Across the Music (Across the Ocean Book 2) (2 page)

Why did I agree to do this again?

This was a horrible choice. It is
always
a horrible choice. Katla is my ex, and even though we broke up last year on mutual terms, we meet once a month for dinner. I don’t think she knows how to be alone, so she constantly needs someone to fawn over her and feed her ego. I'm not sure how I fit that bill, since I just let her talk during the whole dinner, but I still care about her, so I keep agreeing to meet up.

We grew up together, and she was my very first girlfriend. Not the first girl I had sex with, but a real relationship. We lasted 3 years, even though most of it consisted of me being in other towns for my studies, allowing us limited opportunities to be around each other. The times we were together were usually filled with lots of sex to make up for what we were lacking during our time apart. Not a huge amount of emotional substance there.

I don’t mind hanging out with her, since I do know her so well, but if I'm completely honest, I’m overwhelmingly bored with her. She’s extremely shallow, always going on about her self-induced female drama that I have no chance to properly follow, let alone to give a shit about, or what clothes so and so is wearing and whether it passes her standards or not. This isn’t my favorite thing about her. I think I’m too much of a nice guy to say no to her and hurt her feelings or cause waves of confrontation in my life. Since I'm still showing up and eating with her every month, I'm just as much to blame for being bored I guess. Since it is her turn to pay for dinner, I’m just sucking it up for a free fancy meal. She picked the expensive Italian place.

I’m not completely sure how we ended up dating, except for the fact that she’s quite attractive, and our options for relationships were exceedingly limited as teenagers. Her shoulder length black hair is shiny and silky, with luxurious curls I used to love gripping in my fists. Her eyes are so dark as to almost be black, and her skin is the sexy bronze of a Brazilian.

Her father is Brazilian and her mother is Icelandic. The combination brought to the earth a sexy little firecracker. Her cleavage is on display in abundance from her thin strapped red top that matches her lipstick. She’s always dolled up to impress.

I think I’m going to back out of next month’s dinner. It’s not that I don’t like her as a person, but I think I’ve become pickier about who I keep close to me. Sometimes I suspect she is trying to keep tabs on me in case my music career takes me somewhere. Of course this is purely speculation, since I don’t even have a music career yet, except for my sound engineer work.

I sip on my crisp and sweet white wine, leaning back in my seat as I take a glance around the room. Katla is prattling on about somebody that she simply can't stand, so it doesn’t really matter if I’m paying attention or not. I love this restaurant, and I think it’s possible this building is the original one built here, which would mean it has been around for a long time.

It’s a three-story building, and is elegant yet rustic inside. There is an Italian brick oven on the bottom floor, a sitting area to wait for seats and have something to drink on the second floor, and there are several comfortable dining areas. There’s a guy playing classical guitar downstairs, and I can hear him clearly up here on the second floor. The dim lighting and vintage decor set the mood for a romantic dinner.

It’s too bad there’s no romance at my table. Or in my life at all. Life has been so crazy yet bland these last few months, I haven’t had any chance to see what my options are, or if I even have any. My best friend Ari recently became engaged to an American named Brooke, and I have to admit that I’m feeling quite a bit of jealousy towards them.

These two are so sickeningly in love, that anyone around them, who isn’t also as equally in love with someone already, immediately feels inadequate and uncomfortable. I swear, the love practically shoots from their eyes like little Cupid arrows, and blue birds sing songs or some shit. It’s absolutely disgusting. I want it.

I come from a really great life, and since I turn 30 soon, I’m beginning to consider where I want this life to go. I’m a successful audio engineer, and a musician on the side. I have so many things to be grateful for, I'm not sure why I'm so restless.

My parents are still happily married after 35 years. I have 2 older brothers, and we get along really well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents argue, and our family dinners never include fighting. I have no real complaints, and maybe I seem ungrateful.

“I need to find the waitress to ask for another glass of wine.” Katla’s high-pitched voice grabs me out of my thoughts, and I turn to look at her. She’s a beautiful girl, but I was so terribly bored out of my mind with her.

I think I’m bored with life in general. I’m uninspired, and lethargic. My music is suffering, and I’m suffering. This may sound ridiculous, but sometimes I feel that due to having such a wonderful life so far, I don’t have any real way to appreciate what I have. No perspective, perhaps.

How can I write music with feeling, depth and emotions when my own experiences haven’t provided me with sorrow or angst? I have no enemies, and I’m a fairly likable guy. Maybe I’ve had too good of a life. I feel like an idiot just considering these things.

There is a flurry of motion next to our table, and I look up to see a strangely familiar female is here pouring wine into Katla’s glass. There’s a zing of awareness and recognition that flows down my spine when I look at her.

Where do I know her from?
I’ve always been really great at knowing who nearly everybody is, what with the city being fairly small. She’s absolutely stunning, and I can’t stop staring at her. There’s something poking me in the back of my mind telling me that she is familiar somehow.

Her pale hair is tied back low on her neck, and it takes approximately two seconds for my mind to imagine letting the shiny waves fall around my fingers while I take hold of a handful. The color reminds me of moonlight shining down between cracks in the clouds. I can only see her side profile, but the dimple in her cheek that forms when she smiles at Katla is adorable.

Mystery Lady turns to me, a slight smile on her open mouth as she prepares to ask me if I need anything. My eyes instantly fly to her lips, admiring the peachy plumpness that can probably suck a man straight into heaven. Her mouth and entire body freezes when she takes a look at me. I hope it’s because I’m so handsome. I look up to meet her wide eyes, a shocking pale green that is extremely exotic. I can feel a tingle in my cock in response. This doesn't happen too often to me these days, the want for someone. She’s beautiful, mysterious, and I definitely want her.

