12 #3
“I’ll see about dinner,” he blurted, exiting the room in what he hoped was a less awkward rush than it felt.
He heard her close the door behind him, and he stood for a moment in his empty bedroom, suddenly feeling like a guest in his own house.
He drifted mindlessly toward his dresser and fished through a drawer for clean clothes, but he wasn’t really seeing them.
Instead, his mind was on high alert for every little sound from behind the wall: the squeak of the sink faucet, the swish of the shower curtain rings, and then, finally, the whoosh of the shower itself.
Don’t do it . . . he warned himself, but it was awfully hard not to think about the scant few inches of drywall currently separating him from the girl in the next room.
The girl in the shower.
With that thought, Drew snatched what he needed from the drawer in front of him and slammed it shut. Ryker whined from his post outside the bathroom door, and Drew held up a hand to quiet him.
“Stay!” he commanded. Then he hurried out of the room and toward the kitchen. At least if he lost his mind, the dog would probably stop him.
Later, Drew stepped out of his bathroom to the sound of guitar music.
Well, music might be a stretch; it was more like random notes and incomplete chords in a haphazard jumble.
He padded down the hall and stopped short at the end, his throat squeezing tight.
Savannah was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and his guitar angled across her lap, strumming lazily.
Her damp hair was loose—his baseball hat now discarded on the end table—and his orange football hoodie hung from her torso, swallowing her whole.
She was singing softly to Ryker, who was staring up from the floor with stars in his eyes.
Yeah, buddy. Me, too, Drew thought.
He stepped on a squeaky floorboard, and Savannah’s head shot up. Her eyes met his and sparkled in the low light from the table lamps. “Hey! Sorry, I’m probably not supposed to touch this,” she said sheepishly, laying the instrument on the cushion beside her.
Drew shook his head as he crossed the floor. “You can do whatever you want, remember?” He dropped heavily onto the couch and reached for the soda he’d poured earlier. He’d also made sandwiches for them both, but he’d inhaled his while she was in the shower. Hers still sat half eaten nearby.
She nestled under his arm and rested her head against his collarbone. “Whatever I want, huh? Does that mean I can rearrange the furniture?”
Drew shrugged. “Sure.”
“Put your DVDs in the wrong cases?”
“If you want.”
She shifted even closer, her face tilted up to his. “Steal your clothes?” she whispered.
Drew let his gaze slide down to the sweatshirt she was wearing—the one she’d never given back. “Apparently.”
Her smile was bright and infectious, and Drew felt his own begin to form.
It was nearly impossible to be in a bad mood when she was around, no matter how hard he tried.
Though, honestly, he hadn’t been trying very hard lately.
Some of the exhaustion lifted from his frame, as if her presence itself had recharged him, but there was still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind: If she could walk into his heart, it also meant she could walk back out, and this time he knew she’d leave only rubble in her wake.
Suddenly, his chest felt a little too tight.
“Andrew?”
He blinked and shifted his attention down to her face. Judging by the questioning look in her eyes, that hadn’t been the first time she’d said his name.
“What are you thinking?” she asked softly.
Drew pressed his lips together, holding the truth inside.
Then he sat up straighter and reached across her for the guitar before pulling it into his own lap.
“I was thinking somebody should play this thing right,” he lied.
He strummed a few chords, his brows raised as he watched her. “What would you like?”
The delight on her face was radiant. “You’re taking requests?” she asked.
Drew shrugged, trying to keep the anxiety at bay. He had to do something to distract himself before it morphed into full-blown panic. “For you, sure.”
“Okay! Then play something I can sing to,” she demanded.
He paused for a moment; he’d been learning a new song, but he wasn’t ready to share it just yet. Then, he thought of something better. His lips curved into a smile as his fingers found the first notes.
Savannah paused, listening, and a furrow formed between her brows. Drew kept playing, waiting for the light to dawn in her eyes. When it finally did, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not that!” she cried.
“What?” he asked innocently, still picking at his strings. “You don’t know the words?”
“Oh, I know them, but if I sing them, Big Al will strike me dead!”
Drew laughed, and the tension in his rib cage loosened. “You’re wearing an orange Vols sweatshirt!” he pointed out as the first chorus of “Rocky Top” echoed through the air.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because it’s yours.”
Drew stopped playing, and a warm feeling spread through his torso. “And Big Al doesn’t mind that?” he asked.
Savannah snuggled deeper into the material before pulling it close around her face and inhaling deeply. “Big Al knows you’re the exception.”
You’re the exception.
He’d said that to her once, and he’d meant it. She’d found a hole in his carefully built defense system, and she’d gotten farther inside than anyone else ever had. He didn’t think he could seal it up again if he tried.
But, to be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.