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.Your bandmates said you’d pick it up.Door’s open.”“Thanks,” I smile.The stage manager gives me a friendly wink while walking past us and turns down another hallway.Kellan and I walk to the green room.I heave a sigh of relief when I see my Marshall head on top of my 4x12 speaker cabinet in the corner, next to my Line 6 practice amp.The cables and chords are neatly wound and resting on top.I doubt Scott or the band did that.Probably the stage manager.I’ll have to thank him again on the way out.I pick up my Line 6, which is small enough for me to carry by the handle bolted to the top.It’s awkward, and I have to lean to one side and use both hands, but I can manage.“Can you push my Marshall?” The amp head and speaker cabinet are more than half my height and weigh a ton, but it has wheels on the bottom.Kellan walks over and picks it up with the big handles on both side of the speaker cabinet.I’ve never seen one guy carry the amp like that.Usually it takes two guys because it’s so bulky.I smile, “It rolls, you know.”“And now it floats,” Kellan says.“You don’t get a trophy for carrying it,” I quip.“Any prize will do.”I can’t decide if his boldness scares me or thrills me.I don’t dwell on it.I walk out the door, lugging my amp, and stop.“I forgot my makeup.We’ll have to make two trips.”“You can put it on top of the Marshall.”“Will you be able to see? We can make two trips.”“Just put it on top of the amp.”I do, and he’s right, he can easily see over it.“How tall are you?”“Tall enough,” he grins.We walk the amps outside together and I make sure the back door is locked tight.Kellan sets the amp down next to my car.“Unlock your car and I’ll put it in.”I have a hot flash as I mull over the various meanings of “put it in.”I unlock one of the back doors and Kellan slides the cabinet in like it’s weightless.Usually two people have to wrestle it in the back seat because it barely fits.Kellan makes quick work of it, but not without a lot of muscle flexing, all of which I watch with quiet excitement.He puts the Marshall head in the front passenger footwell and the little Line 6 practice amp in the seat, then walks back around and runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it out of his face.“All loaded,” he smiles.I hold up my makeup bag and grin, “You forgot this.”He shakes his head and cocks a grin, “Now you really have to tip me.” He walks it around to the front seat with the amps.“I should go,” I say more despondently than I want to.“You have a place to go? A friend’s or something?”“Yeah,” I lie.I haven’t thought my escape plan through that far ahead.I open the driver side door.I can feel myself lingering, not wanting to leave.But it’s for the best.I need to get some headspace.I have a lot to process right now.As nice as it would be to curl up in the muscled arms of this amazingly talented and equally mysterious man who I know next to nothing about, I really don’t want to do any rebounding.Not this soon, anyway.Time to cut this short.I wince smile, “You’ve been totally helpful, Kellan.I can’t thank you enough.”“My pleasure.” He’s so tall, he’s resting his elbow on the roof of my car.His abs are poking out between his shirt and jeans again.He has to be doing this on purpose.“You should go,” I say, and run my car key down the center of his chest.I’m flirting, and I can’t help it.“I should,” he grins.I’m getting hot, and he can tell.“Okay,” I say, “I need to go.” I start to slide into the driver’s seat.“You shredded the shit out of your axe on stage tonight.” He grins, “I’ve never seen a girl play guitar like that.”I smirk at him.Surprise.He’s a sexist pig.Oh wait, we determined he was a pig earlier.This is just further proof.I narrow my eyes into harsh slits.“Shit,” he continues, ignorant of his piggishness, “I’ve never seen a dude play like you.”I can’t tell if he’s back pedaling.But the way his eyes are roaming over my low cut top, tonguing my cleavage with his rapacious gaze, I suspect all this guitar talk is just a way to get into my pants.Not that I’m entirely opposed to the idea.I sigh and smile, “What do you want?”He ignores my question, “You stole that eight finger lick in that solo near the end of your set tonight from Jennifer Batten, didn’t you?”Now I’m intrigued.I frown, “How the hell do you know about Jennifer Batten?” Only old dude guitar players and girl guitar players know who Jennifer Batten is.“I went to a guitar clinic she did in my hometown when I was like fourteen.I totally crushed on her after that for the longest time.”“She’s old enough to be your mom!” I’m not sure how old Kellan is, probably not more than twenty-five or maybe twenty-eight.Either way, Jennifer Batten is at least twice his age.“So?” he shrugs.“You’ve heard her play guitar [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]