Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

EIGHT “Firestarter”

EIGHT

“Firestarter”

The Prodigy

Natalie

I jerk awake as sharp knocks sound against my hotel door. It’s only when I open my eyes that I realize I’m not at home, and I fell asleep with my laptop open after failing to set an alarm.

“Shit!”

Scrambling, I pull on the Seahawks sweatshirt I bought from the hotel gift shop and crack the door. On the other side stands a handsome, well-dressed man who looks to be somewhere in his early forties, grinning at me with a phone lifted to his ear.

“Good morning, Natalie ?”

“Yes,” I say, partially shielding behind the door to hide my slightly revealing pajama bottoms.

“Yeah,” he says with a low chuckle. “She most definitely overslept.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt loudly, knowing Easton is on the other end of the line. “I can be ready in ten minutes.”

The man shakes his head, his grin widening. “He says too late.”

My chest deflates.

“Yeah, she looks like you just kicked her.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he pulls away from the phone and covers the speaker.

“Hey, I’m Joel,” he whispers.

I frown in confusion. “Hi.”

He elevates his voice for Easton. “He says ten minutes, fifteen if you bring coffees from the lobby and have an apology ready.” He pulls his phone away again and whispers conspiratorially, making him an instant ally. “He’ll wait twenty.”

I project my voice again. “I already apologized and tell his entitled ass, it’ll be twenty. ”

Joel grins as Easton speaks on the other end of the line. I find myself leaning in and can’t make out a word. “Uh huh, got it,” Joel says before hanging up and giving me a wink of reassurance. “See you in twenty, Natalie.”

With that, he turns and begins to make his way toward the elevator.

“Wait,” I call out to his retreating back. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

“Got it,” I say, slamming my hotel door and bracing myself against it for a few seconds before I burst into motion. I use the first four of my twenty minutes in the shower and accidentally wet my hair when I drop my rag.

“SHIT!”

Bringing my soapy hands up to see how much of it got wet, a splatter of soap lands directly in my eyes. Eyes burning, I curse as I jump around in pain before finally immersing my whole head under the spray.

Once I’m out, I manage a quick towel off before I frantically dig through my amenities bag, praying I have enough product to tame the inevitable curls I inherited from my mother. While Dad gave me the color, my mom graced me with the just electrocuted ringlets sure to appear as soon as the air starts to dry it. I spent the rest of my ticking time blow drying and crunching it as my unused flat irons stared back at me in judgment.

Without a single second to spare, I slide on clean panties, jeans, and my Van high-tops before pulling back on my Seahawks hoodie. With less than five minutes to spare, I haul ass to the coffee shop in the lobby and stand in line, shooting off a text to Easton.

How do you like your coffee?

EC: On time.

Then stop wasting mine. What will you have?

EC: I’ll take a triple shot espresso with lots of sugar and cream and a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg.

What the hell are we doing that constitutes that kind of caffeine buzz? Or are you in need of a substitute for testosterone due to that need for a cinnamon and nutmeg dash?

EC: I know you’re adjusting to the time change, Austin, but your Seattle time ran out two minutes ago.

Ten agonizing minutes later, I walk out of the hotel without a single trace of makeup, looking like a freshly laundered poodle with pink eye. Balancing the beverage tray with Joel’s man coffee and Easton’s girly drink, I tighten my small backpack on my shoulder as I spot the celebrity-typical idling SUV with blacked-out windows.

Joel pops out as I near and opens the back door for me as I pluck out and extend his coffee his way. He thanks me as I slide in, keeping my gaze averted, embarrassment already coating my neck. Aware we’re all our own harshest critics, I still need a few confidence-boosting steps to feel comfortable, especially when attempting to go all-natural. I had no time for any of those.

“You really expect me to take you seriously as a reporter?” Easton chides as I thrust his apology espresso towards him.

“We’re off record today, remember?”

He refuses the piping hot offering in my hand, and I look over to him to see his gaze fixed on my hair just as he reaches up and rubs one of my curls between his fingers. “I like it like this.”

“Clean?”

“Natural,” he says, taking his coffee as a tinge of exhilaration shoots up my spine.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Well, thanks, but that makes one of us. I guess I’m glad you’re not embarrassed to be seen with a human poodle since all-natural seems to be the running theme of this trip because I can’t seem to get acclimated to a simple two-hour fucking time difference.”

