Phoebe Gustafson. Phoebe Gustafson. Why did she look so familiar to him? He toyed with the sound of her name again, wracking his brain for clues, for memories, for anything that would give him a hint as to who she was. Other than the fact that her genetics clearly marked her as Juliette’s sister, however, he could think of nothing else.
But those eyes. That mouth. Even her hair stirred something long ago forgotten—
“Earth to Taz.” Vic rapped his knuckles on the table top, his tone cajoling. “Where are you, man?”
Trevor lifted his gaze from the basket of Buffalo wings he was absentmindedly prodding at and grinned. “Taz back to earth. I’m here now. Sorry. What did you say?”
“I just asked how long you’re planning on being in town this time.” Vic sat upright in his bench seat, his military bearing almost comedic in contrast to Trevor’s casual slouch. “Particularly if you’ll be here in the spring. Early April to be specific.”
Trevor picked up a sauce-drenched wing and waved it at Vic. “Why? You need a wingman for some special occasion?”
Vic just stared at him across the table, not saying a word, not cracking a smile, but Trevor knew he’d caught the terrible pun by the way his friend’s jaw clenched, as though he were trying to bite back a response.
“I’m actually here for at least six months.” Trevor dropped the wing back into the basket in front of him and wiped his fingers clean on his napkin before continuing. “After the surprising success of the last album, I’m taking some time just to write and record. I’ll do some local gigs, but nothing that will take me away from home for more than a day or two.” He leaned forward, unable to contain the excitement he felt over the project brewing inside him. “Dude. I have these songs that keep going through my mind, songs that all tie together into a storyline; a concept album, you know? My agent isn’t feeling it, though, and he says he doesn’t think he can sell it. He basically told me that my mainstream audience won’t listen to it.”
“Why not?” Vic asked, taking the napkin from his lap and laying it neatly beside his empty plate. Big Mike’s had the best Happy Hour appetizer menu in town, which made it a great pit stop for the two men. Rather than the dollar drinks, they came for the all-you-can-eat wings, the overstuffed potato skins, and the bottomless chips and salsa with a side or two of fresh guacamole. And the huge monitors that offered a smorgasbord of sports to choose from, of course. Although today, they weren’t really paying attention to who was playing.
Trevor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s like there’s this—” He brought both hands up in front of his chest as though holding a ball. “Like there’s something alive inside my chest just hammering to get out.” He took a sip of his iced tea. “And even though he doesn’t necessarily agree with me on this, Phil trusts me. We made a lot of money off the tour, which, from what I hear, isn’t always the case. So I’m set to take some time to work on this side project, and Phil will wait to start pushing for the next album until I’m finished with this one. I told him six months.”
“Perfect. Because Juliette and I have set the date for the first Saturday in April. And yes, I’d like you to be my wingman.” Now Vic was grinning, but Trevor thought it probably had more to do with the thought of finally being married to Juliette than the bad wing joke.
“I’d be honored.” He raised his iced tea glass between them and Vic lifted his coffee cup in response. “Any chance you might want a song?”
“Juliette wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Trevor nodded, the memory of his evening spent with Juliette Gustafson almost a whole year ago now, when he sat beside her as she discovered what it meant to surrender, to forgive, and to accept the truest of all love. He couldn’t have asked God for a better wife for his best friend.
“Excellent. One more question.”
“Shoot.”
“Where did you go just now?”
A loud group of women swept past, the aroma of flowers and vanilla and something else purely female swirling around them. Trevor glanced up, catching the eye of a brunette who flashed him a glossy smile and a bold gaze. He nodded politely and looked back at Vic, but before he could speak, the woman paused at their table and cocked her head at him.
“Do we know each other?” she asked, her childlike voice a bit of a surprise. She wore a dress that made Trevor embarrassed for her, and when she placed both palms on the edge of the table and leaned forward a little, he felt embarrassed for Vic and himself, too. That much cleavage should have a rating stamped on it, or at least require one of those black censor strips when in public. He had to bite on his bottom lip to keep from grinning at the thought, lest she think he appreciated the view for the wrong reason.
Not that he didn’t appreciate the show. He did. A woman’s breasts were incredibly alluring to him, and when they were so freely displayed, it was tempting to indulge in the eye candy.
Trevor shook his head, forcing his gaze to stay focused on her face. “I don’t think so,” he said, keeping his smile polite, but his tone reserved. The three other women in her party now circled around the end of the booth.
“Well…” She drew the word out and then lifted one long-fingered hand and held it toward him. “My name is Carrie. And you are?”
“Trevor.” He held up both hands, even though they were clean. “You don’t want to shake my hand. I’ve been eating wings.” He didn’t bother giving her Vic’s name. He didn’t want to open up a conversation with the woman, and he knew Vic wouldn’t be interested in doing so either.
Carrie lowered her hand back to the table and shrugged. “Trevor. I’ve been over there sitting at our table trying to guess your name for the last half hour. I thought maybe Adam, or David. But I like Trevor. It suits you. You don’t mind if we join you for a bit, do you?” In a swift and practiced move, she pivoted on her heel and slid into the bench seat, bumping up against him to get him to scoot over to make more room. “Are you going to tell us your friend’s name?”
“Excuse me,” Vic interjected. “Carrie, right?”
She nodded, leaning forward expectantly, and shot an encouraging look at one of the other girls who made a move toward Vic’s side of the table.
