Side Trip(43)

A waitress brought her a beer. “From Rex,” she said, moving on to the next table. Joy glanced over her shoulder and lifted the glass in gratitude. Rex nudged his chin in greeting and winked.

Dylan finished the song and launched into another, Darius Rucker’s “Alright.” Slowly, as he played on, his focus widened from solely her to include the audience. He kept his selections loud and upbeat, and with each new tune he grew more comfortable in the spotlight. It didn’t hurt that the audience was really into his music. They clapped and sang along. When he finished two hours later, he bowed dramatically with a big shit-eating grin, and the audience gave him a standing O. Joy swore she clapped the loudest.

Dylan bounded off the stage and left through the postered door. Lola elbowed her. “Go get your man.”

Joy didn’t correct her about Dylan. He wasn’t her man. But she didn’t object to her suggestion. She hugged Lola, said goodbye to Al, waved to Rex, and ran after Dylan. She found him in the rear parking lot, guzzling a water and cooling off.

He swung around when the heavy metal door slammed behind her. They stood ten feet apart, stupidly grinning. Energy buzzed off him. He was amped. So was she, plugged in like an electric acoustic guitar. She bounced on her toes, then went for it. She flew into his arms like she’d done after jumping off the bridge.

“Oh my God!” Dylan shouted to the starry-night sky, laughing. He arched back, lifting her off the ground, then set her back down. “I needed that after today,” he said, giving her a body-crushing squeeze. His hands glided into her hair and he planted a noisy kiss on her forehead, making Joy giggle. Dylan chuckled and stepped back. He finished off his water.

“You played so well tonight. Like seriously, off the charts,” Joy exclaimed, her heart pumping in her throat.

“Thanks.” He shyly smiled and touched her shoulder. “What you did in there . . . earlier . . .” His voice tapered off and his throat rippled.

“Don’t mention it.” Joy waved aside his remark to put him at ease. She could tell he was sensitive about his anxiety.

He nodded. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled.

He gestured in the direction of her hip. “Can I make a call?”

“Uh . . . sure.” She gave him her phone.

He punched in a number. “It’s done,” he said when the person on the other end answered. Exactly what he’d said to whomever he called from the lobby phone at Hotel Albuquerque immediately after his street performance. Who was on the other end of the line?

Dylan finished the call and gave back her phone.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

“Yes.” It was late. She’d also had three beers in two hours and had a nice buzz going along with the rush that hadn’t come solely from Dylan’s music but from his embrace. She could still feel his hands in her hair and his humid body pressed against hers. She could still smell his Juicy Fruit breath from when he’d shouted his relief to the heavens while lifting her off her feet.

Joy fidgeted with her engagement ring, twisting the band so the square-cut diamond displayed. A two-carat reminder to keep their friendship on the level.

“Let me get my gear.” He gently touched her shoulder again, then went to collect his cut from the cover charge. Joy tagged along, and Dylan just smiled over his shoulder when he looked behind him and noticed she was there. He gave his regards to the manager, then after a quick stop at McDonald’s to feed Dylan’s reappearing appetite, they walked back to the motel, where they’d been assigned side-by-side rooms on the ground floor.

“Why’d you come tonight?” Dylan asked from his door as Joy opened hers.

“I didn’t want to spend the evening alone in an old motel room. I also wanted to hear you play.”

He slowly nodded as if contemplating her words. She wondered how he’d interpret them. Did she want to hear him play or had she wanted to see him? Both, if she was being honest.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “I should have invited you.”

He should have, but given his stage fright, she understood why he hadn’t.

She offered him a little smile. “Next time.”

“Next time,” he concurred. “Good night, Joy.”

“Good—Oh! Wait, I’ve got something for you.” She went into her room and grabbed the item she’d purchased at the motel’s reception office. She was going to give it to him tomorrow, but tonight seemed appropriate. “For you,” she said, presenting the candy to him.

Dylan took her offering with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “You got me more Twizzlers?” he murmured.

He’d had a bad day. “Hopefully they cheer you up.”

“I’m sorry about today,” he said.

“Tomorrow will be better. Good night, Dylan.”

“Night, Joy. Sleep well.”

Joy closed and bolted her door. She leaned back against the cool metal, closed her eyes, and exhaled loudly. She was a sucker for musicians, but it was his reaction to the Twizzlers that got to her. Pure pleasure, like a kid on Christmas morning. Thank goodness he hadn’t kissed her good night like he’d done before. It would have been too easy to invite him inside.

A dull thud from his room pulled her attention to the adjoining door. She could open that door and Mark would never know.