Chapter Two
“Hey, June,” says the deep and smooth voice rising up out of my dreams. “Are you awake?”
“Hmm?”
The side of my bed dips as he sits on the mattress. With calloused fingers, he carefully lifts the hair from my face and asks, “I don’t really have to sleep on the couch, do I?”
I open my blurry eyes and ugh. Of course, moonlight loves the man and shadows can’t resist him. Those thick shoulders and his muscular neck. “What time is it?” I ask.
“Just after two.”
“I was dreaming about you.”
“Oh, yeah.” He grins. “What were we doing?”
“You were lying there looking all pretty, and I was in my car and I ran over you. Then I put it in reverse and backed up and ran over you again because you woke me up.”
His soft laughter shouldn’t be so hot. “Seriously though…I’m too tall and it’s really uncomfortable.”
“Where’s Grandma’s stick?”
“Be reasonable, Junebug. It’s a king-size bed.”
“Go away.”
“I’m just so fucking tired. Please can I sleep here with you?”
I groan.
“What if I buy you a purse or jewelry or a horse or something?”
“What the hell would I do with a horse? My car is already full. I don’t need more stuff.”
But I think of him with his bloodshot eyes, looking like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever. His burnout is real. Grandma obviously trusts the man to be in her house, so that’s got to count for something. I move over with only a small amount of bitching.
“Stay on your side, or I will knee you where it hurts and leave you incapacitated for a week.”
“Thank you. You’re a saint.”
“Whatever.”
He stretches out on his back with a happy sigh. No idea how he makes the lemongrass shampoo and conditioner smell extra nice. And heat radiates off his big body in the cool night air. It’s almost like a lure.
“Your car is full of your stuff?”
“Mm.”
“Sounds like we’re both starting over.”
Seems odd, intimate moments keep happening between us.
First cutting his hair, and now lying here with him.
Or maybe I’m just overly aware of his presence.
He is a famous person with millions of followers on social media.
To be sharing space with him is bizarre.
But I also apparently sleepwalked through a relationship for a year, so it’s discombobulating to suddenly be so hyperaware of someone.
“I left just about everything,” he says. “Had the houses shut up.”
“So, you can always go back if you want to. Options are good.”
“I don’t know…I think it would kind of feel like defeat.”
“Sounds like you’re being hard on yourself. But doing this. Stepping back from your career and taking a break, or just living the rest of your life on your own terms, I think that’s brave.”
He grunts.
“To be honest, I don’t really want to go back either.”
“Is that because of the ex?”
“Sort of.”
And he just waits.
“You know when things seem fine?” I ask. “Daily life is happening and it’s okay. You’ve got work and some sort of social life and you’re not drowning in too much debt. When you stop and take a good look though, everything is…I don’t know.”
“Fucky?”
“Yes. That’s a good word for it. It’s just not great,” I say. “I know there are ups and downs and everyday stuff has to happen. But I honestly can’t remember the last time there was a high.”
“We’re not talking about drugs?”
“We’re not. Why did you choose here as your starting point for this new life?”
He thinks it over for a moment. “Because I trust Audrey. And I missed her. What about you?”
“I liked the idea of having a functioning relationship with a member of my family.”
“You’re not close with your parents?”
I shake my head. “There’s just my mom and no.”
He waits for me to say more. Which is a problem because I don’t know what to say.
We’re in deep water with these topics. There’s also a small chance I searched him online earlier, and found heaps of shots of him performing with a guitar in hand and a western-style hat on his head.
Interviews discussing his music with the occasional quip about his life and loves.
There wasn’t much about his family. But there were any number of photos of him with other famous types and the various people he’s dated. The bulk of whom were statuesque blondes with sunshine smiles. He has a type, and it’s the exact opposite of me.
The man has also achieved way more in life than me, which is sort of daunting.
“Audrey used to give me updates,” he says eventually. “Tell me what you were doing in Phoenix. What music you’d been listening to and bands you’d been to see. And how when I came through town, you never had time to come see me play for some reason.”
“Oh my god.”
“One time, Audrey said you had to wash your hair instead. I don’t know if you had hair down to the floor then. I mean, it goes halfway down your back now. Sure. But that still shouldn’t take you all night.”
“Hygiene is just really important to me, man.”
“Okay,” he says. “This other time, I said to Audrey, tell her you won some VIP tickets to Coachella so you two can—”
“Holy shit. That was you!”
