Sweet Thing by Renee Carlino Page B

began to play. The set they played was similar to the one I’d seen before, except they slipped in a new instrumental song about halfway through.
    Pete introduced the song. “This is a song I’m working on. I’m still looking for that magic inspiration to write some lyrics—maybe one of you ladies can help me out?”
    “Woohoos” and “yeah, babys” came from the group of bimbos at the front. I recognized the music right away; it was the song I heard through the ceiling at Sam’s. The song was beautiful and evocative, even without lyrics. Will’s solo wasn’t the typical solo; it was slow, bluesy, and delicate. His adroit hands played it without hesitation. During that song, Will looked out to the audience for the first time. Within two seconds his eyes met mine.
    After the show, he set his guitar down and walked through the crowd toward me. I saw him thanking people who were high-fiving and patting him on the back. When he reached the bar, he looked around before speaking. “Hey, thanks for coming. Are you alone?” I nodded my head. “How’d you get here?”
    “Subway.”
    He narrowed his eyes. There was long pause and then he looked back toward the stage and waved goodbye to the rest of the band. “Ready?” He said as he stuck his hand out for me to take.
    “What? I can get home on my own. Don’t you want to stay with the guys?”
    He shook his head slightly. “No, I’m done and we’re going to the same place. Might as well go together, right?” He was uncharacteristically serious.
    “What about your guitar?”
    “Dustin will get it.”
    “Ok.” I took his hand. As he led me toward the door, I looked back at the stage and saw Nate watching us. A tiny smirk played on his face.
    We walked toward the subway, still hand in hand. When I gently removed my hand from his, he turned around and smiled. His expression said You’re cute, but we’re just holding hands. Again, I thought I needed to keep things straight.
    “You guys were good tonight, except Pete. He still sucks.”
    “Yeah, I can’t believe that guy. The new song is not his. It’s so not his!”
    “He’s such…” At the same time we both snapped out, “An assclown!”
    Will laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me onto the subway train. It was crowded and there were no seats open, so we stood near the door. He held onto the bar above his head as he leaned over me. He might have been sweating all night, but he still had the yummy Will smell with just a hint of muskiness. It was arousing. We stood two inches apart, facing each other. I held onto the pole next to me with one hand and gripped Will’s free arm with my other. The way Will stood over me, with his head dropped down slightly, made me feel protected. I could feel his breath on my neck.
    “Mia,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear. “At night… don’t ride the subway alone, okay?” I nodded my head and then closed the two-inch gap.
    Once inside the apartment, we both headed toward our rooms. We paused at the end of the hall and turned toward each other. With a wink Will said, “Night, Roomy.”
    “Night, Will.”
    Saturday morning, Will was gone before I got up. I got dressed and grabbed Jackson’s leash to take him out. Normally the moment I touched the leash, the eighty-pound dog would practically leap into my arms, but that morning he wouldn’t budge from his doggy pillow. I tried to move him; he just sat there staring sadly at me. It was clear he wasn’t feeling well. I thought about taking him to the vet, but he was thirteen and I’d had a bad experience at the vet with my last dog. I decided to make him comfortable and cook up some chicken and rice for him. By two p.m., Jackson was up and about, almost back to himself. By four he was ready for a run through the park. The little episode scared me, but it seemed to be over as quickly as it started.
    Robert and I had a dinner at a fancy French restaurant. It was unusually hot for May in New York, so I wore