Wild Thing (The Magic Jukebox Book 3) Read Free Page A

you could drive from the
nation’s northern border to its southern tip on one single road. Maybe someday
he’d hop on his bike and ride the distance, just for the adventure.
    The
waitress grabbed a tray, shot him a quick smile and headed back into the room,
circulating from table to table, checking on the patrons. Ty watched her for a
while, then shifted his attention to the two young women conferring in the
booth. The one with the black hair was dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin.
The redhead leaned toward her, giving the dark-haired one’s free hand a
squeeze. Dykes? Ty wondered. He’d hate to think that two good-looking women
like them were unavailable to the male half of the population, but a hot little
fantasy flared in his mind at the thought of them going at it. An even hotter
fantasy placed him between the two of them, the meat in the center of the
sandwich. He laughed at his crassness, told his balls to stop thinking for him,
and took another sip of beer.
    “Share
the joke?” The woman who’d addressed him had stepped up to the bar, blocking
his view of the drunk guy with the coffee. She was probably within shouting
distance of forty, nice looking and dressed for cruising in a short skirt and a
low-cut blouse which displayed cleavage deep enough to swallow small items.
    “Just
thinking about what an ass I am,” he said pleasantly.
    “I
don’t believe that,” the woman said. Catching the bartender’s eye, she said,
“Can I have a Cosmo, Gus?” Then she turned back to Ty. “You’re not from around
here, are you.”
    “Is
this one of those places where everybody knows everybody?”
    “Kind
of. I guess you and I should get to know each other, so you don’t feel left
out.”
    She
deserved an A for effort, but Ty wasn’t interested. He smiled politely, drank a
little more beer, and said, “I’m just passing through. Running an errand.”
    “If
only all errands ended with a drink,” she said, accepting the cocktail glass
the bartender handed her.
    He
rotated in his seat to gaze out at the room again. Business was definitely
picking up, more and more tables filling. Another waitress pranced into the
pub, her apron already tied around her waist. Two of the frat boys wandered
over to the jukebox.
    “Brace
yourself,” the Cosmo drinker said.
    “Why?”
    “That
jukebox is crazy.”
    How
could a jukebox be crazy? He braced himself, anyway, then let out a long breath
when the jukebox began pumping music into the room. An old Beach Boys
tune—“Fun, Fun, Fun.” Ty recognized it because his grandfather on his dad’s
side was a huge Beach Boys fan. The old man owned the band’s albums, cassettes,
even sheet music of their songs. He was a crappy guitar player, but he
fantasized about becoming the next Brian Wilson. “If you live in California,
this is your music,” he’d lecture Ty, who would nod solemnly. As a kid, he’d
worshipped his father’s father.
    Throughout
the room, people laughed. Some sang along, their voices screeching as they
reached for the falsetto notes. A small cluster of revelers moved to the center
of the room and started dancing, although it looked more like they were just
jumping up and down. Pretty rowdy for a weeknight.
    The
song ended. “Like I said,” the Cosmo drinker repeated, “that jukebox is crazy.”
    “What’s
crazy about it?”
    “It
only plays old songs. Really old songs.”
    “I
guess that makes sense. It looks like an antique.”
    The
woman shrugged. “I don’t know why Gus keeps the thing there. I mean, if you’re
going to have music, it should be music people listen to.”
    Ty
could have argued that people still listened to the Beach Boys. But he didn’t
want to get into an argument with his chatty new friend.
    Another
song came on, another oldie. Ty didn’t recognize this one, but he thought his
musically untalented grandfather could have mastered it. It had had only a few
smashing cords, and the singer sounded as if he’d gargled with