“Well, I must say, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time,” the woman gushed, extending a manicured hand like royalty. “I’m Fiona. Ann’s business partner. We’ve talked a few times on the phone about your remodel. I was the one who sent you to my ex’s house for the color wheel a couple of months ago. I never imagined that little request would have turned into guitar lessons with a famous rock band for Parker.”
“Famous might be a stretch, but yeah…it’s worked out so far. Parker is coming along nicely.”
I shook her hand politely and stepped backward to give her space to give me a more thorough once-over. That was okay. I did the same.
The former Mrs. Gruen was tall, slender, and statuesque in an elegant pantsuit with high heels. Her long, light-colored hair twirled in perfect waves over her shoulders, framing her striking face. She had full pouty lips, wickedly high cheekbones, and a thin nose. Exaggerated, surgically enhanced features were all the rage in LA. And though it worked for Fiona, I couldn’t help wondering what she’d actually looked like when Sean married her. Either way, she was beautiful. I wanted to hate her, but her unchecked pride in her son made that impossible.
“He played for me earlier, and I was pretty darn impressed,” she enthused.
“What’d you play?” I asked with a wry grin.
Parker pursed his lips. “ ‘Love Me Do.’ ”
I gave him a high five and chuckled. That old song was kind of an inside running joke between us. I’d told him early on that mastering one easy song gave a musician a boost of confidence and at least one thing to show off for friends and family. He’d definitely taken my advice to heart.
“Excellent. Get your guitar out and tune her up,” I instructed, pointing toward the sofa on the opposite end of the studio before addressing his mother. “Did you want to wait in the lobby or…”
“Oh, no. I’m needed at the office. The kids’ nanny will come by to pick him up and—”
“I can take him home,” I offered.
Fiona considered me for a moment, no doubt weighing the wisdom of entrusting her spawn to a tattooed punk wearing guyliner.
“That’s so nice of you. I live in Hancock Park. Not too far from here.” She rattled off her address and repeated it along with her number when I took my cell from my pocket. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Love you, Parker. See you tonight.” She squeezed him in a short embrace and waited until he was out of earshot to speak again. “I want to thank you, Johnny. You’ve brightened his world more than you realize.”
“Um, thanks. It’s mutual. He’s a cool kid. So is Penny.”
“I’m biased, but I agree.” Fiona grinned, darting her gaze toward my bandmates huddled around a computer nearby before meeting my eyes. “I have to admit, I didn’t love the idea at first, but Parker has really been struggling at school with friendships. Along the lines of old friends who used to be close and no longer give him the time of day. As shallow as this may sound, hanging out with a cool rock star is good for his self-confidence. I hope you don’t mind if I ask a couple of mom questions I’m sure his dad neglected.”
I bristled on Sean’s behalf but inclined my head. “Go for it.”
“Everyone hears crazy stories about partying like a rock star…sex, drugs, and more sex and more drugs. Since this has turned into more than one or two lessons, I need to know that Parker isn’t exposed to anything unseemly.”
Cue the massive laugh attack from the peanut gallery at the computer. Ky hooted and locked his arms around Charlie, kissing him soundly.
Unseemly? Nah.
I shook my head. “We’re relatively well behaved here. Those two are a couple and—”
“And you and Clay,” Justin intercepted, pointing at the screen with a shit-eating grin.
The crowd gathered around the table parted like the Red Sea to give me a better view of the photo montage. The one front and center was of two men entwined. There were no faces visible—just arms. And the tattoos on each identified me and…oh, geez—Clay. Charlie furrowed his brow in confusion as he pointed at the lion’s crest on Clay’s bicep, then at the skull-and-bone and angel wings on mine as if putting together a puzzle.
Clay had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable, but not enough to change the photo quickly.
He fixed me with a lazy lopsided smile and blew me a kiss. “It’s art, babe.”
My bandmates guffawed and razzed us good-naturedly. They knew it wasn’t real without knowing the story because no…I still hadn’t told anyone. When Clay had forwarded it to me a few weeks ago, I’d rolled my eyes and deleted it right away. I’d been expecting a dick pic and got an artistic photo of two inked arms. Pretty innocent…and boring. But I supposed, like anything, it could be taken out of context.