Chapter 9.
Timothy
The first day, I’m running errands for T the snacks are all gorgeous, no matter the casualness of tonight’s gathering, and every single one tastes like heaven—especially the lemon tarts courtesy of Billy himself.
When Mrs. Parker first arrived, Nadine warmly greeted her and they caught up a bit, their sons Bobby and Jimmy being married and all.
I always wondered why the two weren’t closer, figuring it’s just the nature of them having busy lives—Nadine a bit more than Mrs. Parker, presumably, being the mayor and all.
Watching everyone socialize tonight has me wondering what Austin’s life is like when he isn’t chasing rock stars across Texas.
We usually talk about me when we chat, yet he doesn’t divulge much about his personal day-to-day stuff.
What are his dreams? Is he close with his parents?
Do they obligate him to attend parties at his own Strong Ranch equivalent wherever he’s from?
It’s late at night that I’m back home, long after the Chase Holt concert ends, and Austin and I reconnect.
For some reason, he isn’t able to talk on the phone—did shouting and screaming in the crowd blow out his voice?
I wonder—so we text each other back and forth instead.
I can’t stop smiling. Our conversations always flow, even in text form.
He’s actually cleverer with words than I thought he’d be, always finding ways to make me laugh or bite my lip, giddy.
And when we finally say goodnight, I’ve forgotten to ask all the things I thought of at the Strongs’, too caught up in the fun we always have, and fall asleep with the phone right on my chest, wondering to myself what tonight would’ve been like had he been with me at that Strong ranch and I wasn’t just lingering by the sidelines as usual, sipping lemonade and talking to my boss.
The next morning, my mom gives me a look she thinks I don’t see just before I’m heading out, and stops me to say, “Sweetheart, just whenever you get the chance, your father wanted to show you something in the office. Try not to spend all day out, if you can help it. You’ve been so run ragged this week.
I’m sure Billy doesn’t mean to wear you out. ”
I didn’t tell her it isn’t Billy wearing me out, but a beautiful guy with an even more beautiful heart who’s got mine on a leash.
Is it too soon to be saying things like that?
I barely know him, right? We haven’t really defined what this is between us.
Do we even need a definition? It’s like a friendship with a door pleasantly left open to whatever it wants to become.
A recognition of one another’s value. A connection in an increasingly senseless world.
I won’t lie. I want it to become something even more. The past two times we met have been absolutely electric. I’m not counting the very first time, because I was a mess and barely knew who I was talking to, hardly registering his stunning patience to put up with me crying into a trashcan.
But there’s something about Austin—his energy, his sensitivity, his voice, even the words he uses when he texts me—that has my body climbing up walls trying not to think about being next to him, to feel his intense stare on me again, to have that constant, prickling, unbearable anticipation of whether he’ll touch me. And damn, I want him to touch me—badly.
It’s on the third day Austin calls me in the afternoon.
Must be because I decided to wear my strawberry socks, second luckiest to my bumblebee ones.
“I’m tryin’ to play it cool here,” he says, “but damn, I can’t help it.
I really, really wanna come out there and …
” Dramatic pause. Cue the drumroll. “… check on my Little A and my Kit-Cat. I’m losin’ sleep worryin’ about ‘em.”
I’m around the corner from T&S’s, having been sent to Patsy’s on an errand, now leaning against the wall in the shade.
“Oh, is that who you’re losing sleep over?
” I ask. “I’m not sure I’m doing a good job caring for them.
I went to the pond with bread just this morning, and every other duck came right up, but Little A wasn’t having any of it. I don’t think he likes me.”
“Bet you don’t even remember which one he is.”
I suppress a laugh. “Guess he’s really screwed. Probably much better you come here yourself, then.”
“Maybe I should just … ditch the show tonight.”
I part my lips, for half a second asking him if he really would.
If I was on a quest to see every show my favorite song artist was having around town—assuming I had such an artist I was devoted to—it’d be a huge deal to give up even one of those concerts just to hang out with some small-town guy I barely know.
But even I know we’re more than that by now. He’s invested in me just as much as I am in him. That door keeps opening wider …
Still, I shake my head. “No, no. You shouldn’t ditch the show.”
“I’m tellin’ you. Just say the word, I’ll bail.”
Something tells me he isn’t dicking around. “Seriously, I think you should … you should stick with your plans. You already have a ticket. It’s just one more day, right?”
“What if Little A doesn’t have another day?” he asks. “What if he’s starved? What if he really needs someone with him?”
“Is that what you need?”
Silence. “Well, I guess … I … could use the company, too.”
“We’re not talking about the duck anymore, are we?”
“Nope.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. “I could use some company, too.”
“In that case …” I hear him take a breath.
Even his breaths are sexy, forcing me to picture his body as it takes in a deep, muscular inhale, then lets it out, causing his eyes to sparkle and his lips to crinkle up in his irresistible, dimple-producing way.
“I don’t mean to … invite myself on you or nothin’ …
but if you’ve got a place in mind we could hang …
maybe without, uh … people around …” He clears his throat.
“Not to do anything,” he quickly adds. “Wow, I sound like a scumbag. I’m not tryin’ to get into your pants, really not. It’s more about our—”
“Privacy,” I help him.
“Somethin’ like that.”
I’m pretty sure it was the only thing holding us back last time.
Otherwise, we probably would have tackled each other at that duck pond and ripped each other’s clothes off.
Or we might have just been more comfortable.
Open. Sharing ourselves without feeling like anyone’s watching.
I’m not exactly out in the open myself, which he knows.
Gathering from how he’s acted and what he’s said, I don’t think he’s very keen on inviting attention either.
It makes sense, to be somewhere private. Like …
Oh.
I picture Austin showing up at my house.
Gawking at the mere acreage. Letting him inside, watching him spin around, astounded.
Eyes taking it in. And the added challenge of still having to dodge my parents.
Not to mention anyone who might be at the house and could tattle by means of innocently asking my mom who the handsome fellow is I just smuggled to my room like a dirty secret.
I’m not sure I’m ready for Austin to know … all of me.
In scrambling for a solution, my math brain kicks in. “Exactly how far are you from Spruce, anyway?” I ask.
“Just over an hour and a half, maybe two.”
Farther than I thought. Then I remember something he said in a text last night. What if … “And how far from Fairview?”
I hear him thumb-typing. “Forty minutes and change.”