CHAPTER 4
COVE
We’ve been holed up in the studio of this amazing mountain mansion for two days now and I’m on fucking edge. Every time I look at Langston it’s like all the breath is squeezed out of my lungs. Not only is he amazing with his guitar, but there’s something so damn magnetic about him.
Then there’s the fact that I desperately want to run my fingers through his beard and the longer hair on the top of his head. The more I try to focus on anything else, the more the silky strands call to me. Okay, his beard does look rougher, but that just makes me imagine how it would feel between my thighs.
My stomach clenches with the thought and I focus on the notebook on my lap like it holds the answers to all the great mysteries of the universe. It doesn’t. Why doesn’t it? That would make this a whole thing a lot easier.
I’ve gotten way too lost in my fantasies the last two days, but is that really my fault? I mean, why does the man’s jeans have to mold to his thighs the way they do? Why does his shirt have to stretch across his chest like it’s just waiting for a song to be written about it?
It’s not fucking fair I tell you.
“Cove,” there’s a bite to Langston’s voice that has me wincing and looking up at him. “That’s the third time I’ve called your name,” he admonishes me.
I nibble on my bottom lip and look away, forcing my voice to be casual instead of going high pitched to a place where only dogs would hear it. “Sorry,” I mumble, “I was looking at the chorus again.”
He eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t press me. Thank fucking goodness because I was not even remotely thinking about the chorus of the song we’ve been working on since we came down to the studio yesterday.
Honestly, after the attitude he threw my way the moment we were left alone out here in the middle of nowhere, I wasn’t sure we really would be able to work together. I was shocked as hell when we walked into the studio and Langston grabbed a guitar before sitting down to start to play a melody.
My mind instantly started whirling with ideas, the music speaking to the depths of my soul, but that didn’t stop surprise from showing all over my face. Langston looked up at me and smirked. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss the man or smack him.
“What?” He shrugged on shoulder like the way he played a melody from the depths of him wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve had this in my head while I was going through treatment.” There was a vulnerability in his eyes that made my chest ache, but he cut his eyes away from my gaze. “I wasn’t sure if it was anything.”
I sat down and started rummaging through my bag before letting it drop to the ground with a thump after pulling out a notebook and my favorite pen. “It’s good,” I assured him.
When he looked back at me, I could see something like joy in the depths of his dark green eyes, but there was something else there as well—fear. It made me want to cup his face in my hands and soothe his worries. I held myself in check, his brutish behavior too fresh for me to take that leap.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever pick a guitar up again,” he whispered the words and I nodded, the back of my eyes pricking with the threat of tears.
“I can’t imagine what I would do without music,” I gave him a little of myself, feeling like he had earned it and needed to hear it.
He grunted and I tried to suppress a smile. Hot and broody, who knew that would be my catnip?
Doesn’t mean it would be good for me though.
I cleared my throat and tapped the top of my pen against the empty page of my notebook. “Maybe,” I mused, “we should start there.”
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but I didn’t answer his unanswered question. I just nodded toward his guitar to indicate for him to play it again. The fan girl in my watched his fingers with rapt fascination, but the songwriter in me had words trying to flow along the notes and lift in harmony.
I scratched out a few lines before putting down the notebook and grabbing another guitar. When I started playing along with him, he looked shocked, and it was my turn to smirk. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I pushed that feeling aside. I wasn’t going to let fear stop me from doing the job I was hired to do, the job that could give me the break I had been dreaming of forever.
As we restarted, playing in tandem, I sang the few lines I’d written over top, and Langston’s fingers stopped immediately. I didn’t look at him; I couldn’t.
When the music faded and I had nothing else to share, I forced myself to look at him. The appreciation on his face had heat filling me from head to toe.
“Well,” he swallowed hard, “okay then.”
That was it. It was all we needed to put our heads together and get to work.
It hasn’t taken us long at all to get the semblance of a song written. Honestly, the chorus is perfect and the thought of this being our song, one we’ve worked on together, is almost too good to be true. I’ve watched as Langston has lit up as we’ve worked together. The darkness in his eyes has started to recede and that makes me feel a lot better than it should.
It’s not about me. It’s the music. I know that, but it’s hard not to feel a little bit responsible for giving a little joy back to him.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to live without music flowing through me, but I can also see how losing someone would make it feel like a wall has formed around that inner creativity. From everything I know about Langley, they were together as a duo for a long time and best friends for even longer.
