CupidRocks by Francesca Hawley

with the Hauser in
days.”
    “Wing it. You’re the best of us.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Father thinks so.”
    “No way.”
    “He does too. He always says what a fine musician you are.”
    “Like he knows anymore,” Joe grumbled. “Look, I’ve got to
practice. I’m rusty.”
    “Okay. Don’t sweat it. Even if you haven’t played the damn
thing in months, you’ll wipe the floor with Jake and me.”
    “Not true. But thanks for the vote of confidence. See you at
one.”
    “See you then.”
    Without a backward glance, Joe headed for the bus to get his
guitar.

Chapter Eight
     
    Mandy frowned as Joe walked out the door. Hadn’t he been
attempting to get her back into bed not ten minutes ago? She finished eating as
he came in carrying a guitar case and a garment bag.
    “What’s in there?” She pointed at the garment bag.
    “Suit. Can I hang it in your room?”
    “Sure.” He left the kitchen with barely a glance in her
direction. “Damn it,” she muttered, getting up to follow him. What the hell was
going on? When she entered the bedroom, the garment bag hung from her closet
door and Joe was hunting along the walls for something.
    “What are you looking for?”
    “An outlet. I need to tune.”
    “Let me help,” Mandy purred, walking over to slide her arms
around him. She pressed a hot kiss against the side of his throat. He growled,
pulling her close. She lifted her face and he covered her mouth, delving inside
with his tongue. As quickly as he’d started, he withdrew and set her aside.
    “I’m sorry, angel, but I have to practice.” He looked
around. “I think I better go to the living room or maybe the bus. Less
tempting.” He grabbed his guitar case and walked out the door.
    “Well, really.” Mandy huffed in disbelief, following him.
    He stopped in the living room and tugged a small footstool over.
Then he plugged in his tuner and finally settled himself in an antique straight
chair. He put one foot up on the footstool and set about tuning the instrument
he’d pulled from the case. As soon as he had the guitar tuned he started in
with finger exercises.
    “Joe?”
    “Hmmm?”
    “Don’t you want to go back to bed for a while?”
    “Can’t,” he muttered, his attention on his guitar.
    “Would you please explain what’s going on?”
    Finally he looked up, annoyance in every line of his face.
“I already did. I…need…to…practice.”
    “Why? Why is this so important, Joe?”
    He shook his head and waved her away, focusing on his
guitar.
    She wanted to scream and throw things at him. Instead, she
left the room. There was obviously no talking to him right now. Her best
conclusion was that her True Mate was an asshole. Just her luck to get a jerk.
She shook her head and went to the kitchen to clean up the dishes.
    In the kitchen she stared at his half-full plate. He’d eaten
almost nothing. She considered putting his plate in the refrigerator, but
decided not to. Scrambled eggs would get rubbery. She threw the eggs away and
put the cooked bacon in the fridge. She could always crumble it over salad
later.
    Mandy could hear him continue to work through fingering
exercises, stumbling a couple of times then going over the same fingerings
again and again. Maybe Eddie was right—because mating a guitar player sucked so
far. She cocked her head when the music stopped.
    “Mandy would you please quit thinking so loud? I can’t
concentrate,” Joe shouted.
    She restrained a strangled scream. Go to hell, fella. She
thought as hard at him as she could.
    She felt something click in her mind and realized that
somehow he locked her out. Then she heard him begin to play again. That lousy
son of a bitch. Fuck this. She was not going to sit around here while he
ignored her. It was time to take a shower, get dressed and go for a walk to see
if she could figure out what the hell was going on.
    * * * * *
    Joe arched his back and set his guitar away from him. He
felt a little better about facing his father