“We’re just friends, Dad,” Slim reminds him. Or he’s reminding himself…or me?
“Bah,” he flicks his hand at Slim. “Lay a good one on me cheek, young lady.”
I giggle and happily lay a small peck on the scruff of his cheek. “Nice to meet you Mr. McQuaid.”
“Call me Slimmy. None of that mister stuff,” he gruffly comments with a smile.
I really like this man, he is super sweet. Plus I can’t get enough of how he talks. Love the accent. “You got it, Slimmy.”
He guides me by the waist, into his house, with Slim following behind us. I glance around the tiny living room as I take a seat on Slimmy’s old faded, blue denim couch. Straight ahead is a massive flat screen TV, mounted on the wall with a wide and narrow, dark brown entertainment set underneath, covered with framed pictures; some of Slim when he was a little boy in a baseball uniform, one from high school with a football uniform, another with him, his mom, his brother (Slim told me he passed away) and Slim’s dad. It was a very nice picture. They looked happy. All around me are more pictures on the walls of Slim and his brother. No traces of his mom anywhere, except maybe the old furniture; a bookshelf to the left of me with stacks of old books, and a recliner in front of the living room window, with a small nightstand and lamp. To the right of the room there is an opening that leads into the kitchen and bedrooms, but not much else. The place is lived in and is cozy. I’m sure Slimmy is content with his living arrangements, but it sure does need a woman’s touch or a makeover. A bachelor pad or man cave come to mind when I look at this place. The untouched, drab white walls of the room and old brown carpet need a serious redo.
Yet who am I to judge anyone? I lived in a home you only saw in magazines. Nothing looked lived in and comfortable. We had a house cleaning lady come twice a week who deep cleaned and straightened up the place. It was the perfect setting. Perfect for my parents’.
Since then my parents’ have moved from one mansion to another. They can never settle down.
Shoot. I got off track again.
Right. Back to Slimmy.
“What can me get ya, Lyric? Soda, beer, coffee?”
I place my purse on a glass coffee table in front of me, then lean back and cross my legs. “I’m all good, Slimmy, thanks.”
“Son?”
“Good here too, Dad.” Slim sits away from me on the recliner across the room. Why do I get the feeling he’s building a bridge between us? Ugh, I’m just jumping to conclusions. We’re just friends, so I shouldn’t be jumping to anything. I’ve got to get that nonsense out of my head.
Slimmy sits to my left. “So, pretty lady, tell me about yourself. What brought you into me son’s life?”
“Well…I searched around for a music company to work for and came upon Bitch Tours. June and I talked, we hit it off and I got hired,” I shrug. “To be honest, I never worked with any bands before and was a bit hesitant to apply, but it all worked out. I met the guys on their first tour and I could tell they didn’t like me very much,” I chuckle.
“Hey, now, that’s not true,” Slim says in his defense.
“Bull,” I laugh, and look back at his dad when I continue, “They ignored me as if I were the new girl in class - which to them I was. I had to work hard to get noticed by the “cool crowd,” I quote cool crowd with my fingers.
Slimmy turns to his son, playfully grinning, “Playing hard to get, now were ya?”
“He finally bowed down to me when I kicked his butt at video car racing,” I wink.
“Bowed down?” Slim laughs. “You wish, Charlie.”
“Whatever,” rolling my eyes. “He hasn’t admitted it yet, but he’s a sore loser.” I cross my arms and smirk. I love the flirting.
“Oh, ain’t that the truth,” Slimmy chuckles out. “Whenever we play chess, it gives me boy nightmares.”
“Hello?” Slim waves his hands in our faces, obviously annoyed. His reaction only makes me grin wider. “I’m right here, remember? On second thought, a beer sounds good.” He gets up from the recliner. “Dad, want one?”
“Yes, Son, yes.” Once Slim leaves to fetch their beers, Slimmy turns back to me. “So Slim tells me you play chess? Me finest game.”
“Well, I haven’t played a lot since high school, but I am always willing to play if asked.”
“I’ll get the board out in a bit. Want to know more about you, where you’re from, what your parents’ do?”
My least favorite thing to discuss is my family. People get too star struck and suddenly want to become my best friend. During high school and college it was hard to make any close friends. They only wanted to be friends with me hoping I’ll somehow help them hook up with one of the “Crow” brothers’, or maybe lead them to get some kind of audition with my dad. I could never trust anyone. It definitely sucked.
