Chapter Eight #3
“No. I feel the same.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder. Swoon. “We can be codependent together.”
“How romantic.”
He shuffles his lower body back from my butt. Because there is definite activity happening in his pelvic region. And it feels sizeable, thank you very much.
“You know there are rumors circulating on the internet about you dying and the government hushing it up,” I say, just making conversation.
“Have you been stalking me online, my delight?”
“I didn’t mean to. It just came up in my feed.”
“It wouldn’t bother me if you were.” He chuckles. “Why the fuck would the government cover it up?”
“Yeah, I didn’t get that part either. But there are definitely more people wondering where you are.”
“They can just keep wondering,” he says. “I’m happy being incognito.”
“You really don’t miss the adulation?”
“Strangers having feelings and opinions about you doesn’t hit the same. I’m relieved and even ecstatic when they connect with the music. But they don’t actually know me and it’s not their love keeping me warm at night.”
“It sort of is though because they pay for you to have the heat on.”
He presses his teeth into my shoulder and says, “You’re a very funny woman. Have I told you that lately?”
The way the butterflies in my belly take flight.
Being here with him is big. Huge. Because my emotions about the man aren’t easy.
It’s been years since I crushed on anyone.
And never this hard. There’s a chance I forgot how brain-addling and all-consuming it can be.
How it ties you up in knots and fills you with both joy and worry.
“Junebug, you okay?”
I nod. “You need to sneak out in the morning before Grandma wakes up.”
“Oh yeah,” he says on a yawn. “I’m definitely going to do that.”
The soft sound of a guitar being strummed wakes me at some odd hour of the night.
Nash is seated on the bedroom floor. And the small lamp from the bedside table is situated beside him on the rug with a tee covering half of the lampshade.
Like he was trying to keep the light to a minimum. Also on the rug is a notepad and pen.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry. I was trying not to wake you.”
“It’s okay. Are you working on something?”
“Yeah,” he says with some surprise. Then he immediately shrugs it off. “It’s probably nothing. Watching you sleep just got me thinking…”
“How seductive women snorers are?”
“You got it in one. That’s amazing. It’s like we’ve got some sort of brain meld thing happening.”
I give him a sleepy half smile.
“I was thinking about how there’s this look you get sometimes,” he says. “Like you’re ready to jump in front of a train and do anything to protect me. To give me this chance to live a different life. I doubt you even know you’re doing it. But you’re so fucking fierce, Junebug.”
And I don’t know what to say.
“This is me saying I appreciate you.”
“I appreciate you too. And you’re welcome.” I smile.
No one’s ever written a song about me before.
What a beautiful thing to have happen. Though I’ve seen how his legion of fans love to have long discussions about how they interpret the lyrics.
I wonder if this song is going to make me known in some places.
Such a strange notion. It makes me think about our discussion regarding strangers having feelings and opinions about you.
He gives me a long look and says, “I can take this outside, so I don’t disturb you.”
“No need. I like hearing you play.”
His hair is askew from sleep or shoving his fingers through his thick strands.
And his eyes are guarded as he turns his attention back to the guitar.
Like he doesn’t quite trust the instrument.
It doesn’t take long, however, for his fingers to start softly picking out notes and playing chords again.
Then he takes up the pen and adds more words to the notepad.
Grandma was right about him returning to writing music. Once he had the instrument back in hand, it was only a matter of time. Which means he’s eventually going to want to share the new songs with an audience. Being on stage and performing is in his bones, after all.
I’d like to believe that buying a house here means he’s going to stay. But owning property didn’t keep him in Nashville or Los Angeles. Once he’s had a break from the grind of the music industry, he’ll go back.
I can almost hear the ticking of a clock counting down his days here.
This seems like yet another great time to just be in the moment and take life as it comes. To not worry about future shit. Which I will absolutely do any minute now.
The truth is, whatever is between us needs to stay easy.
I just need to keep reminding myself of this fact.
My rejection and sad girl quotas have already been met for this calendar year.
There doesn’t need to be any broken hearts or hurt feelings.
And no one needs any awkward weirdness on the off chance I do stay in town, and he does visit the area more often.
Friends with benefits is likely all this is ever going to be, and I am perfectly fine with that. Decision made.