In Tune

By KC Enders

IN TUNE

What happens on spring break, stays on spring break ... right?

What’s more cliché than falling for some guy in a band?
—Gracyn George

It was supposed to be a no-strings fling. Nothing more. Sun, sand, sex—that’s it.. But that was before he strummed his way into my heart. Each note leaving a tingle in my spine, the lasting melodies burned into my soul.

What’s more cliché than pining for the one who got away?
—Gavin Keller

I’ve sacrificed way too much to chase after the girl who snuck out in the middle of the night and left me wondering, What if ...

What was supposed to be temporary becomes a longing neither of us is willing to let go.After months of trying to move on, it’s time to forget the whole thing or sync our hearts and get In Tune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KC Enders
• Release date: Feb 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463703472

KC Enders

Karin is a New York Girl living in a Midwest world. A connoisseur of great words, fine bourbon, and strong coffee, she's married to the love of her life who is also her best friend. The mother of two grown men, she is proud to say that they can cook, open car doors for the ladies, and clean up after themselves (you're welcome, world). Even though her boys no longer live at home, the many dogs she's rescued have taken up their empty space.

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THE OPENING ACT

CHAPTER 1

YOU’RE MINE

-DISTURBED

GAVIN

#porngifs

The shit I’ve seen since we started playing the Florida spring break circuit is the stuff of Tumblr.

I put off completing my history degree for this. Not for the GIFs, but for the music. I love it—don’t get me wrong—but the shine wore off the rock-star life really fucking quick.

Hell, I’m not anywhere close to being an actual rock star, and the shine is gone. Right now, I’m just a college dropout whose girlfriend cheated and dumped my ass before I was even gone a week.

Sarah’s excuse was that the band would absolutely kick ass, and I’d have chicks throwing themselves at me. She assumed I wouldn’t stay faithful to her and decided to beat me to the deed.

That was months ago, and though my lead singer, Kane, thought I should fuck her out of my system, it’s just not my thing. I’m not claiming to be a saint, but Kane’s idea of fucking her gone would solidly put me on ground that I just don’t jive with. I want more.

We got stuck with an early time slot today, and while I would love to say that I’m completely into this set, I’m not. Not at all. It’s a different scene when the sun goes down—an entirely kicked-up vibe.

With the music rolling through me, I glance at the small crowd of college students camped out all around the stage. For the most part, they’re drunk off their asses, and they have no idea what the hell is going on. Most are moving against the music, not with it. Fighting the melody, battling with the beat. Most of them but not all.

The makeshift stage faces the crashing waves, and off to my left, tucked in among the palms and umbrellas, is the anomaly. She’s fluid and graceful. Embracing the music, owning it, picking her way through the complex strains. Her lithe body moves and shifts in the most mesmerizing way. I turn away from the crowd, not wanting to take my eyes off her for a single moment.

She’s one of the only ones here who doesn’t look absolutely trashed. No, this girl looks enthralled, maybe a little lost in the moment.

My fingers are flying across the strings of my Gibson, guiding her movements, putting that look of ecstasy on her gorgeous face. The sun filtering through the palm fronds makes her blonde hair glow like a halo as it tumbles in wild waves around her sun-kissed cheeks. Her perfectly round ass sways and gyrates, matching the rise and fall of the notes emanating from my amp.

The last strains of our final song reverberate across the sand and are met head-on with cheers and loud whoops from our audience.

Kane leans over his mic, arm raised above his head, and bellows out, Thank you, Destin. We’ll be here all week. At least, that’s what he’s supposed to say. It sounds more like, Fuck you, Destin, but whatever. He’s the one who picked the shithole we’re staying in, so he has only himself to blame for his less than stellar attitude.

I glance back to where Dancer Girl was as I unplug my guitar and pull the strap over my head. The sun’s shifted just enough that I can’t see a damn thing against the glare. Stepping up to the edge of the stage, I lift my hand, shielding my eyes from the sun, and search the sea of blonde heads and bikinis, looking for her.

You finally find one who inspires you? Kane wraps an arm around my shoulders, standing way closer than he needs to. "Did you see the blonde dancing over there? Shaking her ass, swinging her hips, like … ung." He bites his fisted hand to give more emphasis to his grunt.

I push him off and put my guitar in its case, coiling up my amp cord and tucking it away. It bugs the shit out of me, the way he objectifies her with a handful of crass words.

Choosing to ignore that the same thoughts were just bouncing around in my head, I bite out, Back the fuck off, man. Do you ever think with anything other than your dick?

I glare at him over my shoulder, but he’s already focused elsewhere.

