CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Hendrix
I wake up to an empty bed. Again .
The sheets are cool where Jase should be, and for some reason, the reality of it gnaws at me. Last night was... too much. An overload of sensations, of unspoken emotions, of well-intended actions.
It was an overload of noise that contradicts this silence. I’m left alone with my thoughts, tangled in a mess of emotions I don’t know that I want to sort through.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. My body still hums with the memory of his touch, of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. Like I was real.
And yet, like every night we spend together, when I wake up, he’s gone.
I should feel relief, right? This is pretend, it’s going to end, and so this is just my reminder of that.
But that doesn’t abate the hollow feeling I have or lessen the lie I’m telling myself. I don’t just like the man. I’ve downright fallen for him.
Fuck, man.
Just fuck.
The scent of coffee drifts through the air. It snaps me from my thoughts but only because if there’s coffee, he’s still here.
I slip out of bed, grab his discarded dress shirt from last night, and pad barefoot toward the kitchen.
Jase is standing at the counter, his back to me, a mug in one hand, the other running through his messy, still-damp hair. He looks good like this—undone, bare, real. But there’s tension in his shoulders. What’s so heavy that it surrounds him now?
“Morning,” I say softly.
He turns, his eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. There’s too much unsaid between us, too much weight pressing down on what should be simple.
“Morning,” he finally says, his voice rough. He watches me for a beat, then gestures to the coffeepot. “Made enough for you.”
It’s a small thing, a simple thing, but it makes me smile.
I step forward, pouring myself a cup, trying to ignore the way his eyes track my every move. “About last night...”
Jase exhales heavily, setting his mug down. “What about it?”
“You’d had a rough day. I pushed you. We... I don’t know. I don’t want you to...”
He offers me a lopsided smile, those dimples deepening in each cheek. “Are you saying you regret it? And if so, which part particularly? Fucking in the women’s lounge at the gala or riding my face here at home?” He takes a step toward me and slides his hand down my chest where his shirt is unbuttoned.
My body heats immediately. I’ve never believed that such a visceral reaction was a real thing. I always thought it was pretend shit for movies or romance novels.
Then again, aren’t I living in a pretend world right now?
He leans in closer. I can smell the soap from his shower. “For the record, I don’t regret a goddamn thing.” He winks and presses a kiss to my cheek as if this is the most normal conversation in the world. “And neither should you.”
“Oh.”
“I love when you make that sound.” He pats me on the ass. “I have to get to the studio. I had an idea this morning, which is why I’m up so early.”
“Baker’s hours,” I tease.
“Seems fitting.” He hisses as his coffee burns his tongue. “Dinner at home tonight? Together?”
I falter in taking a sip. That’s the first time he’s asked something like that. “You’re not meeting up with the guys to write?”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to have dinner with me, Cookie? I mean, I’m a man. I can take it if so, but my ego’s going to be a little bruised.”
“No. That’s not... I just figured that’s who you’re normally with. Since you’re writing new material.” I try and talk my way out of sounding like a jilted lover jealous of his bandmates. That wasn’t my intention. My comment was more reflexive at his surprising request.
“True, but tonight I want to eat with you. I’ll even cook.”
I level him with a dubious look. “You? Cook?”
His grin is lightning quick. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“I’m well aware.”
We stare at each other across the distance. Our smiles are wide but the look we exchange holds a quiet acceptance that we’re slipping into different territory? That this has gone from a contract to friendship? That we enjoy each other’s company outside of the twisted sheets?
I don’t know but it’s doing funny things to my insides and catching me off guard.
“Yes. I’d like to have dinner with you. I don’t know how late I’ll be though.”
“That’s okay. I can wait.” He raps his knuckles on the counter. “Have a good day at work.”
I take my first sip of coffee as my head spins from the whirlwind that is Jase Gizmodo.
“Oh, and Cookie?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” I look after his very fine ass walking down the hallway.
“You look sexy as hell in my shirt. Make sure to have that on later when we get home.”