Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“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.
CHAPTER NINE
“Fuck,” barks the disgruntled male voice. “Ouch!”
Being woken by such loud noises is rude. Though the presence of Nash still in my space is a pleasant thought. I push my hair out of my face and ask, “Was it my suitcase again?”
“Yes.”
“Your poor toes.” Which is when I see the sunlight flooding the room. Forgetting to draw the curtains is one of my many talents. There’s plenty of light to see, so Nash must still be waking up and not watching where he’s going. What this means, however, has only just occurred to me. “Oh, shit. You’re still here.”
And he grins like the devil he is. “We’re going to be in trouble.”
I don’t mean to smile back at him. This is Grandma’s house and I want to respect her wishes. My head and my heart are just sort of stupid when he’s around. It’s like my vagina seizes control and off we go.
“You might as well come out,” shouts Grandma, from the house beyond.
Nash stands with his hands on hips. “We could climb out the window. Make a run for it.”
“My purse is in the living room. Do you have any cash on you?”
“I could busk to support us. And we could live off the land.”
“Like eat mushrooms and dandelions and stuff?”