Two chicks who look like they got a BOGO deal on boobs are grinding on each other, and their siren call is too much for Kane to resist. Before I have a chance to snag his attention, he slips away, blowing off any of the real work.

But Dancer Girl is gone, too. Goddamn it. With Kane off chasing the boobsy twins, I help our bassist, Nate, and the drummer, Ian, load our equipment into the van. I grab a couple of bottles of beer before heading back out to take in the beach. Maybe look for the blonde in the deep purple bikini.

I pull my shirt over my head and tuck it into the back pocket of my shorts, the hot sand pushing back against every step I take. The next band is kicking into their first set, and the Bieber cover band chases me down the strand until the crash of the waves just about swallows the noise, leaving me in peace.

You guys were way better.

I pause and look over my shoulder toward the sage speaker of truths. And it’s Dancer Girl. And that little bikini is working overtime to contain her curves.

You think? I don’t know; they seem to have something going on there, I respond, hoping I look a little cooler than I feel.

She pinches at her bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile. Yeah, it’s … something.

I watch as she releases her lip and darts her tongue out, licking it. Thank God for my fucking shades because I stare at that lip and think thoughts that Kane would totally approve of.

Do I have something on my lip? she asks, covering her luscious mouth with her hand.

I’m so busted, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do but own it. Nope. Just wondering if you need some help with it. I raise my eyebrow, just the left one, and wait.

It takes a minute for the smile to spread across her face, but when it does, it’s radiant.

I think I can handle it … She pauses, waiting for me to fill in my name.

Gavin, I tell her, switching my beer bottles to my left hand and thrusting the right one out to shake. And you, Dancer Girl? What’s your name?

She takes my hand, pulling me toward her. I want to be chill, act like my heart isn’t tap-dancing some ridiculous beat. But, when we’re practically chest-to-tiny-bikini-covered-breasts, I’m not so sure I’m convincing anyone.

Gracyn, and thanks. She steps back and reaches between us, snagging the extra beer from my hand. Her lips wrap around the top of the bottle, and she tips it back.

Everything about this girl is fucking sexy.

GRACYN

There’s no way this is going anywhere. Not a chance. What happens on spring break stays on spring break—or something like that.

But the way Gavin watches me drink a beer—his beer—makes me feel like nothing short of a goddess. It’s obvious he thinks I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but even just a couple of feet away, I can see exactly where he’s looking. And, right now, his gaze is making its way down my throat and is headed south to my boobs. I have good boobs—spectacular really—so I can’t blame him for looking.

I drain almost half of the bottle in one go, giving him plenty of time to take me in. A drop of condensation falls from the end of the bottle, landing on my chest. The cool drop of water slides down my cleavage, and Gavin is riveted. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. He’s just standing there, his grip tightening on my hand. His bottle is poised midair, his thumb resting on the side of his lip.

You okay? I laugh.

He drags his gaze back up to meet mine and clears his throat. His head slowly dips into a nod, and he replies, I think I am.

But you’re not sure? It comes out more as a question than a statement as heat washes up my chest to pink my cheeks.

I don’t know that I’m sure of anything right now, except that I think you owe me for that beer. He taps his bottle against the one I snagged and lifts it to his lips, taking a sip. Come on.

He’s still got a firm hold on my hand as he spins, awkwardly wrapping us up and moves down the beach, away from the bar where his band played. Away from the girls I came down here with. This is probably a very bad idea.

What do you mean, I owe you? What kind of payment are you thinking you’re going to get? I dig my heels into the sand, not budging from my spot.

Gavin squares himself in front of me and slides his shades to the top of his head, pushing those sun-bleached curls back from his face. I was thinking you could buy me a beer, keep me company, and maybe grab some food. Does that work for you? He pins me with a look, his eyebrow raised.

It does. Sounds like a fantastic idea actually. Just as long as you don’t have any nefarious intents, I snark back at him.

CHAPTER 2

FEEL LIKE MAKING LOVE

-GOLDFINGER

GRACYN

This part of the beach is lined with resorts with chairs, umbrellas, and people. So many people.

I mean, that’s probably a good thing since I’m following this perfect stranger—this random, hot piece of yum.

Jesus.

As my grounding force and voice of reason, my best friend, Lisbeth Rittenhouse, would have a coronary if she knew I was taking off down the beach with a rando. I’ve known her forever, and when we moved in together during our sophomore year of college, it was the best decision that we’d made. She needed to get out of her house, away from her toxic family, and dorm life held absolutely no appeal for me.

