Rock Reclaimed (Rock Revenge Trilogy 2)

But then he cleared his throat and changed from the very personal to a cover song. It was one from a few years ago. And it shouldn’t have worked out of his mouth since it was from a woman’s point of view. But as I was learning, not much could be slotted in the didn’t-work column when it came to Ian.

Watery and groovy, it was created for crooning on the beach. Lana Del Rey had blown up on the scene with it, but sweet mercy, Ian made it his own. His eyes were closed as he tipped his head back and sang for the pure joy of it. People walking by slowed, and the laughter around us fell back to a murmur.

Part of me wished he’d stayed with his own songs, but the other half of me needed the distance and the fun he was stirring up. Words were too personal when it came from the heart, even when it was hidden in sex. Because I’d been under Ian just a few hours ago, I knew that sex wasn’t just a fun way to pass an hour.

Not with this man.

He grinned through the lyrics from the woman’s point of view. Even waggled his eyebrows a few times before falling into the song again. He didn’t even try to get noticed. In fact, he had his eyes closed, for fuck’s sake.

From watery, throaty sex, he suddenly changed the tempo to a fast strum of fingers.

I laughed out loud as he morphed into a lazy smile as he jammed to Kid Rock’s big summer hit. More and more people drew closer and started singing along with him. I shook my head at his obvious surprise that he was drawing people in. Sometimes it was as if he had no idea how magnetic he was. And the less he tried to force it, the more it flowed out of him.

He seemed to know songs from every genre. From Weezer, which became a rocking sing-along that made the crowd double in size, to the pure beachy vibe of Jason Mraz, he had ten, then twenty people in the palm of his hand. Red Solo cups started getting passed around as it became a party.

Camera phones came out as people started recording.

A girl asked if she could sit in with her guitar, and then a man sat down on a box with an upside-down pail.

I’d never seen anything like it.

Ian even took a backseat to the girl with the guitar, who belted out a cover of “Hips Don’t Lie.” The crowd surged as the dancing took over. The circle got larger and the people louder as they sang along to songs and requested others. Nothing was off the table. Journey, Miley Cyrus, Foo Fighters. He seemed to know every song that was shouted out. Those he was unsure of he picked up by the second verse.

But the height of the mini concert was his cover of “Mister Brightside.” Arms up, clapping, and singing along at top volume, we finally brought out the cops.

I was honestly surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner, but things had been relatively tame for the first hour. The more beer and people we’d accumulated on our little slice of the beach, the more problematic it became. We hurriedly packed up our blanket as three cops broke up the mini party.

Escaping into the crowd seemed like the best idea.

Ian quickly signed a few things from people who’d realized who he was. There wasn’t really time for photo ops and there were more than a few hungry eyes boring holes through his bathing suit. At first, I’d been sure he was soaking it up like the little beach bunnies and their cans of wine, but he seemed almost incredulous about the attention.

We trudged up the beach, laughing and falling against each other like drunks. He had his arm wrapped around my shoulders as we kissed on the large platform of the boardwalk. The rollerskating girls were back with their rainbow bikinis, playing backup to the snake charmer.

Déjà vu

hit hard. The last time I’d been right here, my life had taken a wild turn. And now it felt like there was more filling up my chest than just the art I’d been planning my whole life around.

I gripped him around the waist and the kiss went from soft to wild in a heartbeat.

Time wasn’t my friend in any aspect of my reality. It was as if a booming second hand was living inside my brain.

My twelve months were running out.

As was time with this man who shouldn’t even be a blip on my radar.

“You’re killing me, Magic.”

“I need you. Just one more time before you go.”

“Once more is never going to be enough. You know that.”

Even with the ridiculous pink aviators shielding his eyes, there was no denying the intensity burning between us.

I had no answer. I didn’t even have words at this point.

He seemed to understand there was nothing we could say. The crowd pushed in on us. He used his guitar case to make a path as we threaded our way around children in strollers, boardwalk entertainers, and surprised people who recognized Ian. There was no stopping him. We took side streets and dashed around a parade of middle school girls in black-and-white uniforms.

Ian shot a look over his shoulder, his eyebrows beetled down in confusion. All I could do was smile. That was Venice Beach for you. There was no end to the weird and the wild. From hedonistic beach bunnies to Catholic girls looking for donations for school, all in the span of a block.