Page 13 of Steady Stroke
Emmett tilted his head. “Okay. Sure, yes, why not?”
“Excellent.” Lincoln gave himself a mental high-five. He’d made another friend and in less than a week. He still hadn’t figured out if Emmett was totally straight or not, and he didn’t want to be obvious and scare the kid away. He wanted to make the whole thing less like a date and more like two friends doing something fun.
“Do you like putt-putt?” Emmett asked.
Lincoln nearly made a dirty joke about that. “Do I like what?”
“Miniature golf. There are a lot of places along the highway. We could do that.”
“Sounds good.” He wasn’t about to admit that he’d never played mini golf in his life. He’d wait and look like a loser tomorrow. “What’s your number?”
Emmett startled, then gave it to him. Lincoln added his digits, then sent a text to Emmett’s phone, since his was in a locker in the back room. “Aunt Bea’s policy for all employees,” he said off Lincoln’s startled expression.
Lincoln made a show of hugging his phone. “I’d be lost without her.”
The genuine laugh that got brightened every part of Emmett’s face, giving him a new adorableness that had been hiding before. It hinted at a fun-loving person lurking beneath a lot of anxiety and fear, and Lincoln really wanted to get toknow that guy. He couldn’t explain the peace he found from a simple conversation, or how much he was already looking forward to tomorrow’s golf date.
Not a date. Not like that.
It didn’t matter. Emmett was cute, and Lincoln wasn’t looking for anything physical right now.
Emmett glanced behind him, and Lincoln spun around, heart pounding, irrationally afraid of finding Tom right behind him. Instead a gaggle of giggling girls shouldered their way closer to the bar to place orders. The interruption seemed to snap Emmett out of the bubble that their conversation had created around them. He was at work, and he probably needed to get back to it.
“I won’t keep you,” Lincoln said. “Text you in the morning?”
“Okay.” Emmett smiled. “Nice meeting you, Lincoln.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” He grinned, then grabbed his new Coke and returned to his seat at the back table without incident.
Melody propped her chin on her palm and angled in. “And what was that, young man?”
“A little harmless flirting. And I think I made a new friend. That’s two in one week.”
“Personal record?”
Lincoln shrugged as he sipped the bubbling soda. “Kind of. Never was the big-circle-of-friends type, not even in high school. Which is kind of weird, in a way, since I grew up with parents who had more money than they could spend. Usually people can’t wait to be pals with the rich kid, but I was so focused on music that I didn’t go out much.” The QChord idea slammed right back into the forefront of his thoughts.
I want to play again. Ineedto play again.
For all that losing his parents had hurt, playing music—firston a borrowed guitar, and then on his own—helped him over that hump of depression and kept him focused on the future. On being the best musician he could possibly be. On making XYZ worth a damn.
A dream that had imploded on a quiet stretch of highway in the dark morning hours.
He’d been so focused on his limitations and learning how to live with them that he hadn’t taken the time to research ways to re-create his dream. Maybe he’d never stand on a big stage, surrounded by thousands of people and bright, flashing lights like he had last summer at the Unbound competition, but he could start small.
Start with an open-mike night at Off Beat.
First he needed a QChord, which cost more money than he was comfortable asking the Boundses for.
Good thing he had another source. Lincoln palmed his phone and shot off a quickCall me when you get five minutestext to Dominic.
His phone rang about an hour later, during a teenage girl’s ear-bleeding rendition of Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.” He slipped away from the table and up the cement stairs to the first floor. No need to subject Dom to such a monstrosity, even over the distance of several hundred miles and the Verizon wireless network.
“Hey, baby,” Dominic said. His voice was a balm to the part of Lincoln that was still unsettled over last week’s mishap with Tom. A mishap he was still completely avoiding dealing with or talking about. Roxy had outdone herself by not pestering him for details.
“Hey, stranger.” Lincoln hated how whiny that sounded. “Taking a break from your fabulous career to remember the little people?”
“Shut up, you’ll never be little people. What’s up?”
