Phoebe and the Rock of Ages Page 3

  Of all the people in the world to have rescued her on the side of the road, who would ever have imagined that it would be Juliette’s Jesus freak friend. The guy who had taken her tightly-wound sister for a motorcycle ride that had rocked her world and turned her life inside out.

  But Phoebe had imagined him to be one of those starving musician types with smooth faces and soulful eyes. Not this rough and tumble, hint of a five o’clock-shadowed, gentleman-in-jeans kind of guy. He dressed like a rocker right out of the 90’s with his shaggy hair badly in need of a trim, his worn black denim, and scuffed boots. But his face was bright and open, his eyes clear. This guy oozed…happiness? No, that wasn’t quite it. But he practically vibrated, like he was plugged into an alternate source of energy, lit up from the inside out.

  Maybe he’d just had some good coffee before they crossed paths at the gas station.

  They reached the door and Trevor lifted his fist to knock. Phoebe rolled her eyes and unceremoniously pushed open the door and pulled him inside. “We’re here!” she called out.

  Bob, Juliette’s scruffy rescue dog, came bounding into the tiny foyer, his toenails scrabbling on the tile. Close on his heels was a frantic Mr. Bobo, the next-door neighbor’s miniature terrier who was likely over for some play time. Both dogs pulled up short at the sight of Trevor, but Phoebe crouched down to greet them, and after some serious sniffing and circling, the animals granted their approval of both the new arrivals.

  Through the arched opening, Juliette, Renata, Gia, and Victor all watched the exchanged greetings with varying expressions. Victor’s observant gaze darted back and forth between Trevor and Phoebe, his slashing eyebrows raised in question, but his mouth was already curling up in welcome. Juliette, who sat beside him, one hand in his, smiled brightly, looking suspiciously tickled to see them standing there together. In fact, Gia wore the same look, only amped up about five notches. She was bouncing just the slightest bit on a big cushion on the floor. Gia already knew Trevor through her best friend, Ricky; he was Ricky’s cousin, if she remembered right. It was Gia who had added Trevor to the list of Monday ManDates, the blind date intervention the sisters had concocted to get Juliette out of her post-breakup slump just over a year ago.

  Renata, bless her stiff upper lip, simply stared at them, her arms crossed over her bulging belly, apparently expecting an explanation for the hold up. Her distant expression told Phoebe it wouldn’t matter what she had to say in her own defense. She’d already been weighed, measured, and found wanting. Nothing new there.

  “Officer Jarrett,” Phoebe purred as she rose to stand, loathing the way she automatically slipped into her sleaze-girl persona in reaction to Renata’s judgment. But for as long as she could remember, this was the modus operandi with the two of them; Renata judged Phoebe, and Phoebe did her best to live up to that criticism. At least in front of Renata.

  Slipping her arm back through Trevor’s, Phoebe continued in her overly-honeyed voice. “Look who the cat dragged in!”

  “I take it you’re the cat,” Renata murmured, loudly enough for the whole room to hear. But the tone of her voice made Phoebe pause. She didn’t sound angry. In fact, she sounded like she was teasing her. Not taunting her. Not challenging her. Just ribbing her.

  “Mrrowrr,” Phoebe purred, and Renata actually grinned. But Phoebe felt Trevor tense beside her, felt the muscles of his arm bunch beneath her fingers. He didn’t move otherwise, but she sensed his withdrawal. He probably wasn’t interested in being the toy she batted around in front of her family. She couldn’t blame him. So she pulled away first, making it her move rather than his, and stepped back a little, indicating with a sweep of her hand that he should go ahead of her into the living room.

  From the corner of her eye, she studied Trevor as he crossed to where Victor and Juliette stood, the two of them having risen to greet them. Sometimes it still surprised Phoebe to see Victor in her sister’s corner of the couch, his arm draped territorially around Juliette’s shoulders. Everyone knew that was Jules’ spot, and the fact that she’d surrendered it to Victor spoke volumes about his place in her heart; maybe even more than the pretty new engagement ring she wore on her finger.

