Chapter 17
ELI
TRACK: Leon Bridges, “Beyond”
Reese is standing outside the coffee shop when I pull up in my truck across the street. She’s reading one of the posters taped to the window, so she doesn’t see me yet and when I get out of my truck, I pause. I let myself look at her, just for a moment, before I make my way over there.
She’s wearing her hair down, and it makes something in my chest squeeze. It’s not just that she looks beautiful—because she does. But I realize I haven’t seen her without her hair tied tightly up on her head in…I’m not sure how long.
Her hair is longer than I remember, falling in waves down her back. It’s even sexier than her coat, that same leather jacket she wore the night we went to Ben’s. And it’s sexy as hell. She’s wearing a jean skirt that comes halfway up her thighs, with dark tights and sexy little boots with a heel.
I find my pants growing slightly tight and feel suddenly like a perv for standing here staring at her, so I jog across the road, stopping a few feet away.
“Hey,” I say.
Reese startles, standing up straight. “Oh.”
Then she smiles, and I’m fucking undone. I want to say something cheesy, like I forgot how beautiful your smile is. But I restrain myself, because I’m not going to be cheesy, and also, it’s not true. I remember how beautiful her smile is. I remember the way it opens something up in me.
“You okay?” she asks, her face suddenly concerned.
What kind of face was I making? “Oh. Yeah. Never better.” Then both of us stand there kind of awkwardly, our arms at our sides.
Do we hug? Kiss on the cheek? Before, we wouldn’t have touched.
Hell, we wouldn’t have even spoken to each other.
And when we were putting on a show for Kelly and company, we were all over each other.
Part of me wishes it were like that now, because I want to touch her. Badly.
But Reese pinches her lips shut before saying, “Well? Should we go in?”
And I end up nodding dumbly. Way to go, fucker.
I follow her into the dimly lit shop. There’s no one on stage at the moment, though we’re here a half hour before the first act is supposed to go up. Indie rock music thrums through the speakers, and the murmur of easy conversation. Some laughing and clinking of glasses.
I relax a little. “Have you been here before?” I ask.
“Only during the day. You?”
“Same. Only heard this evening stuff was a thing since they got a liquor license. Chelsea and Seamus come here sometimes. They’ve asked me to join but being a third wheel on a romantic date with my sister sounds like hell, frankly.”
Reese laughs, then we both go quiet. Fuck.
It’s crowded, but not overly so, and Reese points to a table on the far side of the room. “Should we claim it?”
“I can get us drinks if you want to sit down?”
She nods, looking as relieved as I feel to get a moment to breathe. “Just a beer please,” she says. “Any kind.”
So far this is awkward as shit. And if Reese doesn’t agree to go out with me again, I want to make this a good night.
But somehow, that’s the thing that releases the tension in my chest as I join the lineup at the bar.
That and glancing over at her tucking her hair behind her ears as she looks up at the stage, which is empty currently.
She’s wearing a white T-shirt this time, which should be completely benign.
But it clings to the angles of her shoulders, the soft curve of her breasts.
It’s thin and soft-looking, and would probably keep nothing to the imagination if I had my hands on it.
Hell, if I had my hands on it, maybe I’d be bunching it up and pulling it over her head.
Fuck me. I force myself to go eyes front.
She’s probably only agreed to tonight as a thank you for the studio, even though it’s unnecessary given the studio is my thanks to her. The thought that she’s only here for that is a little deflating, but it’s relieving too, because if this is only one night, it doesn’t matter what I say.
When I get to the table with our beers though, Reese smiles in a way that has me confused yet again. “I brought the chair over here so you could see the stage. Is that okay?”
Is that okay? She’s got me sitting right next to her, which is the only place I want to be. “I’ll manage,” I say, and she grins.
Okay, better.
The chair is one of those small cabaret-style ones that’s not super comfortable under my weight, but I’d sit on a pile of nails if it meant I got to sit next to Reese like this all night.
“So, Reese,” I say, after taking a fortifying swallow of lager. “I just want to let you know I don’t have any expectations about tonight, okay? No pressure.”
“You never did know how to go with the flow, Eli,” she laughs.
I relax more, feeling the knot of tension in my chest loosening further. “I just want to put the cards on the table.”
