Irish Spring soap and slurped his coffee each morning.
And that didn’t sit so well with her.
Not the slurping coffee...but the love thing. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to keep emotion away from the mutually beneficial relationship, but she felt herself sliding into love...and that scared her. Because he’d said he didn’t want anything serious either.
She didn’t think she’d be able to stay friends after they ended things. It already hurt to think about.
“Okay, that’s a wrap,” Dez said, standing and flexing his shoulders in a long stretch drawing her attention away from heavy thoughts, and to his awesome physique. When would she stop noticing how sexy Dez was?
Probably never.
“So you wanna go Sunday afternoon?” the bass player asked, unplugging his instrument. “We probably need a few more practice sessions before the big opening.”
Reggie folded his arms. “Tom Windmere wants to sit in on the next session. Wants to hear y’all because he’s interested.”
Dez narrowed his eyes. “Why is Tom interested?”
“I saw him a few days ago, and he said he watched you guys play at the Priest and Pug, and is thinking about adding to his client list. Just wants to—”
“I don’t need Tom nosing around and disrupting things, Reggie.” Dez closed the lid over the keyboard a little too strongly. The other musicians paused and watched the exchange.
“He’s not going to disrupt. Just asked to sit in. No big deal.”
Dez shook his head. “I’m not cool with that, but I’m not going to deny anyone here the shot.”
Eleanor saw Tre lick his lips nervously, dark eyes unreadable. “You mean Tom Windmere?” he asked. “The dude who manages Ridiculous D and Trombone Sonny?”
Reggie nodded. “Yeah.”
Dez eyed his business partner, dawning rising in his eyes. Eleanor realized this wasn’t about Dez. It was about Tre.
“Fine.” Dez nodded, busying himself with flipping switches on the stacks of amplifiers that perched like huge guardians on either side of the stage. “Tell him to come...tomorrow morning.”
Reggie nodded, shooting Tre a glance, and the boisterous energy that had first greeted Eleanor when she’d walked in vanished like a fart in a wind. Tension seemed knotted between Dez’s broad shoulders, and though she didn’t know anything about Tom, she at the least understood bad blood remained between Dez and his old manager.
Fifteen minutes later, she and Dez were alone. He handed her a cold beer and sank back onto the piano bench with a sigh. He studied the shiny lacquer, tracing one lone finger along the edges of the closed keyboard.
She moved toward him, resting her hip against the curve of the piano. “You okay?”
“Sure,” he said, not bothering to look at her.
It was a sign he was not okay, but she wasn’t going to push him. Like every man she’d ever known, Dez would talk about what was bothering him when he was ready and not before.
“You want to do something tonight? We’ve been low-key, and that’s been good, but it might be nice to go to dinner.”
“Thought that’s how you wanted it. Casual,” he said.
“Yeah, but we can be seen together.” She stroked the back of his hand, not liking the distance suddenly between them.
He glanced up, his gray eyes raw. “Can we?”
“You think I don’t want to be seen with you?”
He shrugged. “When I suggested going for pizza last night, you said you weren’t hungry.”
“I wasn’t. For pizza. I wanted you.”
Dez shook his head. “Sorry. I’m in a crappy mood. Probably should go home, have a beer and watch the Celtics.”
“Alone?”
“I don’t know. Reggie sprang that whole Tom thing on me and everything in my past slammed me.”
Eleanor remained quiet, studying him. “What did Tom do to you?”
“Nothing. That’s the thing. My whole career has amounted to nothing. Once I was Tre, you know? Young, raw and talented. Tom jumped on me like a hen jumps on seed, and he convinced me I would go somewhere in this world.”
“But—”
“But Katrina washed it all away, and after that, Tom didn’t seem to bother. All the publicity mired down and Drew was on tour getting lots of attention for his first album. We split ways and I gave up music.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I gave it up. I evacuated to Houston and took a job in a bar. I gave up on my dreams. Couldn’t write music anymore—it was as if the floodwaters drowned my muse. So I decided to be a regular guy. Met a girl, bought a house and managed her father’s three restaurants.”