorry.” My face was forty shades of red. I scrambled to remove the strap from my shoulders and propped the heavy bass in the corner, dying of embarrassment. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and peered at it a few beats longer than I had to because I was afraid to look at Phillip. She'd just had to text right then. Damn.

“It's Sloan,” I said, tapping out a response. “She's getting impatient. I guess we'd better go. That is, if you still want to come?” I tore my eyes upward, and was met with a sweet, bemused smile.

“Of course,” he said. “I used to work on cars, in my other life. The one before the one before this one.” He laughed. “If you want, I'll take a look. Might could fix it.” I realized that his own face was turning a little red and my heart flooded with tenderness. Even dead rock stars got embarrassed, it seemed.

“It's just her battery,” I said. I almost started to say, “I knew you were a mechanic, I read all about it,” but he'd probably get tired of hearing that really fast. And it made me sound like a freak. “It’s died a couple of times recently. She just needs to buy a new one. She thinks she can just jump it off until the end of time.”

“Something's draining it,” he said. “What year's her car? If it's really new I might not know, since I haven't been around -” He looked like he'd never get used to saying that - “But if it's an older model I can check it out.”

“She drives a '92 mustang,” I said.

“Ha, that's funny,” he said. “I had one of those. In fact, it was my last car.”

I knew that, too, but said nothing.

“And hey,” he said, following me out the door. “You're a natural on that bass.” I felt a prickle of goosebumps start at my neck, where the ghost of his lips had been, all the way down my back.

I pulled up at the Curling Dervish with Phillip sitting shotgun in my Blazer, wondering if he'd say anything about it. Neither Sloan nor I had nice cars, but hers was definitely nicer than mine, which had actually been Tess' old truck when we'd first gotten married. He'd only left it behind because it was a piece of junk – forget him trying to be nice. Phillip said nothing on the drive over; he appeared lost in thought. I hoped he wasn't thinking about our thwarted practice session and how I'd almost beaned him with the bass. I wondered how he planned to get up north. In fact, I wondered how he'd gotten to my house in the first place. He said he'd taken the bus. How had he not been recognized? And how had he gotten there so fast? I had so many questions.

Sloan was standing outside, the hood of her red mustang up, cussing up a storm. “Hey,” she said as she heard me approach, not looking up. “I've been messing with the connections on this thing.”

“Sloan, come here for a second,” I said to her as Phillip exited the car. “I want you to meet someone.”

She looked up with sudden delight, put out her cigarette and sauntered over. The hood had been blocking him, but once her eyes lit on Phillip she stopped and froze, her eyes going wide. “What the...fuck?”

Phillip stuck out a hand. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

I had to laugh, but it was mainly from nerves. “Sloan, this is-”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she said, still standing there, Phillip's hand extended unshaken. It occurred to me just how big his hands were, how long his arms were. He really was a huge guy. “You are shitting me.”

“Sloan-”

“I knew you were a psycho fangirl, but only you could go out and find a guy that looks like an exact replica of Phillip fucking Deville. What, did you find some cover band or something? Holy shit dude, you look exactly like him! Down to the last detail. Not quite as hot as he was, but you know, close enough. Damn.” She shook her head with a laugh, and finally shook his hand. “Stormy, you're a fucking mess, I swear.”

“Sloan-”

“So this is what all that resurrection shit was about. The spell or whatever. This was the punchline.”

I shook my head, but she kept on talking. Phillip stared at her, his lips curling into a very sexy smile. “What's your name? And where did you guys meet?” She looked back and forth from him to me expectantly, waiting for me to give her the 411.

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