I give Slimmy a partial introduction. “I’m from L.A., but moved to San Diego a couple years ago. My parents’ are in the film industry.”
“Very nice, very nice.”
“They’re world wide famous, Dad,” Slim casually mentions, even though I know it isn’t casual. He knows I don’t like to discuss my family. Payback from our previous banter. I can see it on his face he’s trying hard not to laugh.
“Oh, famous! Who are they, me dear?” Slimmy is very much interested. I know he’s not someone who is going to like me just because of my star studded family. He’s too kind hearted.
“Donovan Crow and Tilly Newton.”
“No kidding,” he smacks his hand on his thigh, then pops open the beer Slim handed him. “Impressive. I do love Donovan Crow’s movies. Me favorite is
Shotgun
. Good action, thriller.”
I am feeling much better about this, so I relax. Slimmy is so sweet, I can tell he admires good quality films. “That was actually his favorite film as well.”
“Smart man,” he takes a slug of beer. “And Tilly Newton, me goodness,” he whistles. “She’s a beauty.” No doubt my parents’ are beautiful people. My dad is one of the most gorgeous men on the planet - according to
People Magazine
. His look is similar to George Clooney. The older he gets, the more handsome he becomes. My mom is a blonde goddess; an older version of Princess Grace. She’s had some work on her face, but nothing too extreme. She really is a beautiful woman. I look like her, with the blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, slim, tall figure, where Indie got her stunning beauty from my dad. She’s tall, curvy, dark blue eyes, and brown wavy hair. She’s so beautiful it’s sickening. My brothers’ are all friggin’ gorgeous as well, a mixer between both parents’. “You never wanted in the movie business,” Slimmy asks.
“Nope, just was never my thing, but my brothers’ and sister are in the business, though.”
“That’s right,” Slimmy snaps his fingers. “Sloane Crow is your brother!”
“Yep, so are Brock and Maverick.”
“Big fan of Sloane.”
“Thanks. So am I. He was born for that world.”
Sloane is the oldest of my siblings. He’s tall, dark and insanely gorgeous. Underneath all that beauty is one hell of a guy. I look up to my big brother. He’s generous, kind, humble, but is deeply taken for granted - in the woman department, that is.
After Sloane comes Brock - the one I don’t get along with - actually he doesn’t get along with anyone except Indie. Anyways, yeah, he’s good looking, but to me his looks are disguised by an ugly personality. Ugh. Just no. His attitude needs to change before I can discuss him any further.
Then comes Maverick. I come after him. Maverick is a big sweetheart and falls in love way too quickly. He gets burned way too often, though. He just needs to grow up a bit and find out who he is before he jumps into the next relationship. He should concentrate on his career, more than a woman who is only after one thing - getting in the tabloids with a famous, gorgeous stud.
Indie is the baby in the family; the rebel, the one who became Prom Queen in high school, the fighter, the one who doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’s badass and I love her.
“And what about you? What were you born to do,” Slimmy asks.
Huh, I never really thought about that before. His question throws me off a little. “I wasn’t born to do anything too special,” I shrug. “I just knew I loved music and wanted to be a part of it, somehow. Thankfully, June gave me a chance. I have really loved managing the band. It’s been a very exciting couple of years.”
Slimmy smiles at that. “That is something to be proud of. Good for you. Come. Let me show you me joint.” He offers his arm. I take it and join him as he gives me a small tour of the rest of the little house. Slim follows behind us. The rest of the house is not much to look at either. Kitchen is outdated, as are the appliances. What surprises me the most is the backyard. It’s landscaped beautifully. A nice green patch of grass centers the area, a vegetable garden in the back right corner, a built in fire pit, garage to the left and a couple fruit trees line up on the right side of the property. He must spend most of his time out back. I totally would. After being shown Slimmy’s hard work, I take up an offer on a beer. I normally don’t drink beer, I am more of a margarita, cocktail type drinker, but if nothing else a beer is fine. We make ourselves comfortable around the little fire pit. The patio chairs are used and worn, but they are comfortable.
You see, I am not at all a prissy, wealthy, spoiled brat. Not everyone lives in perfection. To Slimmy, I bet this is
his
perfection. Sure, I would like to see him have a better house, something more up to date with better appliances, but I am not going to make a grossed out face just because he doesn’t. This is how Slim grew up. It’s humbling to me to see he was happy in this setting. This was, and is his life. Since becoming quite famous, it hasn’t changed him. Makes me attracted to him more than ever.