I only realize she hasn’t said anything after a moment when Katla clears her throat. Mystery lady blushes fiercely, the flush making her even more attractive as she remembers her task at hand.

“Would you like another glass of wine, mate?” She asks me in a soft and sexy voice. There’s a unique raspiness to it, but what really gets me is that she’s speaking English, and with a New Zealand accent. This is perhaps one of the sexiest sounding sentences I’ve ever had spoken to me, and it wasn’t even meant to be. I've met several Kiwis before, but the one right in front of me is enchanting me with a single sentence. How ridiculous am I?

Nodding, I grasp my wine glass by the stem and hold it steady on the table while she carefully fills my glass like a professional. I can’t help it as my eyes follow the line of her graceful fingers, up her arm, and down her body. Curves in all the right places. I can’t wait to watch her as she walks away.

Adjusting her weight on her legs, Mystery Lady accidentally bumps the bottle in her hand, spilling wine over the edge of my glass. The cool liquid runs down the stem to my hand, down my wrist and into the sleeve of my shirt.

“Not again,” she mutters testily under her breath. I hear Katla huffing in disapproval, but can’t be bothered to look at her. Her mention of “again” has me thinking about whether she’s spilled wine several times today on other customers. I don’t think I'd mind her spilling on me, if she stays around a little longer. Pulling a white cloth out of the front pocket of the little black apron tied to her waist, she gives me an apologetic smile.

“I’m really very sorry; I swear I’m not this clumsy. Please take this to dry your arm with. I’ll leave you to finish your meal. Sorry again.” Nodding slightly to both Katla and I, Mystery Lady turns on her heel and speed walks to the employee area. Her ass is perfect, if you were wondering.

I grab the cloth she left for me and attempt to dry my arm and sleeve. Katla is just sipping on her glass of wine quietly, watching my reaction. She's not usually so quiet.

“I want to go dancing, want to come?” I really don’t, I have plans already tonight, so I shake my head and twist my mouth apologetically, even though I’m not really sorry.

“Oh, you’re no fun. Suit yourself. The waitress, she looked a bit familiar, didn’t she? I can’t remember where I recognize her from.” Tapping her finger against her lips thoughtfully, she looks back over her shoulder in the direction that Mystery Lady went.

"I can't believe she spilled the wine on you, I'm surprised they hired such a clumsy girl," Katla is sneering most unattractively, and I just shrug. There's no point in even really responding, otherwise she'll latch on and not let go like a dog.

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise when I realize everything she's said. Katla might know this girl too? The plot thickens. Maybe I’ll be able to find an excuse to see her again, and figure it out.

Ten or so minutes later, and Katla is ready to go, and she heads downstairs to pay the bill while I linger at our table in hopes of seeing Mystery Lady again. I have no such luck, but another waitress walks by, and I lightly touch her shoulder to catch her attention.

“Excuse me, but do you happen know who the blonde waitress is with the green eyes?” I ask politely. I don’t want her to think I am a stalker or a creep.

“We have a new girl who started today; you might be talking about her. I think her name is Sophie; did you have a complaint about her? She’s brand new, so is still learning. I'm sorry if she made any mistakes.” I nod to her; it sucks being the new employee sometimes.

“Ah, no. Nothing wrong. Just wanted to find out who she was.” The waitress gives me a little grin, and I think she knows what I’m getting at.

“Right, well like I said, I think her name is Sophie, but I’m not completely certain.” I realize that Katla is done paying the bill, and is walking back up the stairs towards our table. Nodding to the waitress, I turn to grab my wine glass and drain it in one long gulp. It’s time to go.

Way to go Sophie
.

Gunnar didn’t even recognize me. I’m really rather embarrassed. I know it shouldn't be a big deal, but it is painful to know that I left so little of an impression during our first meeting that he doesn’t remember me. Maybe it's better this way, so that I'll live alone in my humiliation.

I suppose it's always possible that he was just trying to be polite, and not bring attention to what happened before. He was with another woman, and maybe he was trying to impress her, or was on a date with her. She was pretty, but she kind of reminded me of a female version of Steven Segal, as strange as that sounds. That might even be jealousy I'm feeling right now.

The impact that Gunnar had on me is unforgettable. One look at him, and everything inside of me shifted. I felt so much need, desire and something else I’m unfamiliar with. A pull. I was the moth and he the flame, drawing me closer and closer. I guess it wasn’t the same for him.

Gunnar is the dark one, with his wavy and almost black hair cut shorter than I remember from the last time I saw him. His blue eyes stand out amongst a ring of thick black eyelashes. The gold and yellows that surround his pupils create a brilliant contrast against the blue. Full lips framed by a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. I’ve always had a thing for facial hair.

Shaking my head and shoulders briskly to get rid of the extra adrenaline coursing through me, I head towards the side door to grab a moment alone. My cheeks feel hot, and I could use a breath of fresh air.

Normally I’m a generally calm and collected person. I don’t get my feathers ruffled too easily; I use my brain before my heart a majority of the time. I mind my own business, and I usually like to think that I’m logical and reasonable. I’m quite unprepared for Gunnar.

When I saw him the first time, the fluttering of butterflies was so overwhelming in my stomach that I literally had to spew. Yes, literally. That’s never happened before. I suppose I should mention again the fact that I was absolutely blitzed that night, so I have one poor excuse for my bad behavior.

My limbs became wobbly, and unreliable. My mouth decided to spout off a ton of gibberish. Who knows if it was intelligible? I’m quite certain that I was just a complete mess. Although I’m quite relieved that he doesn’t seem to recollect any of it, I’m feeling the sting of him not remembering me at all. It’s confusing.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I remind myself that I’m too old to behave like a teenager high on hormones over this. Standing up straighter, I smooth my hair once more before heading back out to finish my shift.