Starting From the Top (Starting from 5)

I had a passing thought that this might be another opportunity to mention that I’d slept with his ex, but—nah, I didn’t want an audience. And yes, I’d squandered a few ideal chances already. I could have pulled him aside when Dec and he had stopped by Justin and Gray’s for dinner last night. I didn’t. I’d had an even better opening this morning when we were alone in the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee. I blamed a lack of caffeine on my reticence, but I’d clammed up a couple of times since then and now…I just didn’t want to.

Maybe it wasn’t necessary. I mean, it might not happen again anyway. Why go there?

“I guess he wants to learn from a master,” I bragged.

Tegan snorted at my over-the-top brag. “Where are you gonna find one?”

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

“I’m kidding.” He clapped my shoulder with a little more force than necessary and snickered at my dirty look. “Why are you having a lesson here?”

I smacked his hand away and shrugged. “Neutral territory. They’re finishing up painting my house this week and it’s his week with his mom, so Sean’s house is out. I don’t get their dynamic, but I get the impression that they stick to the custody rules. Since we agreed to quit early today, I figured the studio worked. You don’t care, do you?”

Tegan furrowed his brow. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“Just asking.”

“Hmm. I care more about agreeing to promote bubbly water I don’t drink,” he huffed, crossing his formidable arms.

“Charlie knows what he’s doing, T. Chill.”

“I know, I know. I trust him. In a weird way, I’m afraid of success. Do you ever feel that way?” he asked, holding out his hand for a high five when Bobby J burst into the room yelling something about a “water tasting.”

“All the fucking time,” I murmured. “I keep telling myself it’s Justin they want. And Ky. I’m not star material.”

“Says the guy who’s going to be on the fucking Pride bottle. What does that flavor taste like?” Tegan gestured toward the crate.

I yelled for Bobby J to grab a Pride bottle. “We’ll soon see.”

“Hmm. It’s not just the water, you know. You’re going to be under the spotlight with that photo shoot.”

“We all are,” I said.

“Yeah, but you’ll get marquee billing when fans get a whiff of you and the naughty publisher.”

“Clay? We’re not a thing, T.”

“But they’ll let the public think you are. Hey, I remember him from that beach party. He’s kinda hot,” T commented casually. “Could do worse.”

“Nothing is going to happen between us,” I assured him, thanking Bobby J when he joined us a moment later and passed us each a water bottle.

“Why not? You’re single. Have fun,” Bobby J advised, raising his water in a mock toast. “Bottoms up.”

The three of us uncapped our bottles and took a healthy drink. Bobby J was our resident class clown at Scratch Records, so I expected him to make a joke about the bubbles, the taste, or that it reminded him of something disgusting before going into detail about it. Instead, he widened his eyes, clutched his throat, and crumbled to the floor, sending bubbly water flying. I jumped back but didn’t avoid getting my boots sprayed.

Charlie’s scream broke through the hoots of laughter and good-natured grumbling. “My loafers! Bobby J, I swear I’m gonna—”

“Whoa, partner, settle down, Char.” Bobby J shot to his feet and chose another water from the crate. “Maybe that one didn’t tickle my fancy. Let’s try—oh, hey! Kid, come here. We need an impartial opinion.”

We all turned in unison. Poor Parker stood in the doorway behind our receptionist, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Hi, guys. Parker is here for Johnny and a guitar lesson. I thought I’d give him a proper introduction. Bad time?” Bianca was a hip brunette in her late twenties with a perky personality and a good sense of humor. She wore oversized earrings, tight jeans, and concert tees on the regular. Today’s featured Billy Idol, circa 1983. We’d had a lively discussion about it earlier when she’d told me she had no idea who he was…she just liked his hair. Oy.

I stepped around Tegan and offered Parker a high five. “Hey, there. Come on in and meet everyone.”

Bianca gave him an encouraging smile and a small nudge. “Go on. They won’t bite. And if they do, Charlie will kick butt.”

Charlie popped forward and held his right hand out. “That’s me. Pleased to meet you.”

“P-p-p…you too,” Parker stammered, shaking Char’s hand before gripping the guitar strap with white knuckles.

Charlie smiled kindly. “We were just testing a few flavored waters. No one here seems to take this endeavor seriously. If you have a moment, try a couple and let me know your thoughts. Or tell Johnny, and he can spread the word.”

Parker nodded politely, but he didn’t speak. His wide eyes roamed the room with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety. I wondered what he was thinking. Most thirteen-year-olds would have given up a month’s worth of allowance to meet a relatively popular band in their studio. He was hard to gauge, though. I had a feeling his main focus was getting through the next hour without passing out. Understandable. We were all twice his age, heavily tattooed, and extremely irreverent. Nothing like his dad.