Page 10 of Spring Break with a Bass Player
SAIGE
The breeze is welcome as I drive the rest of the way home, the windows down and my hair flying around my face. It’s the one thing that never fails to calm me.
Good day, bad day—doesn’t matter—this is always the reset I need.
I like my life here and the success I’ve built through Love Beach Realty.
I sold a house today! How freaking cool is that?
Pulling into my driveway, I’m hit with a wave of sadness at going home to a quiet house. The time that Wells and Haven lived here had been some of the best of my life. I liked their chaos and spending lazy, unrushed time with them—not just the quick visits for holidays and birthdays that we’d had before.
They made this place feel like a home, but so much of that had dissipated since they’d moved out.
I’m lost in thought when something moves in my periphery. I don’t even have to look to know it’s Bridger. He’s everywhere and apparently hell-bent on making me crazy.
Grabbing my things from the passenger seat, I push open the door and step out of my car.
“Do you need something? Or are you just awkwardly watching me now?”
“Oh, um…” He blushes, shoving one hand into the front pocket of his jeans while the other rubs the back of his neck. He’s distracted, and I take a minute to appreciate the way his tight black T-shirt stretches across his chest, his arms tanned and toned with a couple of days’ stubble on his jaw.
His blond hair is messy, and even though they won’t meet mine, I know his eyes are the most amazing blend of gray and blue. Bridger Cole is stunning, all lean muscle with a sexy voice that he doesn’t use nearly enough playing the bass for TCA.
“I wanted to apologize for the other day.”
“Why?” I ask even though seeing that girl draped over him had spiked my blood pressure to an unhealthy level.
“It wasn’t anything. That girl…she talked to us after one of the shows and then started hanging around. Usually with Declan,” he says, mentioning his lead singer, and I can tell he’s being honest like he’s a little pained at having to explain himself to me. But that’s the problem— hedoesn’thave to explain anything.
They’re famous.
They have fans.
Pretty ones who use nicknames and wrap themselves around the band members in public.
Not helpful.
“Bridger, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“Is it weird I’m upset you didn’t call me Band Camp?”
“Probably,” I admit.
“I just want you to know that she’s not someone I’m involved with.”
“It’s fine if you are.”
“Are you sure? Because you looked kinda pissed…” he hedges, his lips curving up on one side.
But I don’t want to talk about this because a part of mewasjealous. And that was a mistake. I don’t want to be swept up into this world again.
“I sold a house today,” I say instead, surprising us both if the way his eyebrows are in his hairline is any indication.
“Yeah, that’s really cool. Impressive,” he says, and I shouldn’t like the way he’s looking at me, my body heating at his interest. “Can I?—”
“Hey! Oh shitballs…” Corbin says, his steps faltering when he sees me. “Didn’t know you were busy, man. I’ll?—”
“No worries. I was just going inside.” I nod toward the house as Bridger’s eyelids flutter shut and his mouth presses into a hard line.