He smirks before sipping his liquid crack as I take a tug on my own.

“I’m sorry, Easton. I forgot to set my alarm after you texted and fell asleep reading.”

“Is that why your eyes are so red?”

“No, they’re red because I’ve been crying over your mistreatment of me,” I quip.

A loud chuckle escapes Joel from where he sits in the driver’s seat. I catch his eyes in the rearview, flashing him a smile before turning back to Easton, who’s not quite as amused. “Okay, so what’s with the butt crack of dawn wakeup call?”

“How we doing on time, Joel?” Easton asks, ignoring my question.

“You’ll only have about an hour once we get there,” Joel replies.

Easton scowls in response at me. “Thanks to Goldilocks here.”

“I’m sorry, man. Geesh. How many apologies do you need? And where is the fire so early?”

It’s then I scan his dress. He’s in snug jeans and a mesh, black, long sleeve shirt with black boots. His raven hair tucked behind his ears catching a ray of sunlight, thanks to the morning sky.

Great, sun rays follow him wherever he goes, amplifying his hotness tenfold, and I don’t even have my eyebrows shaded on. It’s a good thing this isn’t a date because he’s far too damned good-looking for me to handle in this state of disarray. The upside is, graced with the three hours of sleep I managed and my escalating coffee buzz, I don’t feel nearly as terrified as I was yesterday. Easton’s somehow put me at ease even while giving me shit. I again study his all-black dress and decide to grill him about our destination.

“Are we going to rob someone? If so, am I an accomplice? Because I’m not properly dressed, nor armed.”

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Easton says as if it’s a fact.

I narrow my eyes. “Assumptions make most people assholes, but you already have that market cornered, don’t you?” I widen my red eyes as Joel audibly snorts.

“I said wouldn’t, not couldn’t ,” Easton mutters dryly, giving Joel a warning look in the rearview. Joel doesn’t so much as flinch. They’re close, from the looks of it— really close , and Joel seems to be on Team Natalie today.

Take that , gorgeous man with visible eyebrows.

“Once again, I must insist on asking. Where are we headed to, Mr. Crowne?”

“Patience,” he says, kicking back in his seat and crossing a booted foot over his knee before speaking up to Joel. “Hey man, give me something.” Seconds later, loud bass fills the car, a song I’ve never heard thrumming throughout as Easton stares out the window.

As I ease further into consciousness, I glance over to see he seems to have checked out—as in transported elsewhere—his fingers tapping along to the music.

I lean forward to Joel behind the driver’s seat.

“Hey, what’s this song?”

““Firestarter” by The Prodigy,” Joel answers.

“Thanks,” I say, sliding back into place and making a mental note. If I was writing a story, I’d be taking a lot of notes, both mentally and physically. If I want my ruse to seem convincing, I need to keep up with my norm. Pulling up my phone, I start a new playlist and add the song before flipping through to see the sad list I started and forgot about years ago. Pulling up my texts, I quickly add some of the songs Easton played yesterday on our drive that I’d texted myself to remember, the only true notes I made.

Meh, if anything, maybe my eleven-hundred-dollar plane ticket will have me back in Austin with a better music library.

Not long after I add the music, we arrive at what looks like a small arena. Pumped I might get to hear Easton sing or play, my hopes get dashed when I read the marquee on the front of the building. “Are we here to watch motocross?”

Easton ignores my inquisition and grips the headrest of the passenger seat, his question for Joel. “Where are we meeting them?”

“Here they come now.” Joel nods toward two men who appear at the front of the building before making their way toward the SUV.

Easton’s eyes light as he turns to me, pulling a packed duffle I hadn’t noticed from between his booted feet.

“Wait,” I grip Easton’s arm, slightly stunned by the zing that accompanies touching him as he pinches his brows, his eyes dropping to my tightening fingers. “Easton,” I glance toward the men now waiting outside of the SUV, “you can’t be serious.”

Another almost smile upturns his lips as he slowly lifts his hazels to mine, and I see just how serious he is. “Let go.”

I pull my arm away quickly as he leans in on a soft whisper, his woodsy scent invading my nostrils, sweet coffee breath hitting my ear and neck, “I said, let’s go , Natalie.”

“Oh,” I whisper back as he plants a foot out of the SUV and turns, extending a hand toward me. The second I place my palm in his, his eyes snap to mine and flare slightly before he turns and ushers me toward the building.