Chapter 30
Feels Like the First Time
Sam helps himself to a late breakfast with Liza.
Whatever he says to her in the kitchen soothes the savage teenage beast, but he still needs to be careful with his attention.
I know singing Taylor Swift songs in a Mickey Mouse voice isn’t flirting, but anything is flirting when Sam does it.
He’s chasing dreams and bound to break some hearts, even if it’s unintentional.
Jude notices my squinty expression as I listen to Sam’s ear-piercing performance in the kitchen. “I taught him that. You’re welcome.”
I snort out a laugh. “I’m going to need proof later.”
He leans in to steal a kiss, turning the joke into promises against my lips. “I’ll prove anything you want, Punk.”
We pile on the couch to watch the afternoon Braves game, but I catch Jude and Sam talking with serious expressions when I go back to the kitchen to start dinner in the slow cooker for Mom.
They could be watching videos from last night—reviewing what was awesome or what we could’ve done better—but I know that’s not the only thing they’re talking about.
I suspect they’re discussing the comments Liza saw. Normally, I’d be frantic about bringing Sam any kind of negative attention, but I think I’m ready to let them handle it. I was only there because I was asked to be there.
The gig went well. I know good crowd energy, and we had it.
There were hundreds of positive comments when I looked.
Sure, some were spammy, but the comments Liza saw must’ve been removed.
I didn’t see anything as specific as what she said.
A disgruntled female fan maybe? Whatever it is, it’s apparently not nothing.
They aren’t hiding it as well as they think.
My name was only vaguely mentioned, like an opening act or a manager. But that video … I don’t know.
I tried to make him appear single, but Sam dates. It’s always casual, but he does. He gets tagged in photos with local musicians and fans all the time. He’s a good guy, and he doesn’t deserve any negativity.
Was it Nathan? Surely not. He doesn’t even know Sam.
My phone’s been strangely quiet, other than a few texts from Annie and Jace. Sam says he and Annie will handle the comments and giveaways from the show, so relax and enjoy my honeymoon, which nearly makes me spew my energy drink, but Jude laughs.
When I come back to join him on the couch, he pulls me close to whisper in my ear. “I’m in no rush, but that topic doesn’t scare me, Punk. When the time comes to discuss it, I’m picturing less Sam and fewer teenagers around, but I’m all in.”
My eyes bug out of my head. It’s all I can do to hold in the screams of my inner voices—Happy, Shocked, and Terrified.
Like Snow White’s dwarves, only with less mental stability.
When I look for his teasing smirk, it’s noticeably absent. His gentle expression feels new. Tentative? I know Sam was just teasing, but how can Jude use words like when?
Is he not terrified of jinxing this whole thing?
When the time comes.
Aside from my initial panic, I like that.
It feels safe.
When Layla brings Jamie home, we all walk down to the basketball goal end of the cul-de-sac and play H-O-R-S-E until late afternoon. We’re sweaty and exhausted when Sam hugs us all and tells me everything will be okay. Now I’m concerned.
“Some comments were nasty, but Annie deleted ’em fast. She blocked the accounts. It happens, ya know?” He sounds fine but wouldn’t bring it up if he wasn’t worried. “Probably no big deal, but I’ll stay with Jace and stick around the townhouses this week. I’m coverin’ for Danny anyway.”
“What kind of comments?” I press. “From who? I wish you’d let me see them.”
“No,” he says in a stern, un-Sammy-like fashion.
My eyes flick over to Jude’s, and he nods, giving Sam the lead.
“Just people being people. Don’t worry about it.
I’ll text you tomorrow before I leave Cade’s house, and we’ll get on the road at the same time, okay?
Love y’all.” He turns to Jude. “Danny, go love her up good before you stay gone for six weeks.”
I don’t have to work until tomorrow evening, and Sam’s off until fall semester begins. We’ll drive back in the morning, but Jude needs to leave soon.
He swipes my hand as we walk back to the house from the driveway. “Can I take you out? I’ve got clothes in the car. We could clean up and have one semi-real date before I go back to Nashville.”
Stupid Nashville.
“Right.” Reality bites. “You need to get back.” I do a lousy job hiding my disappointment. The last thing he needs is a whiny, clingy girlfriend. He already gives me more than enough attention.
“It’s only five days, Lu. We’re not calling it six weeks. Five days.”
I nod. No big deal. I need to suck it up. There were plenty of times I didn’t see Nathan for five days, but I don’t need space or recovery time from Jude.
He is my recovery.
Jude got me through my own stupidity. It’ll be a while before I forgive myself, but he’s been my silent partner all along. He held my hand in a burning building until I was strong enough to walk out … Though he was probably five seconds from carrying me when I did it on my own.