I should text her and let her know I miss her, tell her about all the lovely scenery on the beach, and send her a picture of that ass.

Shit. I stutter to a stop and huff out a frustrated laugh.

Gavin turns to me. What? You having second thoughts? Just remembered you have a thing with a person and stuff, and you can’t miss it? He looks past me, eyes crinkling at the corners as he pushes at those curls again, vulnerable as his veil drops and he expects to be bailed on.

No, it’s just … I grabbed cash when I left the condo this morning but left my phone. I … I shift my feet in the hot sand.

Gavin reaches into his pocket and extends his phone to me. Here, use mine.

I stare at the pink-and-black tiger-striped case, and as hard as I try, I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my chest.

That’s pretty. I laugh at the sweet way he cocks his head to the side. I’m good though. I was just going to text my friend real quick. She had to stay home and work this week, and I kind of feel bad for her. I wave off his offer and start walking again.

Gavin guides me up the stairs of a beachfront bar to a table tucked into the back corner of the deck. He pulls a chair out for me and adjusts the umbrella to give us a little relief from the blazing Florida sun.

A waitress stomps over and glares at us.

The hostess stand is up front. You really need to see her for a table. The gum-snapping pizza queen looks like a Jersey Shore transplant with her teased-out, bumped-up ponytail and frosty pearl-white lipstick.

Words are bubbling up in my chest, ones where I lay her low and school her on how to greet a customer, launch into a tirade on how to be a good server and to appreciate where her tips are coming from.

Yes, I could be called a rich bitch. I sure as hell don’t have to work. In fact, my dad is so horribly against it, and maybe pure rebellion is a big part of the appeal for me. But waiting tables is all about customer service, and this chick has chapped my ass in a big, bad way. With my palms on the table, I lean forward, eyes narrowed to slits, and I open my mouth, ready to let loose.

Gavin’s throaty chuckle messes with my mojo and stops my word vomit seconds before it spews all over everything.

Hang on, killer. I’ll be right back, he says to me.

He unfolds himself from the table and encourages the wicked witch to lead the way to the hostess stand. And unfold is the only way to describe the action. He ducks his head until he’s clear of the umbrella, and when he straightens to his full height, I have to tilt my head all the way back to catch his wink and smile before he turns to walk away.

He grabs his T-shirt out of his back pocket and pulls it over his head as he makes his way into the restaurant. It’s a shame, truly a disgrace, for him to cover up that back. A crime against nature really, and as I glance around the deck, I notice several other girls seem to be mourning the loss of the view.

Now, I truly wish I had my phone with me.

My intent isn’t to make Lis feel bad for being stuck in New York, but she shouldn’t have to miss out on everything. Normally, I’d have snapped, tweeted, and had him all over my Insta by now.

And Lis would be asking me all the responsible questions: Where are you? What’s his name? Does he have a record? Are you making good choices? That’s why she’s my person. She loves me and all my crazy.

Instead, I commit him to memory, so I can tell her all the details later. Like the way his shorts hug his round ass and how his tee is fighting to properly span the lean muscles of his back and broad shoulders. The way he shoves his sunglasses to the top of his head, trapping the wild golden curls cascading down the back of his head. The way he leans over the hostess stand, resting on his forearms, while he flirts just a little, so we can keep our prime table in the corner of the crowded restaurant deck.

With an eye-crinkling smile, he straightens and makes his way back over to me, winking just as he settles his sunglasses down over his whiskey-colored eyes.

Our waitress will be with us shortly, he says as he slides into his chair. And the first round is on the house. His grin hitches up higher on one side.

How did you swing that? I lean back in my chair, angling so that I can prop my feet up on the deck railing.

He scoots his chair, mimicking my slouchy pose. I just smiled a little. Sure as shit didn’t bite anyone’s head off. What was that about anyway? You have some anger issues I need to be aware of? he asks, looking at me over the top of his sunglasses.

Smart-ass. No, but I work in a restaurant during the semester with my friend, and it’s just not that hard to be nice to people, you know? I nod my head toward the gum-snapping pizza queen as she huffs past us to a table that’s obviously outside of her section. Did you get us a different waitress, too?

A cute girl with platinum blonde hair and a purple undercut is coming our way with a bucket of beers and a couple of glasses of water.

I did. Gavin flashes our new waitress, Dahlia, a pearly smile and says, Thanks, doll. We’ll take an order of nachos and some wings. He tilts his head toward me and addresses me, That good with you, babe?

Babe?

I nod slowly, biting my lower lip to keep my snarky comment in check for the time being. Sounds good, muffin.

His pouty lower lip twitches at that.