“I understand. Well, I have expectations.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I expect to have fun. That’s what I’ve been missing, and that’s what I’ve felt faking things with you, pretending we’re together.”
She looks in my eyes when she says this, and something hot flickers through my chest. I take another swig of beer.
“I’m glad to hear you’re having fun, because I’ve been spending the past two weeks feeling like I’ve been dragging you into my hot fucking mess and I can’t ever make that up to you.”
“You already have,” she says softly. “Besides, I was the one who offered to go along with this craziness, remember?”
“Why did you do that again?”
“Fun?” She smiles and takes a sip of her beer. There’s a line of foam on the top of her lip, and she darts her tongue from her mouth to go over it, even giggling.
My dick jumps at that, and I don’t even mind.
Reese sets her beer down, and her expression shifts. She almost looks nervous. “So, I went to the studio.”
My heart lifts. “You did?” I try to arrange my expression into something that doesn’t make her regret telling me. But this news is as good as her saying yes to tonight.
“Yeah. It’s… well it’s incredible Eli. Both you doing that for me, and the studio itself. Where’d you get that table, anyway?”
“eBay,” I grin, allowing myself to be deeply pleased with that one.
Stu had offered to find some models I should look into, but happened to stumble upon that one right away.
“It’s criminally underpriced,” he’d said.
“Bid to win.” I did, and I paid extra to have it shipped within the week.
I open my mouth to tell her the story, but think better of it.
“Well, it’s amazing.”
She tells me about how she started with covers but worked up to her own stuff, and as she talks, I can’t stop staring at the way she lights up when she talks about music—her hands get more animated, and her eyes seem to sparkle. I didn’t know eyes could actually do that.
Finally she takes a breath, and I blurt out what I think I didn’t realize I’d been dying to ask her since the first time I heard her, that day in the shower.
“Reese, if things had gone differently, would you have pursued a singing career?”
She looks at me sharply. “What do you mean?”
I don’t want to mention his name, so I consider before saying, “I mean, if there were no feelings involved, would you still want to sing for the world?”
She laughs, but looks suddenly embarrassed. When her eyes meet mine I see it there. Yes. The answer is yes.
“Stupid, right?” Reese says softly. “When I couldn’t even get up on a little stage like this if I tried?”
“Not stupid. Dreams are never stupid. Maybe you just need a little push?”
I can practically see her nerves flare and realize she thinks I mean now.
“Not tonight,” I assure her. “I mean, unless you want to.”
She looks relieved. “No. I’m here to have fun.” She looks to the stage, chewing her lip before looking back at me. “But maybe… push me a little later?”
My heart practically explodes. She’s considering singing again, for real. Maybe, for once, me being too much was actually a good thing?
Then the already dim lights drop to darkness and the crowd cheers as the announcer comes over the speaker to welcome everyone to open mic night and provides instructions for how to grab a spot.
I look over at Reese. Even with only the light shimmer of stage lights reaching her, I can still see the happiness back in her eyes.
I don’t presume I had everything to do with that.
She’s the one who walked brave as fuck back into that studio.
Still, I’m flying high as the band shuffles on stage.
One day it’ll be her up there. If that’s what she wants, I’ll make sure of it.
There’s a flare of mic feedback as the guy on stage tries to speak. The band is a bunch of guys in their twenties, dressed in all black, decked out in an abundance of silver chain mail and hair gel.
The guy at the mic tries again. “Hey, so uh, we’re Stonefish Razorblade Queen Cheese.”
Reese spits out her beer, coughing slightly.
I clap her lightly on the back. “You okay?” I whisper.
Luckily we’re not the only ones in the room making noise.
“Did he say cream cheese?” Reese whispers in my ear once she’s regained control of her airway.
I’m slightly distracted by her breath on me—okay more than slightly—but I still whisper back, “I think he said ‘queem cheese.’”
That gets another snort out of Reese. She claps her hand over her mouth as the lead singer jerks his face in our direction. Not that he can see anything.
“I hope you’re all ready to rock!” the guy says.
He looks nervous, but not as nervous as the guy on the drums, who drops his drumstick with a clatter.
It rolls under his set, and he bends down to get it, but manages to topple slightly off his chair, catching himself with a flailing arm, which hits the cymbals.
The crowd erupts in laughter, but it’s cut short by the loud whine of mic feedback.