I wish we could go back to the cabin. My social battery has been on empty for weeks, but I keep pulling myself together to work or study or sing. Little jam sessions are one thing, but I sang in front of live humans twice this week.
Twice.
Who even am I?
Since the breakup, and especially all the conversations about it, I need a minute. Not space or distance, I just need to stop moving and think. Process. Breathe. I don’t know how much longer hair metal and caffeine can keep me going—especially without Jude.
My stomach lurches at the thought.
I will not cry.
He told me about this training before we were … Us.
What a difference a week makes.
“Well,” I sigh, grasping desperately for levity, “if I can’t see you for five days, you should probably wear a suit for me again so you can be my secret undercover rock-star CEO.”
His predatory grin chases away the threat of tears.
I squeal in response, taking off around the porch. He gives me three steps before he loops an arm around my waist, dragging me back to his chest.
“Uh-uh. Where do you think you’re going?” He turns me around, caging me against the side of the house.
“Nowhere?”
He towers over me with seductive intimidation. “And why is that?”
“Because … I don’t want to get away?” I scan his face to see if that’s the response he wants, then crane my neck to peck his lips, but he lifts his face out of reach. “Uh.” I huff my displeasure.
“Then don’t run from me,” he says with nearly believable severity.
“How else will I get you to catch me if I don’t?” I taunt with a challenging grin.
He turns his face to conceal the smile I made him crack, and this instantly becomes my new favorite game.
“Wow.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Well, I caught you. Now what?”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t kiss me. That would be awful.”
I reach to pinch his side, but he anticipates the move and catches my wrist, pinning my hand over my head.
Repeating the same failed attack with my other hand, he swipes it up and … darn.
What an unfortunate predicament.
My heart races remembering the last time I was in this position. Tuesday night after the coffee shop—his birthday.
The whipped cream incident.
I swallow hard, detecting the moment our thoughts match.
He lowers his face millimeters from mine. “Okay, I won’t.”
My stomach drops. “You won’t?” I’m already sweating, but much more of this and I’ll burst into flames.
“No, ma’am,” he drawls, tortuously close. “Boundaries. You said don’t.”
“Oh. Well, that sucks,” I say.
“It does.” He raises a brow and tilts his head. “But I’m flexible if you ever change your mind.”
“H-how would one go about that?”
He watches me run my teeth over my bottom lip. “Just tell me what you want.”
“You,” I profess, feeling awfully bold to be outside my mom’s house in broad daylight.
“You’ve got me. Now what?”
“Ugh. Please?” I whine in what must be someone else’s voice. I do not whine.
“So sweet.” He presses closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I’ll do anything you say. Just ask.”
I love that he hasn’t stopped messing with me, and I know he’s messing with me, because sweet I am not.
My heart pounds, and desperate words tumble from my mouth. “Maybe what I love about you is how I never have to ask. You always know—”
“Fair point,” he concedes as he silences my argument with expert-level efficiency, and what starts with sweet playful kisses rapidly escalates.
Mom will definitely hear from the neighbors about this.
As late afternoon slips into evening, Jude and I decide we’d be better equipped to face our circumstances if we ate nachos about it. We separate to opposite ends of the house to clean up for our first real date, since we spent the entire day in the rumpled athletic clothes we’d slept in.
It’s been a low-key messy bun, baggy T-shirt kind of day, but not once have I been compared to a twelve-year-old boy. Perks of dating your best friend.
Is that what this is? Dating?
It’s such a ridiculous way to describe our relationship. It’s too much, too soon yet doesn’t remotely scratch the surface.
As comfortable as I am with him, I didn’t want my no-makeup messy-bun look to be the last impression Jude had of me for five days, so I recruit my sister to dress me.
Layla insists on a short, dusty-rose strappy sundress that ties low on my back, leaving my tattoo well exposed, and I wipe the mud off my boots for one last rodeo before I abandon them for sneakers.
When I reach the hallway, I watch Jude chat with my mom, and a familiar Ninja Turtles movie on the TV has my brother’s attention.
I can’t stop staring. This is my favorite version of Jude—the everyday prepared-for-anything version I could never let my eyes linger on for too long.
The one in well-worn khakis and a faded burgundy button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the band and cross on his sun-kissed forearm, gray Vans sneakers, shaggy golden-brown hair, and eyes swirling with moss and molasses.
The memory of the first time I saw him sneaks out in a smile.
Dark chocolate sea salt caramel with avocado.
My denim jacket covers my upper body, but when I approach the living room, Jude’s eyes are all over me like we’ve entered the same alternate universe. We’ve seen each other nearly every single day. For a year.
So why does this feel like the first time?