“Can come see me play the main stage. Though as I understand it, you decided to go see a K-pop band on one of the other stages instead?”
“Nash.” I am not laughing at his man pain. Much.
“Were they good?”
“They were amazing.”
“I would hope so,” he says. “My set was great, thank you very much. Had one of the biggest crowds of all time.”
“What’s all the giggling and gossiping going on in here,” says Grandma from the bedroom door. “It sounds like summer camp.”
“He’s too tall for the couch,” I say.
Nash sits up. “I couldn’t sleep, it was too uncomfortable.”
“I’ve found you contentedly sleeping curled up on a marble floor,” says Grandma. “Do I need to go and get my stick?”
“That was after a lot of whiskey, when I was much younger, Audrey.”
“I love you, but I know you, and I think this is unwise. There isn’t anything wrong with your lifestyle, my boy,” says Grandma. “Whatever consensual adults do is their own business. But she isn’t used to it.”
I smile. “The bed is huge. He’s fine. Nothing is happening.”
Grandma sighs. She seems to be experiencing big feelings.
“You’re a grown adult, June, so I’m not going to tell you what to do.
What I will say is that the number of people I escorted from his house the morning after is well over double digits.
And I would hate to see you get hurt again, especially so soon. ”
My mouth stays shut. I’m not explaining my familiarity with the concept of a hookup to my grandmother at two in the morning. It’s just not happening. Nor am I in need of a rebound. Though I don’t know if I’d turn one down with this particular person.
“Good night,” says Grandma.
“I have the weirdest feeling I just got slut-shamed,” whispers Nash, in his usual laid-back tone.
“Yeah.”
“So that happened.”
“Did you expose my grandma to drug-fueled, rock-n-roll style orgies?”
“It’s country slash rock with folk and the occasional pop accent.”
“Did you though?”
“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. I mean, of course there were some parties at the house. But it wasn’t like people were swinging naked from the chandeliers and doing blow off the marble counters. Oh. Wait. There was that one time.”
“Swinging naked or doing cocaine?”
He lies back down with his hands behind his head. “Swinging naked. Though she was a burlesque performer, so she wasn’t actually naked. She had this cool glittery costume. As for the other, I saw what hard drugs could do early on and steered clear.”
“Sounds sensible.”
“We’re just going to be friends of the platonic type, right? Best buds? Pals?”
“Um,” I say. “Sure.”
“That’s what I thought. We don’t want to complicate shit with us both staying here. Or upset your grandma. Night, June.”
It’s not like I’d even decided I wanted to have sex with him.
He’d been flirting with me. Which was probably just his natural charm and bullshit.
As delightful as I can be when you catch me in the right mood, people like him don’t date nobodies.
In all likelihood, they don’t have casual sex with them, either.
And of course, no one wants things to get complicated.
I for one would like to never hear anything nearing another beware-of-sex-with-this-person talk from my grandmother.
I roll over and get comfortable facing the wall. “Night.”
Rockstars aren’t as interesting as I’d hoped. Nash is softly snoring when I wake. I gather some clothes and creep out of the spare bedroom so as not to disturb him. And his unconscious state doesn’t change all day. He truly is burnt out and in need of rest.
Grandma and I have breakfast together. Then she goes to her craft group and has lunch with friends while I spend the day working on my laptop. Building a store front for an artist wanting to sell stickers and prints. Tylenol and coffee take care of my hangover. And Nash keeps right on sleeping.
There’re still no signs of life from the man when it comes time for us to depart for dinner.
It is, however, Taco Tuesday, so we’re not inclined to wait.
Guacamole and salsa have a siren song to which I am particularly susceptible.
And don’t even get me started on the delight that is queso.
We left him a note with directions to where we’re off to on the kitchen table.
The small town of The Bend, Washington, is famous for several things.
Including being on a bend in a river and repurposing old buildings.
For instance, the local bar is inside what was once the bank.
It’s a small, grand building over a century and a half old with high arched windows and decorative molding on the ceiling.
You can tour the vault if you’re so inclined.
Though now it stores liquor as opposed to cold hard cash.
Grandma peruses the scene as she takes a sip of her margarita. “That new boy who recently started at the coffee shop keeps looking your way.”
“Boo, men.”
“How was the carne asada?”
I wipe my hands and mouth with a napkin. The bar has a rotating schedule of food trucks out in the parking lot. “Delicious.”