Lordy. I am in trouble.
“You were quite injured in the bus accident,” Slimmy states.
I nod my head, looking down at my beer. “Yes.”
“Me Slim was depressed with you gone for so long.”
“Come on, Dad,” Slim comments, with an embarrassed look on his face. I think he’s blushing.
Slimmy ignores his son’s response. “He barely slept. Couldn’t stop worrying about you, the poor lad.
“Dad.”
Again, he ignores Slim’s mumble grumble. “Never seen him like that before. He was in such a slump.”
“Dad, did you forget I was here again? Please stop,” he snaps. I’ve never heard Slim snap at anyone like this before. His brows are furrowed, and seems quite upset.
I think this is my cue to use the restroom. “May I use your restroom?”
“Sure thing. Down the hall, second door on your left,” Slimmy points.
I settle my beer on the small plastic side table and make my way toward the bathroom. I don’t mean to, but I overhear part of their conversation - or better yet, argument.
“Slimmy, me son, that lovely young lady needs to know these things, how much you care about her.”
“Dad…I care about Lyric as a friend, nothing more.”
“Bah,” he grunts.
“You don’t get it. She’s the band’s manager, one of the guys. Nothing can happen between us.”
“Fecking nonsense. You need to open up your eyes a little wider, me boy. You two have something there whether it’s suitable or not. One of the guys, me ass.”
“Suitable or not, can’t happen,” Slim mumbles.
“Stubborn,” Slimmy snaps at his son.
I can’t hear anymore of this. I quickly find the restroom, do my business and don’t come out until I have myself put back together. I am shaking, breathing heavily, because I now know the truth. Slim want’s nothing to do with me, except be his buddy. It hurts. It really really hurts. I won’t cry. I won’t. It’s not worth crying over. So, I suck back my stupid feelings and go back outside.
I pretend I didn’t hear their argument and put on a happy face for them. I guess acting does run in my blood. I was good at the whole
happy, nothing is wrong
, gettup. The men didn’t notice a thing. After finishing our beers, Slimmy and I played some chess, while Slim took a finger cruise on his phone; most likely playing Candy Crush or looking at Twitter. We didn’t finish our game, but it was a good start. I have to hand it to Slimmy, he’s really smart and takes this chess thing very seriously - as do I, of course. We promised to get back to the game at another time. It was time for me and Slim to head back.
Slimmy brings me into his warm embrace. “Please come back and visit the old man,” patting me on the back.
“Absolutely.”
Slim gives his dad a one arm hug, then leads me to the passenger side of his van, waits for me to buckle in, and we take off.
I didn’t say much on the way home. Slim tried to make small talk, but I couldn’t get into it. I wasn’t doing a very good job at covering up my disappointment and I am sure he noticed it this time. However, being with Slim whether it’s for business or pleasure (whatever that may be) I’ll take it. I’d rather be just his friend, his buddy, his pal, his right arm, or his left nut, than nobody at all.
Yep. I made myself chuckle on that last bit.
We park in the garage. Grabbing my purse, I prepare myself to exit because I just want to get home. I need a night without my “buddy.” “Thanks for breakfast and taking me to meet your dad. He’s a sweet man.”
“Why does this sound like a goodbye? I thought we could order pizza, watch a movie? Hang out some more?”
His hazel eyes get me every time. Ugh, why does he have to be so damn cute? It’s not fair. “I’ve been absent from my work, far too long. I need to get home.”
“Couldn’t it wait a little longer? It’s not like the band is busy right now.” He bites his bottom lip.
Goodness me.
No, Lyric, don’t let him get to you. Go home.
“
You
guys aren’t busy, but it’s different for me. I have to catch up on paperwork, and to deal with that overseas tour you all want so badly.”
“It can wait,” he pushes.
“No, it can’t,” I push back.
He stares at me for a second. He knows something is up with me. “What’s goin’ on with you? You’ve been quiet ever since we left my dads.”
Rolling my eyes, I sigh, “Nothing is going on. I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“You didn’t before. What’s eatin’ you?”
“Stop it, Slim! I’m fine,” I bellow out. Why does he keep pushing me, giving me false alarms?
I know, I know - pals.