“We were in the middle of a private conversation.” His tone was kind, patient, but firm, nonetheless. The group fell silent for a breath of a second, and then Carrie slowly slid back out of the bench and stood.
“Well,” she said, her eyes bright, her odd, girlish voice rubbing Trevor the wrong way. “At least you can’t say we don’t know each other anymore, right, Trevor?” She winked at him, and then pushed through the circle of women and led them away.
“Wow,” Trevor muttered, glad that Vic had been there to run interference. “Thanks. Kinda caught me off guard.” He took another sip of his tea.
“So, my friend,” Vic said after a few moments of silence. “How are you doing with all that?”
Trevor knew he was being vague because they were in public—in the privacy of either of their homes he would have been much more straightforward. Trevor would be thirty-five in a month, and being a single, red-blooded, healthy human being wasn’t always very easy for him.
“Honestly? I need to get married, man. I need a wife. I feel like Paul was talking straight at me when he said ‘It is better to marry than to burn with passion.’ Dude.” Trevor shook his head and smiled openly. “I’m doing really well, though, all things considered. As long as I keep busy and focused on what God’s got me doing, I’m good.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Vic replied. “I mean, a man has to rest, you know.”
“Yeah, but when I rest, my guard comes down. It’s a battle, Vic, even after all these years. I just keep praying, asking, begging God to send the right woman to me, but…” His voice trailed off. It didn’t sit well with him that everyone else seemed to have someone special in their lives. Sure, Vic was only now getting married and he was even older than Trevor, but Vic had been in a couple comfortable, if not passionate, relationships over the years. Trevor, on the other hand, had always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or with the wrong person.
That was how he’d felt about Juliette Gustafson, the girl who’d be marrying Vic next April. Even though he didn’t date casually, he’d agreed to go on a blind date with her at Gia’s request, for no other reason than that he’d felt the Lord compelling him to do so. All evening long, he’d prayed about her, asking God if she might be the one for him. But the whole time he was with her, as much as he enjoyed her company, the way she felt pressed against his back when she rode behind him on his bike, even after she’d invited Christ into her life, removing that last barrier between them, he’d known the answer was no. Not because she wasn’t beautiful. Not because he didn’t think she’d be a wonderful wife. Not because he could find anything wrong with her at all. But because he’d known she wasn’t the right one.
Just like all the other women who’d come and gone in his life.
Not that they were in his life. And that was the problem. They lived alongside his life, but none of them were really a part of his life.
And he was weary of being alone.
“I won’t settle, though. So I just keep praying. Keep asking.” He shook his head and finally lowered his gaze, his stomach clenching a little at having to admit his weakness, even to this friend who’d walked him through some difficult times. “It’s tough, man. Women like Carrie? They’re everywhere, especially on tour. It doesn’t matter that I’m a Christian, that I’m singing songs about Jesus and surrender and obedience and grace. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the opportunity to have my fill of some pretty little Christian girl offering me a lot more than Carrie just did.” He dipped his head in the direction the group of women had gone. “Holding out for marriage when sex is almost standard protocol as part of getting to know someone these days is like hanging onto a tiger by the tail. Not only do I come across as aloof and prudish to people, but I can’t, even for one moment, relax my grip, or I’ll fall, Vic. Crash and burn, you know?”
“That might be obedience, but there doesn’t seem to be any peace in it.”
Trevor lifted his head and met his friend’s eyes. He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “No. There’s no peace in it. It’s hell right now. I need a woman, Vic. But I know I don’t just need a woman,” he said, using his fingers to make air quotations around the phrase. “It’s not just sex, although that would be fantastic, too.” He touched a drop of condensation on his glass with the tip of his finger. “I need a woman who belongs to me, one I belong to.” He wasn’t jealous of Vic, but at that moment, he wanted to trade places with him more than anything. “These days, I actually wake up already feeling defeated, struggling before I even get out of bed. This isn’t right, living like this. ”
“How’s your thought life?” Vic asked, his voice low, gentle, understanding. “What are you doing with your alone time?”
Trevor released a quick snort. “It’s a twenty-four-seven struggle, man. Twenty-four-seven.” He paused just for a moment, but then continued, knowing he could trust Vic implicitly. “Today at the gas station, Phoebe’s licking comment? In that lounge singer voice of hers? I think I might have lost consciousness for a second or two.”
Vic laughed out loud but nodded. “I can imagine.”
“So I thank God in all sincerity for creating beautiful women like Phoebe Gustafson and her sisters. I thank him for putting her in my path, for letting me feel that rush of adrenaline and desire, because it means that at least everything is working the way it should, even if I’m not supposed to act on it. I try to be positive about every aspect of it, you know? I mean, he made women with all those curves and dimples, right? Those soft voices and bottomless eyes?”
Vic was shaking his head slowly, but not in disagreement.
“And he made us to appreciate all of it. But I tell you what, Vic. I’m sick to death of appreciating women from afar.” Trevor rubbed a hand over his eyes and dropped his head back against the cushion behind him. “Man, I sound like a fifteen-year-old boy.”
“Nah. You sound like a thirty-something-year-old man who’s holding out for the right woman.” Vic picked up the tab the waitress had left at their table right before Carrie and her group passed by. He shook his head when Trevor reached for his wallet. “Let’s get out of here. I got this.”