Chapter 40
Chapter forty
Cole · Now
We’ll Be A Dream – We The Kings, Demi Lovato
Come play me your song
There’s less than twenty minutes between my text being sent and the live room door creaking open.
“Didn’t you ever hear that nothing good happens after two a.m.?”
My lips twitch at Hendrix's husky, sleep-laden drawl.
I roll my head along the back of the couch.
She leans in the doorframe, black chequered pyjama pants hanging loose on her hips and a tight black crop top clinging to her waist. Her hair falls to her waist in a mess of tangled waves. Bare-faced, eyes half-closed, a lazy smile tilts her mouth.
My body sets alight.
“Why are you awake?” she asks, ambling into the room.
Couldn’t stop thinking about your lips on mine.
The urge to kiss her again is overwhelming, but I don't act on it.
I’ve thrown my cards down.
Now, it’s up to her if she wants to play the deck.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I say. “Unlike someone who was snoring before we even reached the end of the second film.”
A flush crawls over her cheeks and she ducks her head. “I don’t snore.”
“Baby, you snore like a tractor.”
Her breath hitches.
My heart thunders.
I didn’t mean to slip and call her that. Not going to take it back though.
Her lashes flick up, her tongue darting over her lip stud as she slinks past me. She drops onto the opposite end of the couch, legs laying across the cushions, head rolling on the arm. “You really want to hear my new song?”
“You said it was mine, right?”
“It might not be any good.”
I chuckle, lifting her legs and draping her feet in my lap. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That everything you touch turns to gold.”
Her gaze shoots up, chest lifting slowly, teeth sinking into her lip. She doesn’t say anything, just watches me.
I roll my fingertips over her ankle, tracing the butterfly inked there.
“When did you get so heavily tattooed?” I ask her.
Her lashes flutter. “I got most of them before I turned twenty-five. Turns out the addiction you were always banging on about is very real.”
I grin, easing her pyjamas up her calf.
I used to know every inch of Hendrix, every freckle, every mole. Now she’s a canvas of colourful unknowns.
“Do you have any of your old skin left?”
“Some,” she says, sliding deeper into the couch. “What about you? Any skin still untouched?”
“Some.”
“Good to know.” A soft smile lifts her mouth. “What’s your favourite tattoo?”
I arch a brow. “Do you really need to ask?”
A muscle tics in her jaw as her gaze drifts to my wrist. “A favourite that I don’t know about, then?”
“Hmm.” I lift my shirt with my free hand and reveal the Reckless Abandon wrapped vintage microphone on my ribs. She follows the intricate line work, her eyes licking along my skin. Every inch of me heats under her stare.
“We all have one,” I tell her. “Saint’s is a Fender, Ax has a Sterling, and Carter has crossed sticks.”
She shuffles upwards and reaches out to me. “Can I?”
I nod, holding my breath.
She barely touches me, but I feel everything as a sharp, black nail skates over the ink.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
You’re beautiful…
I follow the dip in her neck when she swallows.
I clear my throat. “What’s your favourite?”
She lays back down, her stare locking on the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll show you one day.”
“Not today?”
“Not today, Rock Star.” She practically purrs as my hand drifts higher up her leg. “You know, if you keep going, I’m not gonna be awake long enough to play you my song.”
“Is that so?” I smirk. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Still, I don’t stop.
I explore the tattoos on her lower leg, my fingers tingling as they graze over her. Truth is the song was just an excuse—I do want to hear it, I want to hear everything Hendrix has to say in her music. But more than that, I just want to hear her.
A soft purring snore fills the air.
Air lodges in my lungs when I look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed, mouth parted. A smile lingers on her face. My fingers still as my pulse leaps. Music swills in my mind, an unwritten song spilling from the depths.
I lift Hendrix’s legs off me, and ease them onto the cushion, before sliding off the couch. I grab a blanket from the basket Carter keeps down here for when the girls nap and drape it over her legs.
“If you’re still wondering…" My thumb grazes her cheek when I brush her hair behind her ear.
Her chest flutters as she rolls onto her side.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve always missed you, Rixie Moore.”
So play me your song or just breathe slow
I don’t care where we’re headed, as long as you don’t let go
Hendrix stirs when I push the door open.
Her lashes flicker, a yawn escaping her before she slams a cushion over her face and groans. “It’s too early.”
I chuckle as I place two take-out mugs on the table, along with a brown paper bag. “It’s twelve.”
“Shit!” She shoots upwards, wincing. Her face contorts when she leans forward and pushes her fingers into her lower back. “Why did you let me sleep on the couch so long? I’m too old for this shit.”
“I didn’t let you do anything.” I amble around the room. “I tried waking you up earlier. You told me, and I quote, ‘Go fuck yourself with a rusty spoon.’”
Her face falls. “Did I actually?”
“Yeahhh.” I hiss playfully.
She cracks one eye open, her lips twisting. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, it keeps the ego from getting too big.” I nudge her forward on the couch, and nestle in behind her.
“What are you doing?” she asks slowly as my legs frame hers.
“The thing about playing piano, it makes you real good with your hands.” I dig my thumbs into the dimples framing the bottom of her spine and she whimpers. The corner of my mouth kicks up. I lower my voice. “But then, if anyone already knows that, it’s you.”
She tenses.
Not even sure she's even breathing as my words linger heavy between us.
I stroke upwards and her skin pebbles.
“I started a song today,” I tell her, brushing the music notes tattooed above her waistband.
“You did?” Her back flutters as she draws in a breath. “That’s really good.”
“Isn’t it?” I hum, leaning closer. “Are you gonna play me your song now?”
“I would, but that means I'd have to move and I’m not really sure I want to do that.”
Her top lifts as I push my fingers up her back. “Lazy.”
“I’ll play it for you later.” She rolls her neck, humming when I roll my circle my thumb over the wing framing her shoulder blade. “We should probably talk about the album, though. We haven’t really nailed down super specifics.”
“Like?”
“How many songs?”
“Hmm, fifteen?”
“That could work,” she says. “Shouldn’t take too long either now we’re getting the flow. I’d say we’ve got a solid base for at least eight now. And if you’re speeding along with the lyrics, we’ll be done in no time.”
My throat tightens. “Sounds good.”
“Rein in all that excitement, dude,” she teases.
“I am excited.” I exhale a slow breath and trail my fingers back down. “I’m just enjoying the freedom.”
She peers over her shoulder at me. “But isn’t that the fun in going indie? You have all the freedom you want. The future is yours, Rock Star.”
I divert my train of thought as it drifts to what a future could look like if she sticks around a while. I force a smirk on my lips. “You know, if we were in a musical, this is where you’d start singing.”
“Singing was never my forte.”
I chuckle. “I still don’t understand how the most insanely talented human I’ve ever known sounds like a cat being strangled when you open your mouth.”
“Ha. Aren’t you a funny one?”
“I try.” I squeeze her hip. “Now, we should probably go do some work before one of the guys barrels in and demands an update.”