Page 1 of Best Friend Burden

CHAPTER1

***MELODY***

Back when I left Texas, I told everybody that I was heading out to California to make my dreams come true. What I didn't anticipate is the first thing I would be doing is falling tits first into my high school crush.

I was early for a meeting and wandered into a small food court in a nearby park where I could scope out the competition. Almost immediately, I learned there was nothing to be concerned about. Gluten-free was in abundance, as were organic choices, but most menus had only one or two “plant-based” items, if they had any at all. And the ones that were there were pretty pathetic. In other words, my truck, The Vegan Vaquero, would be in a class of its own. Once I got the funding to bring it out here to Los Angeles, anyway, which was the point of the meeting.

I ended up getting an order of fries from a burger place called “Between Your Buns” — these food trucks loved the slightly risqué names, which treaded out from the realm of innuendo into flat out overtly sexual, which — I won’t lie — is very funny. The fries were over-salted and undercooked potato sticks that barely qualified as food. Drowning them in ketchup added some flavor, but made them even soggier to the point of being inedible.

As I went to throw the rest away, I got distracted by the strumming of an acoustic guitar and turned towards the man who was playing it.

This guy was an artistic type, the kind that I melt for and always had, ever since high school, with that light facial hair on his chin and the deeply serious look on his face. The sleeve of his t-shirt stretched tightly around the bicep of his strumming arm, which was covered in a collage of tattoos featuring musical notes and band insignia, including the silhouette of The Beatles' Abbey Road cover.

And he was playing beautifully.

The tune sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it until the performer started singing in his quiet, understated indie-rock voice that I had to focus on to hear. But when I did, it was very sexy. To be honest, it sent a chill down my spine and some heat between my legs.

He was singing an Adele song, one that I'd only heard on the piano, but he was making it work as a guitar piece, fingerpicking the notes with precision and delicacy. I stood in silence, listening to him, perhaps the only one in the area making a point to do so. Back in Austin, we respect our live music — here on the West Coast, people had their earbuds in and were ignoring him.

When he finished with his song, I applauded and he smiled at me, flashing perfect teeth and forcing my heart to skip a beat.

Good grief, I thought.You're not going to get very far in life if you're still letting a good smile have that kind of effect on you.

In my defense, this wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill “good smile.” This was like a nuclear strength good smile, so intense that it could drop all panties in a four block radius.

Or maybe it had just been a little while since I’d gotten laid.

Either way, I was stronger than this, and I forced myself to regain whatever composure I could.

“Thank you,” he said.

I looked for his guitar case, to toss in a few dollars, but it was closed and off to the side. “Do you accept tips?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, I'm not performing. Just taking a break from the studio. You get trapped up in there all day playing the same riffs over and over again, so it's nice to get out here and have an audience. Even if they're not paying attention.”

“Pearls before swine,” I said and laughed to myself. He was smiling knowingly and looking at me with those intense eyes. God, those eyes. If I had any less self-control, I would have jumped right on top of him right then and there and let him strum all my guitar strings.

Like the song, there was something familiar about those eyes, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

So when he said, “You don't recognize me, do you?” I was taken aback and immediately felt nervous. How could I have forgotten this hottie?

“Here, I'll give you a hint.”

He played a little rock riff on his guitar, and it instantly came back to me. I hadn't heard the song in over a decade, but it was practically burned to the inside of my skull. An earworm I’d never get rid of and never wanted to, either. Just hearing it sent me right back to high school.

And I knew exactly who he was.

“Kiefer Ekland and the Lost Signals.”

He was a bit of a minor celebrity at our high school back in Texas, leading a band that would play concerts of cover tunes and a few originals. The riff he just played was from one of the originals, a little tune called “Stabbed in the Heart,” which my teenage brain fell in love with, with its dark, melancholy lyrics, but I'm sure I'd probably think it was silly now.

It was a good hook, though.

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“Y’all still together?”

He shook his head. “We broke up right after high school.” Then he smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone say ‘y’all.’ I’m not careful around you, I’m liable to get my accent back.”

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