Under the Table(36)

She wished he wouldn’t do that. Look at her that way, with the big wide eyes and disarming smile. Say things that were borderline what a lover would say, even though she knew he always spoke from the heart. Zoey concentrated on her pizza.

“Is it corny to say that’s music to my ears?” she said.

“Maybe, but I don’t think there’s enough corny nowadays. It’s a welcome reprieve from sarcastic.”

They played until almost three in the morning before Tristan said, “I hope you don’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Luckily, I’m off till the weekend.” For the first time since she started being her own boss, she wasn’t completely overexcited with taking another step in her adventure. In the moment, with an old worn-out PlayStation, a pizza, and Tristan was where she wanted to be. It was a strange reversal; instead of getting him out in the world, staying cloistered in his little part of it was infinitely better.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have to start heading home.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” he offered. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Hospitality was what he was raised on. There was nothing untoward in his invitation. Spontaneous sleepovers were for the friends who didn’t mind it when they saw you with bedhead or sheet lines on your face or film on your teeth. Or who were going to see you naked, possibly misplace your panties.

“I appreciate the invite, but I have stuff to do first thing in the morning.”

The words were barely out of her mouth and he was pulling the phone out of its cradle to call his car service. Maybe he had second thoughts about the spontaneous invitation idea as well.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go without making sure you get home safely,” he said while dialing.

“Tomorrow I wouldn’t mind picking up where we left off.” she hedged, wanting to gauge his reaction.

He looked up from the phone and smiled. “It’s a date.”

Zoey came home to an empty apartment and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, too tired to worry about Ruth’s whereabouts. She woke up briefly when Ruth got home to change for work. Ruth quietly went through her get-ready routine, their conversation little more than “good morning” and “have a good day,” and Zoey fell back to sleep with the sound of the front door closing. The next time she opened her eyes, it was nearly noon and Tristan had texted he’d be home after two.

When she got to his place, added to the guitar was an additional guitar, an entire video game console drum kit, and a microphone complete with stand.

And he was wearing his leather pants. Those hot, delicious leather pants. A black ribbed tank top showed off his golfer’s tan, cutting the color off midsinew on his biceps.

“What’s all this?” Zoey asked, averting her eyes from him to keep from drooling.

“After you told me that Guitar Hero had lots of other versions, I went to check some of them out. That’s when I learned there’s a game called Rock Band. I couldn’t resist getting the entire setup. Now we can play together.”

There was no way for her to tell him that watching him had become her favorite game. She loved to watch the way his face scrunched up in concentration and how he unconsciously bit into his lower lip when he had to speed up his movements to keep from missing notes or a long drawn-out chord. Add all the leather and muscle, and it was a no-brainer.

“Tristan Malloy, I think you’re obsessed.” An easy statement for her to make, since it was how she felt as well. Only her obsession had nothing to do with music or silly video games.

“I’m not going to deny it. Did you know in the most recent versions, the crowd isn’t quite so rude? The guys in the band still get pretty pissed though.”

“What a bunch of divas.”

“Do you want to play?” he asked, slinging the guitar strap over his shoulder.

The only playing she wanted to do with him had nothing to do with instruments. If she didn’t know him better, she would swear he had begun to tease her.

“Sure.” Zoey sat down at the drums and picked up the sticks. Not only did she want to spare him her singing, but she also thought it would be the easiest instrument to keep up with. It would also ensure that he was standing in front of her, so she could watch the leather pants in action. She tried to twirl one of the sticks between her fingers like a pro and promptly dropped it.

Tristan was a quick learner. Most of the booing was directed at Zoey’s drumming skills. She missed most of her cues after any drum break she had because she was too busy watching him. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty. They switched the instruments up here and there, with them both on guitars next to each other being Zoey’s favorite.

When he moved over to the microphone and picked “Learn to Fly” from the Foo Fighters, Zoey was mesmerized. Not only did he have a lovely baritone, something he now felt comfortable enough to share, but he also felt free to add some of the dance moves she still had trouble erasing from her memory. Her opinion hadn’t changed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen hips that swiveled like that. Tristan seemed to get off on the crowd cheering, going so far as to point at the TV screen as if they could see him. He knew the chorus without needing the words that scrolled across the screen and belted them out with his eyes closed. It was nothing short of adorable, and when he was done with the song Zoey realized she hadn’t played a single note. Thankfully, Tristan had been so into his performance, he hadn’t noticed her watching him.