String me along learning.., p.20
String Me Along (Learning to Love Series), page 20
If my heart expanded any further, it’d take up my entire ribcage and shove my lungs up out of my throat.
I sat there silent, unsure what to say. What could you say to someone you’d been completely wrong about? More than that, what could you say to make them feel better about a situation that was never going to get better?
He began drawing gentle circles over my skin with his thumb, and I swore I felt the motion reverberate throughout my entire body.
“When did she start to…”
“Forget me? Around the time I moved here.”
Jesus.
His thumb trailed higher, curling around to caress the inside of my wrist. Goosebumps erupted up my arm, but I didn’t move a muscle. I wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it.
He cleared his throat. “You know the night we met? The one where I was—”
“Paddling your douche canoe down Jackass River?” I finished for him on instinct, unable to completely swallow down my chuckle when he ever so slowly met my eyes and blinked at me.
“Yes,” he said, lips twitching. “That one.”
I bit my bottom lip, trying not to burst out laughing at the expression on his face. “Just wanted to make sure we were discussing the same night. Continue.”
He shook his head, his own quiet laugh escaping. I soaked it up. “Anyway, that was the first time it’d happened to that extent. She’d already started to lose some memories of me and often called me by my dad’s name, but that day was the first time she had absolutely no idea who I was.
“I wasn’t prepared for it to happen so soon, and I didn’t know then how to handle it. I’d selfishly tried to get her to remember me, and she became agitated and upset.”
He paused, his frustration crumbling apart to reveal the broken sliver of his heart. He cleared his throat, his voice sounding like he’d suddenly started chewing gravel. “She’d ended up crying, and I was advised to leave.”
“I’m so sorry, Adrian.” My heart broke for him, for her, for every family like them.
His eyes flashed up to me, emotion, and something else, churning in their depths. “It’s not your fault things like dementia exist.”
“Not that. I mean, I am sorry about Doris, but I mostly meant I’m sorry I asked in the first place. I was being nosey because I thought you’d say you had community service for some stupid transgression or something.” I flailed my free hand around, not knowing what I was saying, just that I was rambling like an idiot.
“Davis.”
“I didn’t think—”
“Layla,” he said more pointedly, yanking on my hand until my arm stretched across his lap and my shoulder smacked into his chest. I looked up in surprise from where I was pretzeled out next to him, thanking God, I’d tied my jacket over my skirt.
He smirked down at me, his eyes flickering to my pursed lips. “Shut up.”
I smacked at him and pulled away, resituating myself next to him and swallowing down the flare of desire that single look had stirred. “I was trying to be nice, you asshole.”
He nudged my shoulder, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was looking for any way to keep touching me. “You? Nice? I don’t believe it.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, it tasted pretty bitter on my tongue, to be honest.” We shared a smile and then both looked back out at the parking lot, letting each other swim in our own thoughts.
After several minutes of comfortable silence, Adrian heaved out a breath and stood, holding a hand out to me.
I considered ignoring it and standing on my own in an effort to redraw even the faintest line between us, but my body had other plans, and I reached out and accepted his hand.
Once I’d readjusted my skirt and untied my jacket to slip it back on, Adrian pulled out his phone and tapped the screen, checking the time. “We play the private gig in a couple of hours.”
I yanked my own phone out and checked it, as if I thought my clock would read differently than his. I hadn’t realized I’d been here so long. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
His lips curled up in the corners, and he tipped his head toward the large black truck I’d spotted earlier. “Come have lunch with me.”
His invitation hovered between us, heavier than any other question he’d ever asked me. Because it wasn’t just an invitation to lunch. Not when I could sense the tension building between us and feel the way his eyes seared through me like he saw all of me. Even the nastiest, bitchiest parts. And he still wanted to hang out with me.
It was an invitation for more.
I shifted from one foot to the other and tucked my phone back in my pocket, looking anywhere but at him. “I can’t. I need to get back home and feed Sadie and make sure Madison doesn’t need help with Jamie before she goes into work tonight.”
“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend for that?”
Although he hadn’t meant it to, his words stung. Reminding me, yet again, that my happy little bubble wouldn’t last forever.
“I can’t,” I repeated, my excuse sounding like a flimsy lie even to my ears.
He nodded and stepped back, tucking his hands into his pockets and bidding me farewell in a stilted way that almost had me blurting out that I’d changed my mind.
But I didn’t. I watched him walk back toward the building with my lips smashed firmly together. The truth had nothing to do with Madison. The truth, the bitter painful one I kept trying to ignore, was that I couldn’t go to lunch and hang out with Adrian like we were friends.
I couldn’t be his friend, period.
