"Fuck," he muttered, mostly because she was adept at calling 'not it' on a regular basis, since childhood. It was possible it was some sort of religious call or something else -- the knock didn't sound like cops, and Kevin knew what cops sounded like. They pounded hard and didn't care, this was lighter, and so he figured it wasn't LAPD. All the same, Kevin wasn't the guy to greet the cops; he had a lurid tattoo of a medusa on his arm and, when he pulled his hair back into a ponytail, had piercings. On the other hand, he was a good one to scare off the Jehovah's Witnesses. Probably why Parker left him with door duty.

It was the next best thing; Adam himself -- six feet and change of bad attitude wearing a pale blue button-down shirt front tucked into a pair of pink chino shorts, which apparently was fashion in fratland. He even was wearing boating shoes and those were probably fashionably expensive ones. The guy was buzzcut, though, as a break from prep fashion that proclaimed alpha maleness or something, and there was an expression there that showed that he was less than pleased to see Kevin there. [i]Well tough, dude, I live here,[/b] he thought right back. He felt obligated to take this guy's shit and try to be the good guy, but this grated. All the same, the guy was at least all 'dude' and 'man' because Parker was listening, So he had to play along. Cave would have laughed his ass off at the scene.

"Sure. She's right on the couch," he told him calmly, even as he stepped back. 

"So how are you, Kev, still working at that pawn shop?" 

"Uh, yeah, but it's a guitar store."

"Yeah, but you buy and sell used guitars, right?"

"There's a difference," Kevin insisted mildly.

"Sure," he said, with a hint of a smirk, though verbally agreeing, in a fashion. The conversations often went like that.

That was about all Kevin could take of Adam's small talk, so he just nodded and got out of there -- no doubt he had an all-fired important reason to interrupt Sunday Morning, but Kevin didn't really need to hear it. The truth was, it was two days before a gig and they were still having to run around on equipment rentals and other necessities of the business. There was plenty to do on a Sunday to get that all set up, as well as a shift at work later. "I'll be in my room Parker, got stuff to do," he told her as he headed for that -- he wanted to pluck the guitar out of her hands with Adam around, because he didn't trust the dude not to somehow abuse his instrument, but that'd probably offend Parker a bit-- she was holding it. It made him grit his teeth as he closed his bedroom door; it felt like he was leaving one of his children behind to the wolves there.

His room was his -- it was guitars on stands, a speaker and an amp, real nice ones, and a mattress on the floor, covered with rumpled sheets. It was milk crates holding an alarm clock and beanbag chairs and stools. He had his own bathroom, with a shower, and that was marginally neater. The place was cluttered with wires and cables, equipment in general, and there was a laptop there, and it was cutouts and posters all over the wall. It was the definitive man cave, if one happened to love guitars over everything else, but it suited him. By avoiding ever bringing a woman back to his place, he also deftly sidestepped having to make the place look too-too nice. On the other hand, a woman would be impressed with the types of shampoo and conditioner in there-- because long hair meant having to care for it, especially when it was thick like Kevin's.

There was a temptation for Kevin to stay at the door and listen in on his friend's conversation with her douchey boyfriend, but it passed -- instead, he stepped over a couple pieces of clothing on the floor and into the bathroom, where he cranked up the heat on the shower. It was going to be one of those days, so he figured he might as well clear his head and get it together before Cave woke up (at noon or somewhere thereabouts) and everything started...