Page 16 of Trashy Foreplay

“Yeah.” Looking back, I can see it clearly now. We’d been heading for an epic breakup for a while. A permanent one.

I just hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to myself.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’ll get past this, Jules. Just give it some time.” Lesley moves to open the driver’s side door, and I take her cue and do the same.

Seattle is cooler than Oklahoma. And wet. Rain beats down on us as she pulls my suitcase from the trunk of her cherry red Bug. I inhale the chilly breeze, closing my eyes to the rugged smell of trees and rain and earth. It makes me think of my sexy stranger and how he likes the outdoors. I wonder if he hikes in the rain.

“You would have to pick now to run away from home. Last week, the weather was killer.”

“I don’t mind the rain.”

“Then you’ll fit right in.” She heads up the walkway to a home that looks big enough to house four members of an up-and-coming band, though the paint is faded and peeling in spots. We reach the porch, and Lesley pushes the door open. I take the handle of my suitcase from her after we enter the foyer.

Though the outside of the house is on the rundown side, the interior is tidy. A group of guys are lounging in the living room, taking up the worn sofas and comfy chairs as they fiddle with their instruments. I can imagine Les up on a stage with them, pounding on a set of drums.

“Guys, this is Jules. Be nice or else.”

I’d recognize Lesley’s brother even if we hadn’t already met before he moved to Seattle. The resemblance between them is hard to miss; he’s got the same inky black hair as Les. A few locks drape over his brown eyes as he plucks the strings of a bass guitar. He gives me a nod in greeting. “Nice to see you again, Jules.”

Before I can respond, another guy waves at me from a beanbag chair. He looks way too comfortable sitting there, one hand circling an open beer bottle. “What agorgeousname you have.” His dark eyes are busy wandering over my body.

“Garen,” Lesley warns, “her eyes aren’t on her chest.”

Garen flashes her a cheeky grin. “Good thing I wasn’t looking at her eyes, Les.” He raises his gaze and his smile widens. “Not to say I don’t like ‘em because they’re as gorgeous as your name.”

Biting back a laugh, I roll my eyes.

“Chill out, man,” the third guy in the group says from the back of the room. I’m struck by how his dark blond hair sticks up in every direction. He comes across as wild and sexy, yet the way he’s strumming a shiny black guitar tells me he isn’t into bullshit. Maybe it’s the severe line of his mouth, or the slow motion of his fingers over the guitar strings.

His eyes are startling and bluer than the sky, and they’re latched on to Lesley. It’s an intense stare, one full of chemistry. “I’m Zander,” he says, swerving his gaze to me for a few seconds. “But you can call me Zan. Everyone else does.”

“It’s nice to meet you guys. I appreciate you letting me stay here.”

“We don’t turn away friends,” Garen says. “Especially cute blond chicks.”

“Oh my God, Garen. Put some duct tape over it already.” Lesley picks up a throw pillow and launches it at his head. He ducks, then flips her the bird with that obnoxious grin of his. Obnoxiously endearing.

“Jules is beat, so we’re gonna crash,” she says, grabbing my arm and ushering me toward a long, dark hallway. “See you bozos tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Yep,” Zan says, his attention lowering to his guitar again.

As she leads me down the hall, my suitcase rolling on the rustic hardwood floor behind me, the shadows seem to reach for us from every direction. A shiver rushes through my veins. I despise the dark, especially when I’m exhausted.

Halting at the end, she pushes open a door and flips on a light. “This is it,” she says. “The bathroom is right across from us.” She points to a closed door on the other side of the hall, then gestures toward where we just came from. “Zan is in the next room over. My brother and Garen share the attic upstairs.”

“Where do you guys practice?”

“In the garage. It’s a kickass setup. We were lucky to find this place.”

“It’s great, Les.” And I mean it. Despite the nervous flutters in my gut—a side effect of uprooting my life so suddenly—I’m excited to call this house home…for now, anyway.

Until I can find a job. Then I’ll have a leg to stand on when I go apartment hunting. Money isn’t a problem for a few weeks, thanks to the inheritance my granny left me last year when she passed. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to finance a nervous breakdown that transplanted me halfway across the country.

Lesley closes the door, shutting us off from the strains of music interspersed with the kind of trash-talk guys do.

“They seem cool,” I say, setting my suitcase against the wall.

“They’re pretty awesome.” She shoots me a smirk. “But watch out for Garen. The dude can sing a woman right out of her panties.”

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