Read Online Chasing the Sun (A Rebound Novella Book 2) by Nikki Mathis Thompson - Free Book Online
Authors: Nikki Mathis Thompson
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a garage in front of six girls doesn’t count.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I guess not. Well, let me send you the link to the song. Take a listen and let me know…you surprised me tonight, Ian.”
“Oh yeah? How so.”
“I don’t know. You play beautifully and you’re just so down to Earth. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Huh. Why? Do I look too establishment for your taste?”
She chuckled and shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t judge by appearance.”
“Well, sometimes it’s spot on. You, for example. You looked kind of hippy-ish to me and now that I see your place and your chunky cookies, it all fits.”
“Hippy-ish?”
“Yes, and it’s not a bad thing. My dad was like that until Birkenstocks went out of style and his boss forced him to switch to loafers.”
“Tragic.” She laughed.
“I know.”
She looked at him for a minute. He hoped he hadn’t offended her with the cookie comment.
“That’s enough for tonight, don’t you think?” Rory asked pushing herself off of the floor, taking their water glasses with her.
“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s getting late.” Ian started to gather his things. Shit. He’d offended her. Fucking loose lips. Why did he always have to say what he was thinking? Just shut up for once.
“No, I didn’t mean for you to leave.” she said over her shoulder. She came back in with two glasses filled with ice and a bottle of Jack. “You can stay for a drink, right?”
Ian took in her tight tank and frayed jean shorts, which made her legs go on forever. Her hair was in a braid over her shoulder and her lips were pressed together. It was sexy, she was sexy. And he really wanted to stay for a drink.
“Sure, I could have a drink.”
“Good.” She walked past him and went onto the patio.
There were two colorful fabric chairs. There was a copper lantern in the shape of a spiked orb hanging in the corner. It was dark outside, so when she flicked a switch, the lantern gave off a warm light. Potted plants lined the perimeter. It was cozy, he liked it. It made him want to relax and have a few drinks.
He carefully lowered himself into a chair that was very close to the ground. Rory plopped down and crossed her legs over each other.
“So your dad was a hippy? I’ll bet he was the one that bought you your first guitar.” Rory guessed, pouring the dark liquid into each glass.
Ian grabbed the one she offered.
“Thank you…Well, he didn’t live in a commune or anything, but he was a free love, pot smokin’ type in the 60s. I think he had visions of me playing his folk song favorites after dinner or something.”
“And did you?” she asked with a smile.
“By the time I was good enough to play said favorites I wasn’t really into Peter, Paul and Mary or Joni Mitchell. My balls had dropped just a few years before and I didn’t want to send them back up.”
She sniffed. “You’re funny, you know that?”
“Um, I think I’m funny. But it doesn’t always translate…I did like Crosby, Stills and Nash, and Simon and Garfunkel, which was my dad’s favorite. But what I really wanted was an electric guitar. I finally got one just in time for my Alice in Chains obsession. That’s where playing in my friend’s garage came in. We were the hottest thing on Lakewood Ave and the coffee shop on 5 th .”
“I’m sure your whole audience was girls.”
“Pretty much.” They both laughed and she poured another.
“What about you? When did you start singing?”
“Well, speaking of communes…”
“No!”
“Yes. I lived in a commune outside of Boulder for the first eleven years of my life.”
“Bullshit! Are you getting me back for the hippy comment?”
“No. No, I swear. My parents are, in fact, hippies. We lived in a self-sustained community. We grew our own fruits and vegetables. We would sell goods to the local grocers and sold vegetables in a stand by the road. That’s how we earned money…Anyway, we didn’t have television, so for
She smiled. “Yeah, I guess not. Well, let me send you the link to the song. Take a listen and let me know…you surprised me tonight, Ian.”
“Oh yeah? How so.”
“I don’t know. You play beautifully and you’re just so down to Earth. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Huh. Why? Do I look too establishment for your taste?”
She chuckled and shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t judge by appearance.”
“Well, sometimes it’s spot on. You, for example. You looked kind of hippy-ish to me and now that I see your place and your chunky cookies, it all fits.”
“Hippy-ish?”
“Yes, and it’s not a bad thing. My dad was like that until Birkenstocks went out of style and his boss forced him to switch to loafers.”
“Tragic.” She laughed.
“I know.”
She looked at him for a minute. He hoped he hadn’t offended her with the cookie comment.
“That’s enough for tonight, don’t you think?” Rory asked pushing herself off of the floor, taking their water glasses with her.
“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s getting late.” Ian started to gather his things. Shit. He’d offended her. Fucking loose lips. Why did he always have to say what he was thinking? Just shut up for once.
“No, I didn’t mean for you to leave.” she said over her shoulder. She came back in with two glasses filled with ice and a bottle of Jack. “You can stay for a drink, right?”
Ian took in her tight tank and frayed jean shorts, which made her legs go on forever. Her hair was in a braid over her shoulder and her lips were pressed together. It was sexy, she was sexy. And he really wanted to stay for a drink.
“Sure, I could have a drink.”
“Good.” She walked past him and went onto the patio.
There were two colorful fabric chairs. There was a copper lantern in the shape of a spiked orb hanging in the corner. It was dark outside, so when she flicked a switch, the lantern gave off a warm light. Potted plants lined the perimeter. It was cozy, he liked it. It made him want to relax and have a few drinks.
He carefully lowered himself into a chair that was very close to the ground. Rory plopped down and crossed her legs over each other.
“So your dad was a hippy? I’ll bet he was the one that bought you your first guitar.” Rory guessed, pouring the dark liquid into each glass.
Ian grabbed the one she offered.
“Thank you…Well, he didn’t live in a commune or anything, but he was a free love, pot smokin’ type in the 60s. I think he had visions of me playing his folk song favorites after dinner or something.”
“And did you?” she asked with a smile.
“By the time I was good enough to play said favorites I wasn’t really into Peter, Paul and Mary or Joni Mitchell. My balls had dropped just a few years before and I didn’t want to send them back up.”
She sniffed. “You’re funny, you know that?”
“Um, I think I’m funny. But it doesn’t always translate…I did like Crosby, Stills and Nash, and Simon and Garfunkel, which was my dad’s favorite. But what I really wanted was an electric guitar. I finally got one just in time for my Alice in Chains obsession. That’s where playing in my friend’s garage came in. We were the hottest thing on Lakewood Ave and the coffee shop on 5 th .”
“I’m sure your whole audience was girls.”
“Pretty much.” They both laughed and she poured another.
“What about you? When did you start singing?”
“Well, speaking of communes…”
“No!”
“Yes. I lived in a commune outside of Boulder for the first eleven years of my life.”
“Bullshit! Are you getting me back for the hippy comment?”
“No. No, I swear. My parents are, in fact, hippies. We lived in a self-sustained community. We grew our own fruits and vegetables. We would sell goods to the local grocers and sold vegetables in a stand by the road. That’s how we earned money…Anyway, we didn’t have television, so for
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