  Trevor and Victor exchanged one of those handshake-hug combos guys do, complete with some back-thumping, and maybe even a grunt or two. He gave Jules a quick side-hug, and then Gia, who had leapt up, too. Side hugs? Was he afraid of breasts?

  As comfortable as the guy seemed in his own skin, she found the notion oddly incongruous. Besides, hadn’t he taken Jules for long rides on his motorcycle, with her pressed like a spider monkey to his back, her legs wrapped around his thighs? No avoiding full body contact there.

  Then, again, this was the same guy who’d told Jules he had a rule about not being alone with a woman inside her home. Good grief. Being alone with men in her home was how Phoebe made her living. I guess I won’t be snapping any pictures of Trevor Zander, she mused. A tiny plume of disappointment swirled around inside her before she caught herself and almost snorted out loud over the direction of her thoughts. Aidez-moi! What are you thinking?

  Victor introduced Trevor to Renata, who apologized for staying seated. “I just got comfortable, which is quite a feat for me right now. I don’t mean to be rude—I hope you don’t mind.” Trevor assured her he was not offended at all.

  Phoebe crouched down to give Bob and Mr. Bobo a little more attention. The dogs kept her focus off the man who was explaining to everyone the circumstances of how they’d met. She didn’t want to see Renata roll her eyes, or Jules with that ‘you know I love you anyway’ look on her face.

  “I honestly don’t know why I stopped at the gas station today. I was already running late—”

  “Nothing new there,” Victor cut in, clapping Trevor on the shoulder. “You’ll be late to your own funeral, my friend.”

  “Dude. Seriously, right?” Trevor gave a good-humored chuckle, obviously unaffected by the teasing. “But I got that nudge—you know, the one in your gut that makes you sit up straight?—and I pulled in and topped off my tank. All two gallons worth of fuel. So I sat there, waiting, wondering who or what I was there for.” Trevor nodded toward Victor. “That’s when I texted you that I was on a mission, so you had to give me extra time.”

  “My sister was your mission?” Renata asked skeptically.

  “Actually, she was.” Trevor spoke with complete confidence. Phoebe still wasn’t watching him, but she listened carefully, wondering how he’d make her sound. If he said anything along the lines of “little lady” or made fun of her vehicular negligence, she’d be ticked. At him for shaming her in front of her sisters, but more so at herself because it was her own carelessness that had gotten her into the situation in the first place.

  “As soon as I heard the pump speak to me, I knew I was at the right place at the right time.”

  Phoebe frowned. Her lewd comment had been a sign to him? This was new to her, too. And she thought she’d heard them all before; every pick-up line in the book.

  “The pump spoke to you?” Gia wasn’t really that gullible, but she often bit first when the opportunity arose. It sometimes made her come across as empty-headed, but Phoebe knew it was because her little sister was guileless, and she thrived on getting glimpses into other peoples’ lives. If there was a story to tell, she was all ears, responding readily to every cue.

  “Actually, your sister spoke to—well, to someone—” Trevor broke off, and she could hear the smile in his voice and hoped he’d keep her comment to himself. She steeled herself for it anyway, accustomed to men taking her words and twisting them for their benefit. “But because she didn’t have a car, she was standing directly behind the pump, and I didn’t see her. So for a moment, it did appear that the pump was, um…paying me a compliment.”

  Renata laughed out loud. “Oh no. What did she say? What did you say, Phoebe?”

  Phoebe plastered a saucy smile on her lips and angled her gaze so she was looking at he
r sister sideways. Then in dulcet tones, she murmured, “I said ‘I wouldn’t mind licking you myself, big guy.’”

  “Phoebe Gustafson!” Jules gasped from across the room, and then covered her mouth with her hand. The sound of stifled giggles was unmistakable. Renata’s eyes just widened, but she said nothing.

  “I didn’t mean Trevor.” Phoebe assured them. “I didn’t even know he was there.” But then she remembered who she’d been thinking of when she’d said it so she averted any questions by adding, “Not to say that you’re not lickable, Trevor Zander.”

  “Phoebe!” That got the expected response out of Renata.