Not because I hated him anymore, but because after today, I knew friendship would never be enough. I’d want his lips against mine, his hands on my skin, his sarcastic humor pissing me off, and his wicked smirks when he succeeded. I’d want all of it.
And that absolutely terrified me.
Chapter Twenty
“Layla is a strong-ass, independent woman who can do whatever the hell she sets her mind to.”
Deep breath.
“Layla is a strong-ass, independent-as-shit woman who can do whatever the hell she sets her fucking mind to.”
I repeated the mantra out loud at least five times, adding more curses each time in an attempt to pump myself up.
This would be no different than the show I’d literally just done a few hours ago at Young Souls. Minus the old, skating-rink-style carpet and fold-out chairs, and add a mansion and way more animal statues than any sane person needed.
Yep, I could totally do this. I could easily sit next to a man I was pretty sure I might be in serious like with and play a multi-hour show without letting him find out. After turning down an offer for a casual, friendly lunch directly to his face.
Fuck, this was going to be weird.
Come on, Layla, you smile at total strangers every day and pretend to love whatever conversations they bring up. You once had a woman talk to you about the difference between bulldogs and French bulldogs for twenty minutes without letting her know you wanted to die. You can do this.
Releasing the chokehold grip I had on my steering wheel, I plucked my phone from between my thighs and sighed in relief that Adrian had finally texted me back. I’d seen his truck the moment I’d pulled up and hoped he’d still be in it, but the cab had been empty. Not that I’d actually expected him to wait for me.
Me: Am I supposed to knock? Because I’m going to tell you now, if I have to knock, I’d rather stay in my car.
Satan: Only a sadist would make you knock. Walk around back.
I smiled at his reply despite myself, hope kindling that I hadn’t put our partnership on a fast track to awkward town.
Exiting my car, I hauled my guitar out for the second time that day and walked down the perfect, bleached-white driveway. My stomach growled the entire way there.
I’d been such a mental case after everything Adrian had told me this afternoon, I’d completely forgotten to eat lunch, and the irony of that wasn’t lost on me.
However, I had at least replaced my outfit for a much more appropriate one. This one consisted of chunkier heels, straight black jeans, and a low-cut blouse that was just flowy enough to hide the way the button of my jeans was going to implant itself into my stomach when I sat. Yet another reason why my zip-up skirts were superior.
Hearing the sound of laughter and chatter grow stronger as I approached the house, I walked around the corner to see a large, double-door gate propped open in their ridiculously tall privacy fence. A flower arch emphasizing its existence.
And I knew, before I’d even fully crossed under the arch, that I’d find distressed wood, painted Mason jars, and white tablecloths on the other side. I wasn’t disappointed.
Leave it to HGTV to convince a woman who had animal statues lining her driveway and a waterfall pool in her backyard that burlap ribbons and lace were fancy.
There were at least fifty people scattered around the left side of the yard, closest to the house. Tables were set up like they were celebrating a wedding, and there were enough bottles of wine, loud giggling, and teetering women, to have me convinced there wasn’t a single sober person here.
A few heads turned my way as I walked farther into the yard, no doubt taking in my scuffed guitar case and blue hair, but I pretended to be too interested in the waterfall to notice.
Making it my life’s mission to avoid any and all eye contact, I circled around the pool, searching for Adrian. I had no idea where he’d be, but I’d start with as far away from the loud, drunk people as possible, and work my way back up.
I nearly broke my neck a few seconds later when he stepped out from around a tree, and I slammed into him. He grunted and rocked back, placing both hands on my arms to keep me from tackling him to the ground.
I shifted awkwardly, still gripping my guitar case, but my focus was zeroed in on the fingertips pressing into my skin. All I could imagine was how they’d feel pressing into the crease where my hips met my thigh, or wrapped around my love handles, angling me where he wanted.
“No need to be embarrassed, Davis. I sometimes run into people standing in plain sight too. Happens to the best of us.”
Glaring at him to cover up the fact that I was, indeed, blushing, but not for the reasons he thought, I moved back. “You stepped in front of me.”
He smirked. “That’s a weird apology for stomping on my toes, but I accept.”
I looked to his feet and then back up, not enjoying how well he looked with his suit jacket hanging open and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I was about to stomp on his feet again, with the heel of my shoe this time, just to punish him for looking so damn good.
“You nearly flattened my chest with your four pack, Waters. I think your feet will live,” I said. That wasn’t necessarily true given my heels put us at the same height, but still.
His eyes dropped to my chest, and by the way his jaw tightened, I wondered if he could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra. It hadn’t been my intent to draw attention to it—the only reason I wasn’t wearing one was because I couldn’t find my sole strapless bra—but that didn’t change the fact that Adrian was definitely staring at my boobs.