Great. I’ll get that right in for you. And I’m so sorry about the confusion. Dahlia pops the tops off two bottles and tucks the opener into the bucket of ice before running off to put in our order.

I look out at the ocean, watching the teal water rise and roll its way up onto the white sand.

Gavin sets an open bottle of beer next to me and grabs his own, holding it out for a tap.

I raise mine and stare at him just long enough that he starts impatiently swinging his bottle back and forth.

What did you tell them? I nod toward the hostess stand. What confusion and why the special ass-kissing treatment?

He stretches his arm, leaning into the table, loudly clinking our bottles together. Settling back in his chair, Gavin takes a pull from his beer and taps his fingers on the tabletop, matching the beat of the music coming through the speakers.

GAVIN

How am I going to explain this bullshit, so Gracyn doesn’t think I’m a total ass? Or insane.

I buy myself a little time, wanting to spin it just right, tapping out the beat of the reggae playing on the sound system. Gracyn and her grit are quickly weaving their way into the forefront of my thoughts. She’s mighty, maybe a little bit scary. But she’s got the whole give-and-take thing going on, and that is sexy as hell.

Fuck it.

I told them that you were on tour with Gaga. That you were trying to have a relaxing week while the tour’s on hiatus. I don’t look at her as the words tumble from my mouth. I can’t. As it is, I’m afraid my teeth are going to pierce my lower lip; I’m biting down so hard to keep from laughing my ass off. It’s a ridiculous story. Gaga doesn’t take time off mid-tour.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can just barely see her shoulders bouncing.

You’re kidding, right? She laughs.

The funky, punky waitress swoops in with our food, rescuing me from trying to defend my actions. The truth is, my sister’s a classically trained chef, and she went to school with the owner. We bonded while he was in school with Sasha over a bottle of bourbon while she worked on her dessert dissertation or whatever. And then he opted out of the fussy foodie world and headed to the beach for good weather and chicks in bikinis.

Anything else I can grab for you? the waitress asks as she turns and starts tapping her pen on the table, mimicking my rhythm.

Gracyn pinches her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger again and shakes her head, finally meeting my gaze, her eyes sparkling.

Nah, I think we’re good for a bit. Thanks. I pop open another set of beers, passing one across to Gracyn. Here’s to your relaxing week.

You’re out of control. She chuckles and taps me back. As she digs into the wings, she hits me with some get-to-know-you conversation. Tell me about you. How long have you been doing this music thing?

Playing or trying to make something of it? I make the mistake of looking up at her just as she pulls a saucy finger out of her mouth.

Goddamn, those plump lips.

Either. Yes. All of it.

I hand Gracyn a napkin because I’m not sure I can survive her licking another finger.

I’ve played forever, as long as I can remember.

Just guitar, or do you have other talents? She smirks.

There are so many fucking ways I can answer her because that is a loaded question.

Smirking, I give her a ridiculously appropriate response, I play bass as well but prefer guitar. Piano, violin, cello. I can fake it on the drums, but I don’t love it. Ian is a hell of a lot better than I am. I shrug and snag some nachos, adding a healthy dollop of sour cream before popping one in my mouth.

The wind whips her blonde waves up and across her face, lodging a lock in a sticky bit of sauce. Somehow, all of her fingers are smeared with the spicy stuff, and the back of her hand is just about useless. I reach across the table and pull the silky strands from where they’re glued to her lips.

The air shifts and changes between us, crackling with electricity and something else. Something I don’t think I’ve ever felt before, certainly not with my ex-girlfriend, Sarah.

I lazily wind the pale blonde piece around my finger, letting it slide between my calloused fingertips before tucking it safely behind her ear.

A rosy blush covers her cheeks that I’m pretty sure has nothing to do with the sun.

Looks like she’s feeling whatever this is, too.

CHAPTER 3

YOUNG GIRL

-DON CARLOS

GAVIN

The way Gracyn converses with her entire body is fascinating. The way she laughs is just a little too loud. She comes across like she’s perfectly at ease, even when she’s hanging out with a jackass like me, like we’ve known each other for far longer than just the handful of hours we’ve spent together.

Our waitress has cleared our plates and brought a fresh bucket of beers and some key lime pie for us to share, sliding Gracyn and me from the early-bird hour well through the regular dinner rush.

Somewhere in the time we’ve spent getting to know the superficial things about each other, the sun has committed to setting, painting the sky an unbelievable palette of pinks and oranges and purples.

Far more importantly, the music piped in through the substandard speakers has been replaced with a small reggae band. Small but soulful, their beat undeniable and