  “Who did you mean, then?” Gia asked, her wide smile lighting up her whole face. So much for averting. But before she had to pull an answer out of her hat, Victor saved the day.

  “You sound like Juliette,” he laughed, his arm around his fiancée’s waist. They were still standing, Trevor nearby. And Trevor still wore that crazy grin. Did he ever not smile? “She’s always licking things to mark her territory.”

  Phoebe pointed at the couple. “Exactly! Jules had just texted that she wouldn’t let anyone lick my scone before I got here.” She wasn’t going to outright lie about who her intended victim was, but she had no problem alluding to the idea that she’d meant her pumpkin scone. That was all Renata needed; to know that Phoebe had entertained the notion of licking Victor or Tim. She’d never hear the end of it.

  “Honestly,” Trevor interjected, “I don’t think I’ve ever been propositioned that way before, and there was no way on earth I was going to let that one slide. So I rounded the pump and got even more validation.”

  Phoebe’s body tensed, waiting to hear condescension settle into his tone.

  “A beautiful woman on a beautiful day getting ready to walk a block to her car with a heavy gas can in hand. I mean, come on. If that wasn’t a ‘stop and enjoy the wonders I’ve created’ nudge, I don’t know what is.”

  Phoebe did look at him now. She honestly couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, if he was patronizing her or complimenting her. In fact, he almost made it sound as though she’d been the answer to his dilemma, not the other way around.

  “Well, thank you for getting her here safely,” Renata spoke up, apparently ready to send the guys on their way and get the G-FOURce meeting started. She glanced down at her watch, a chunky gold thing Phoebe remembered their mother wearing. “Shall we?”

  And that was that. Victor, in his customary reserved way, leaned down and kissed Juliette on the temple in farewell. He murmured something in her ear that made her smile and dip her chin to hide her blush, and then the two men headed toward the door, promising to be back in a couple hours.

  “I’m taking Juliette out to dinner tonight, so I’m laying down the law here, ladies,” Victor warned from where he stood just inside the foyer, legs braced wide beneath him in a posture that said he was brooking no arguments. “No crying after I leave, got it?” He pointed at each one of the sisters. “This G-FOURce needs to be a tear-free zone today.”

  Trevor, passing close to Phoebe who had stood to say goodbye, offered her his hand once again, and said, “For all the right reasons, I’m glad you ran out of gas today. It was good to finally meet you, Phoebe Gustafson.” Then he nodded, slipped around her, and followed Victor out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Phoebe Gustafson. Phoebe Gustafson. Why did she look so familiar to him? He toyed with the sound of her name again, wracking his brain for clues, for memories, for anything that would give him a hint as to who she was. Other than the fact that her genetics clearly marked her as Juliette’s sister, however, he could think of nothing else.

  But those eyes. That mouth. Even her hair stirred something long ago forgotten—

  “Earth to Taz.” Vic rapped his knuckles on the table top, his tone cajoling. “Where are you, man?”

  Trevor lifted his gaze from the basket of Buffalo wings he was absentmindedly prodding at and grinned. “Taz back to earth. I’m here now. Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I just asked how long you’re planning on being in town this time.” Vic sat upright in his bench seat, his military bearing almost comedic in contrast to Trevor’s casual slouch. “Particularly if you’ll be here in the spring. Early April to be specific.”

  Trevor picked up a sauce-drenched wing and waved it at Vic. “Why? You need a wingman for some special occasion?”

  Vic just stared at him across the table, not saying a word, not cracking a smile, but Trevor knew he’d caught the terrible pun by the way his friend’s jaw clenched, as though he were trying to bite back a response.

  “I’m actually here for at least six months.” Trevor dropped the wing back into the basket in front of him and wiped his fingers clean on his napkin before continuing. “After the surprising success of the last album, I’m taking some time just to write and record. I’ll do some local gigs, but nothing that will take me away from home for more than a day or two.” He leaned forward, unable to contain the excitement he felt over the project brewing inside him. “Dude. I have these songs that keep going through my mind, songs that all tie together into a storyline; a concept album, you know? My agent isn’t feeling it, though, and he says he doesn’t think he can sell it. He basically told me that my mainstream audience won’t listen to it.”

