Chapter 6
I toss all night, wake in a cold sweat, and finally get up at six. There are still hours yet before we leave for Memphis, the next city on the tour. So, I pull on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, grab my ball cap, and make my way out into the weak light of early morning.
I love the early mornings when no one’s around, and it’s just me and the pavement. I like the solitude and the peacefulness, the speed, wind, and independence. The freedom. There’s really nothing like it.
Still, though, I scan the area as I go through my warm up stretches, looking for anything or anyone odd. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
“Morning, Blue Eyes,” West says, standing propped against the hotel wall. You look a little tired.”
And he looks a little too bright and friendly for someone who supposedly went out with some friends after the VIP thing and is now up at six in the morning for—I check out his shorts and snug T-shirt—a run, too.
I resist the overwhelming desire to cover my exposed limbs. Up until a month ago, I had never worn or owned a pair of shorts or jeans. Dresses and skirts—it’s what Grayson always had me wear.
West smiles, having no clue what’s echoing through my thoughts. He bends to tie his shoe. This is all so normal for him—the flirting, the friendliness, the openness. Is this who he really is, or more of his “music star” default?
He finishes with that shoe and goes to the other, and I use the moment to openly stare at him.
At his black hair that curls out a little from his ball cap, at the stubble peppering his jaw, and at his lightly hairy legs.
The tattoo twining his arm draws my focus again, and I find myself wondering how far up it goes under his shirt sleeve.
He stands back up, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a package of gum. “Here, I always chew when I run.”
“No, thank you.”
He gives me a comical look. “What? No candy from strangers or some such thing?”
“No.” I chuckle. “Just don’t want any.”
West tosses one into his mouth. “Mm, cinnamon, my favorite. You’re missing out.” He holds up the package again. “Sure you don’t want any?”
Amused, I extend my hand and he gives me a tiny square that I pop into my mouth. With that, I jog off.
He appears at my side. “Are you one of those runners who doesn’t want company?”
Oh, I hadn’t thought about it. “Sorry, I’m so used to running alone I guess it didn’t occur to me.”
“I thought maybe it was the gum.”
“The gum is fine.” I blow a bubble to prove it.
“Well, that’s a relief. Because I’m not sure we can be friends if you don’t like cinnamon gum.”
I’m so glad he keeps things light and funny. “I love cinnamon,” I assure him, and we both smile.
“How long have you been a runner?”
“Only a month now.”
“A newbie! Well, welcome to the club.”
“Thanks.” Growing up I always saw runners out and about and envied them. It was one of the first things I did when I was free. I took the running shoes Brynn bought me and just…ran.
“My one piece of advice would be to breathe.”
“Um…thanks?”
“No, seriously! So many people forget to breathe. The best way to train yourself is to talk while you run.”
“Is that your way of telling me we’re going to be talking the whole time?” I tease.
“Well, don’t sound so excited,” he teases back. “Tell me, do you go every day?”
“Pretty much.”
“Me too. It’s the only time my thoughts are calm.”
I nod my agreement. Calm. It’s the same way for me—running and music keep me calm.
“My guitar,” he adds. “That also chills me out.”
A couple of quiet beats go by, and I use the time to scan the street we’re running on.
To the right sits a gated community, to the left an upscale mall that is empty at this hour.
Straight ahead a car comes toward us and passes.
If it were a weekday, this street would probably be packed with people driving to work.
Again, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
In my periphery, I catch West looking at me. Quickly, I run through our last few sentences, trying to figure out if he’s waiting for me to answer something.
“You’re not a girl of a lot of words, are you?”
I was taught not to speak unless spoken to, but I don’t say this and instead wipe a bead of sweat trickling down my cheek. “I talk,” I say, a little breathless now from the pace. “I talk, I suppose, when I have something to say.”
“I talk just to hear my gorgeous voice.”
I cut him a sideways glimpse.
“Kidding!” He signals us to turn at an upcoming corner. “If you’re going to be around me much, you’ll learn to take me with a granule of sugar.”
