Page 23 of Down Beat
I give him an once-over as I punch the code in our door. He bends over the balustrade, both hands braced on the painted rail as he stares down at the ground floor. Rey’s lean, but not lanky. Just tall and not overly muscular or built, although the lines of his arms suggest that playing keeps him fit enough. Regardless, his clothes hang well from his frame, and I find myself staring a little too long at where his black jeans hang from his ass.
“Home sweet home,” I say dryly to gain his attention.
He pushes off the rail and spins my way, face impassive as he takes the lead and strides through the door. Make yourself at home, why don’t you?
His head tilts to take in the modest apartment. “Holy fuck. There’s like nothing in here.”
“There’s a sofa, and a TV,” I point out. “What else do you want?”
“Aren’t chicks supposed to have a million cushions, and like, little knickknack things everywhere?” He wanders across to the windows to check out the view of the street.
I glance around at the space with new eyes, trying to see it from a stranger’s point of view. I guess he’s right; there’s nothing that’s uniquely Kendall or me in here. “If I had free cash at the end of the month then maybe there’d be more knickknack things,” I surmise. “But I suppose we’ve got all we need.”
“We?” His brow is hard when he turns to face me. “Do you live here with Café Girl?” His gaze darts to the few photos stacked on our short kitchen counter as though to analyze them for clues.
I chuckle at his nickname for her. “Kendall. Yeah.”
Rey returns his focus to me, seemingly satisfied. His eyes soften, holding mine a beat too long. The gentle andante of my heart quickens to a definite moderato.
“Anyway.” I turn like the boy-awkward introvert I am, and get my ass in motion. “I better grab this damn violin so they don’t start a riot down there, right?”
“I guess.” He calls after me as I step out of sight. “Are you nervous?”
“About opening?” I slide the vinyl case from beneath my bed.
“Yeah,” he shouts, his footsteps moving around the living room.
“I guess.” I’d be peculiar if I wasn’t, right?
After all, it’s not every day you get to step out in front of an audience that size … unless you’re Rey.
“They’re just people, Tabby.” He startles me from my door, shoulder casually rested on the frame, hands slung in his pockets again. “If you don’t give a fuck what they think, then you’ll be fine.”
“Easier said than done.” Especially when I still play the popularity game.
I can’t afford to throw caution to the wind. I still have to do whatever will please the masses until I can build that dedicated following. Then I can step outside my comfort zone.
“Why does their opinion matter?” He strides into the room while I fuss pointlessly with my case.
I turn my head and take a moment to look at him as he stands beside me, watching intently for my answer. His arms are folded across his chest now, head slightly cocked. His eyes … God, they’re so intense. They’re the kind that strip away all the layers of bullshit and take a peek deep inside your soul.
I feel bare. Naked. Totally exposed and utterly vulnerable.
“If I want to make it big I have to make the crowd happy, right?” I lift an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you don’t care what your fans think?”
He shakes his head as he shifts to the foot of my bed and takes a seat. “Not always. No matter what you do, you can’t win over everyone. As long as you’re confident you brought your best game, then so what if you get a shitty review or some troll on your social media the next day? Make yourself proud, and then the confidence will come naturally.”
“Is that what you do?” My thumbs stroke the silver latches on my case while I study his reaction.
His eyes fall to my bedspread, his mouth twitching at the corner, the slightest crinkle to his eyes before he answers telling me he withholds the whole truth. “In a way, I guess.”
What is his deal? If I hadn’t googled Rey Thomas like a total creeper last night, if I didn’t know he was a rock star worth a pretty penny, I would be mistaken for seeing nothing but an everyday—albeit alternate—guy sitting before me. Yet I did look him up, and having read some of the stories I did about him, I can’t connect the two seemingly opposite personalities.
Womaniser.
Loud.
Arrogant.