To lose that person in your life must be devastating. I wonder if Langston blames himself for Conley’s death, even if he shouldn’t.
I’m definitely not brave enough to ask. I doubt I’ll ever be brave enough to bring something like that up. It wouldn’t be my place either.
“The chorus is perfect,” Langston insists, his back straight and his broad shoulders squared like he’s ready to go march into battle over it.
It’s kind of adorable. Not that I’ll be telling him that. No fucking way.
“It’s not bad,” I offer.
He narrows his eyes at me, but I look away from him. Honestly, I can’t look into his eyes for very long. I’m trying to keep everything very professional between us. If I’m not careful I’m liable to launch myself at the man.
I don’t think he would be all that receptive, not to mention I don’t want to knock the wind out of him.
I’ve always been a curvier woman. I might be 5’7, but I’m all tits and ass; it’s always been that way. when I was a teenager, it was something I got teased about even as boys lusted after me and tried to get in my pants. They weren’t overly pushy about it, but I saw the heat in their eyes.
Only a few figured out that making fun of me while asking me out was not the way to do it. Which is why my high school boyfriend was able to get me to say yes—he was sweet and complimentary right from the start. It also helped that he was kind of on the nerdy side.
I was more than wary of the popular crowd. It always felt a little ridiculous that in a small town, where we all knew each other for our entire lives, that there was even a popular group. Why bother? It was a lot of posturing for no damn reason.
We’d all either end up sticking around and having to face our teenage bullshit as adults or we would go out to explore the world. Why make either of those things harder?
Then again, maybe I didn’t understand because I was on the receiving end of the jabs and nasty comments.
“Now,” Langston muses, “it’s the hook that need some work.”
“Wh-what?” My voice rises with indignation as I sputter, “The hook is fucking amazing.”
Okay, full disclosure? I might be a little biased about the hook considering I wrote it, and he didn’t change anything about it, unlike how we worked through bits of the verses and the chorus together. I thought that meant he liked it as it was.
My heart sinks at the thought of being wrong.
When Langston’s large hand, his fingers calloused from playing a guitar, covers mine, I jump a little and almost fall off the edge of the loveseat where I’ve been perched while we’ve been working.
“Shit,” he hisses under his breath as my heart tries to pound out of my chest. Touching this man or being touched by him is dangerous as hell. It makes my entire body light up like nothing ever has before. “Hey,” his voice is gentle, and I force myself to look up at him, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” I try and breezily deflect his apology as I look away, unable to hold his gaze. With a sigh, I ask, “What do we need to change about the hook?”
When he’s silent for a little too long, I meet his dark green gaze and glare at him when I find amusement there. I snatch my hand out from under his because it feels too good to have him touch me. Not that it matters much, his touch is branded on my skin already.
Imagine him touching you other places.
I barely suppress a full-body shudder at the thought. The way his eyes heat has me wondering if he can read my mind. That would not be a good thing.
His voice drops an octave as he husks, “The hook is perfect, Songstress.”
I blink at him a few times, trying to reconcile the way he’s looking at me and the conversation we had a few days ago when we were first left alone. He was all sharp thorns then, but I tried not to take offense.
There has to be a lot of pressure on his shoulders to get his shit together and make something of himself at his new label. He has to prove himself even though he’s already found success. Falling from grace, in the wake of his loss, couldn’t have been easy.
I don’t envy the man.
I narrow my gaze and ignore his nickname for me or the way it makes warmth spread through my body. “You’re just messing with me?”
Langston leans back and winks. “It’s easy to do.” Before I can tell him where to shove it, he rubs his beard with a thoughtful expression on his face as he regards me. “You’ve surprised me with your talent, Cove.”
The hair on my arms stand up as I bristle, my pride taking a hit with his words. I’ve been trying to keep in mind that this man is broken and has seen the worst in himself for a long time. In all honesty, I’m proud of him that he’s been trying to put himself back together. That takes bravery and courage.
But does it also require him to put his foot in his mouth?
I slam my notebook closed and slap it down on the coffee table in front of me before standing quickly. The way Langston’s eyes go wide tell me that he has no idea how fucking rude and abrasive his comment was.
Well, he fucking should.
“Thanks,” I sneer sarcastically before storming out of the studio and upstairs.
I need a little bit of space before my temper gets the better of me. Not only do I not want to be that kind of person, but I need this opportunity to work for me. There’s no way I want some reputation for being difficult to work with.
There’s no way I’ll give up my dream easily because of some entitled rock star.