“Not salt?”
“That’s what my Gramma always says about me. Sugar ‘cause I’m so sweet.”
A smile eases into my cheeks, imagining what kind of grandmother he must have. I bet she’s just as friendly and funny as West is.
He squints, giving me a quick survey. “How tall are you?”
“Five-eight. Why?”
“I’m six-two. That’s good. I won’t break my neck for a kiss.”
I nearly stumble. “What?”
“Kidding again!”
A chuckle escapes me. It’s hard not to be amused around this guy. He’s just so…out there about everything.
“Where you from?” he asks with a puff of breath.
“Nowhere,” I answer.
“Everybody’s from somewhere.”
“I move around a lot.” Wanting to steer the conversation away from me, I ask, “How long has Bus Stop been together?”
“Me and Simon? Forever. Our first music contract came when I was sixteen, so officially I guess you can say three years now.”
I nod while I continue running beside him, trying to keep my breaths even, and scanning the residential neighborhood we just turned into. There’s an elderly man over to the right sweeping his sidewalk, a woman on her porch sipping coffee, and a couple loading their kids into a car.
“So,” West interrupts my thoughts, “what instrument do you play?”
“What makes you think I play?”
“Most roadies do.” He gives me a sideways study. “Let’s see. Cymbals?” He shakes his head. “No. Spoons.” He shakes his head again. “Nah. Jug blowing.” He nods. “Yeah. That’s you.”
“Guitar,” I say, more than entertained by this guy. “I fiddle around a bit.”
“No kidding? I knew there was something about you I liked.”
“But what I really—” I begin and then stop, not even realizing until just now what I really want to learn.
“What you really?” he prompts.
“I don’t know… I’d love to learn more about Ford’s job.”
“Then you need to talk to Ford and see if he’ll let you shadow him.”
Hope surges through me. “You think?”
“I definitely think.”
We round the corner back to the hotel. Outside the lobby, we take a second to walk off the run and stretch, and the whole time I revisit the last few sentences we exchanged. Should I really approach Ford?
Then I start thinking about West and how nice he’s been to me, and I just don’t get it. I don’t get him. He doesn’t even know me and he’s so friendly to me.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask before I can filter the rude question.
He stops walking and turns. “Did you really just ask me that?”
“Yes…”
West stares at me for a silent, bewildered moment that makes me wish I could take the question back. “Because, Eve, I’m a nice guy. It’s who I am. Ask anybody. I’m fun and lighthearted. I like to meet people and hear their stories.”
Fun and lighthearted. I’m anything but, yet I want to be that way…someday.
“Plus, you seem a little lonely and sad. If anyone could use a friend and a hug, I’d say it’s you.”
He thinks I’m sad and lonely? That’s horrifying. “I don’t need you to be nice to me.”
Just when I’m sure that I’ve irritated him, the corners of his lips curl up in that great way I’m quickly learning they do. “You’re real, and that’s not easy to find in this business. Also, you seem oblivious to my charm, and have I mentioned your great blue eyes?”
He thinks I’m real? That’s a laugh.
“You’re one of those natural girls. Though you should go back to your real blond. That red doesn’t suit you. That is I’m assuming you’re a blonde under all that?”
The red wasn’t meant to “suit” me. It’s meant to hide me.
“You make me want to share my gum with you again, and I don’t just share with anybody.”
A nervous chuckle fizzes around and comes out gravelly. “You’re definitely unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I’ll take that as a total compliment,” West says on a bow and I can’t help but smile. I would’ve never thought I’d find it so easy talking to him.
He checks his phone. “We’re leaving for Memphis within the hour. Better get those great legs moving.”
With a wave, I jog toward the hotel’s door.
“Yep, great legs!” he calls after me, and I shoot him a playful look over my shoulder.
I never shot anyone a playful look before. I can’t believe I’m really flirting, and that thought has me smiling all the way to my hotel room.