  “Why not?” Vic asked, taking the napkin from his lap and laying it neatly beside his empty plate. Big Mike’s had the best Happy Hour appetizer menu in town, which made it a great pit stop for the two men. Rather than the dollar drinks, they came for the all-you-can-eat wings, the overstuffed potato skins, and the bottomless chips and salsa with a side or two of fresh guacamole. And the huge monitors that offered a smorgasbord of sports to choose from, of course. Although today, they weren’t really paying attention to who was playing.

  Trevor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s like there’s this—” He brought both hands up in front of his chest as though holding a ball. “Like there’s something alive inside my chest just hammering to get out.” He took a sip of his iced tea. “And even though he doesn’t necessarily agree with me on this, Phil trusts me. We made a lot of money off the tour, which, from what I hear, isn’t always the case. So I’m set to take some time to work on this side project, and Phil will wait to start pushing for the next album until I’m finished with this one. I told him six months.”

  “Perfect. Because Juliette and I have set the date for the first Saturday in April. And yes, I’d like you to be my wingman.” Now Vic was grinning, but Trevor thought it probably had more to do with the thought of finally being married to Juliette than the bad wing joke.

  “I’d be honored.” He raised his iced tea glass between them and Vic lifted his coffee cup in response. “Any chance you might want a song?”

  “Juliette wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Trevor nodded, the memory of his evening spent with Juliette Gustafson almost a whole year ago now, when he sat beside her as she discovered what it meant to surrender, to forgive, and to accept the truest of all love. He couldn’t have asked God for a better wife for his best friend.

  “Excellent. One more question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Where did you go just now?”

  A loud group of women swept past, the aroma of flowers and vanilla and something else purely female swirling around them. Trevor glanced up, catching the eye of a brunette who flashed him a glossy smile and a bold gaze. He nodded politely and looked back at Vic, but before he could speak, the woman paused at their table and cocked her head at him.

  “Do we know each other?” she asked, her childlike voice a bit of a surprise. She wore a dress that made Trevor embarrassed for her, and when she placed both palms on the edge of the table and leaned forward a little, he felt embarrassed for Vic and himself, too. That much cleavage should have a rating stamped on it, or at least require one of those black censor strips when in public.
He had to bite on his bottom lip to keep from grinning at the thought, lest she think he appreciated the view for the wrong reason.

  Not that he didn’t appreciate the show. He did. A woman’s breasts were incredibly alluring to him, and when they were so freely displayed, it was tempting to indulge in the eye candy.

  Trevor shook his head, forcing his gaze to stay focused on her face. “I don’t think so,” he said, keeping his smile polite, but his tone reserved. The three other women in her party now circled around the end of the booth.

  “Well…” She drew the word out and then lifted one long-fingered hand and held it toward him. “My name is Carrie. And you are?”

  “Trevor.” He held up both hands, even though they were clean. “You don’t want to shake my hand. I’ve been eating wings.” He didn’t bother giving her Vic’s name. He didn’t want to open up a conversation with the woman, and he knew Vic wouldn’t be interested in doing so either.

  Carrie lowered her hand back to the table and shrugged. “Trevor. I’ve been over there sitting at our table trying to guess your name for the last half hour. I thought maybe Adam, or David. But I like Trevor. It suits you. You don’t mind if we join you for a bit, do you?” In a swift and practiced move, she pivoted on her heel and slid into the bench seat, bumping up against him to get him to scoot over to make more room. “Are you going to tell us your friend’s name?”

  “Excuse me,” Vic interjected. “Carrie, right?”

  She nodded, leaning forward expectantly, and shot an encouraging look at one of the other girls who made a move toward Vic’s side of the table.

  “We were in the middle of a private conversation.” His tone was kind, patient, but firm, nonetheless. The group fell silent for a breath of a second, and then Carrie slowly slid back out of the bench and stood.

  “Well,” she said, her eyes bright, her odd, girlish voice rubbing Trevor the wrong way. “At least you can’t say we don’t know each other anymore, right, Trevor?” She winked at him, and then pushed through the circle of women and led them away.