He ran a hand through his loose hair, shoving it roughly away from his face, and flung his hand out, gesturing to the corner of bushes behind him.
“Come on, we only have about ten minutes before she wants us to start, and I can almost guarantee half of that time will be stolen by Andrea once she sees you’re here.”
I took all of two steps and then stopped again, blinking at where he was pointing to. At the small clearing no larger than an elevator, in the center of a group of bushes and potted plants.
“This is where they want us to play?” I asked, my eyes wide as I lifted my case toward the chairs.
He stared at it right along with me. “Yep.”
“On plastic yard chairs.”
“Yep.”
“In the shrubbery,” I said, my voice pitching slightly with my growing irritation. These people were rich. Like, stupid rich. Enough to pay out the ass for us to come play last minute at their party. Yet they’d stuck us in a corner of fucking mismatched plants like we were a gaudy speaker they were hoping to hide out of sight.
He nodded.
I slowly turned my head to look at him, trying to figure out why he was so calm about it. Shit like this was outright disrespectful. We weren’t part of their damn décor.
There was nothing worse than being hired by people who treated musicians and artists like they were doing us a favor rather than the other way around. Entitlement at its best.
“Where the hell do they think we’ll be putting our guitars?” I asked, white-knuckling my case handle to prevent myself from spewing a lot worse. Because the chairs they’d picked reminded me of the ones Madison and I had on our porch. Thin ones with armrests that would very much be in the way.
He met my eyes and shrugged, another smirk pulling at his lips. “Come on, Davis. Where’s your sense of adventure.”
My chest swelled at the sight of that smirk. I hadn’t realized I’d been so nervous he wouldn’t give that to me again. “Lost somewhere in the tropical forest we’re about to sit in I’d wager.”
His soft, answering laugh stuck with me the entire time I set up, humming through my body more than the strings I was plucking to tune.
Loud, rhythmic clicking sounded behind me five minutes later as I was readjusting myself to sit sideways in the chair. Adrian, doing the same, lifted his head to look over my shoulder, and his face immediately smoothed out to the stone-like expression he used with Larry.
That told me all I needed to know about who was approaching. The woman who’d hired us—well, him—Andrea. I twisted around to see a stunning woman in a white button-down dress making her way toward us.
If her gorgeous skyscraper heels hadn’t already announced her impending arrival, the perfume jamming itself up my nostrils when she came within a few feet, certainly did.
I hid my reflexive gag in a cough, fighting to keep my face neutral even while my eyes watered from the effort not to inhale. I could only hope that her husband was the main bread winner while she worked part time in a bath and beauty store, or else she and I were going to have to have a woman-to-woman talk about wearing more than one scent.
A muffled choking sound came from beside me, and I glanced back to see Adrian fighting for his life to maintain his flat expression. It just ended up making him look constipated. I cackled, forgetting not to inhale as the heels finally came to a halt just before me.
Adrian’s eyes sparked as they met mine, and I had to adjust my attention to the woman standing over me to prevent myself from laughing.
Ignoring the horrendous cacophony emanating from her skin, the woman, Andrea, was flawless. Her skin was a little too orange-toned to be natural, but her body was a perfect hourglass beneath her form-fitted dress, and her soft, chestnut hair flowed around her shoulders in perfect waves.
I stretched my hand out over my guitar. “It’s nice to meet you. You must be Andrea.”
“That I am,” she said, taking my hand in a loose, dry shake before turning her attention to Adrian and fluttering her eyelashes, her hazel eyes already glassy. “Hello again, Adrian,” she cooed.
“Good evening, Mrs. Bowler,” he said, enunciating the Mrs. in a way that told me Andrea Bowler had acted very un-Mrs.-like when he’d first arrived.
And although I couldn’t blame her, a thread of satisfaction weeded its way through me that he clearly hadn’t appreciated, or reciprocated, whatever flirting she’d attempted.
I flashed her a wide-toothed smile. “Adrian and I were just finishing up getting situated.” I shifted in my plastic chair, making sure my guitar knocked against the armrest. “Did you need anything before we start?”
She raised the hand not holding her champagne and patted her flushed cheeks as she swayed slightly. “No, no. Don’t mind me. I just wanted to say hello and get some fresh air.” She raised her flute at Adrian. “Thanks again for squeezing me into your tight schedule.”
I snorted, unable to rein it in that time. The provocativeness with which she said the words squeezing and tight were downright disgraceful to the act of flirting everywhere.
She cut an irritated look my way, smoothing out her already wrinkle-free dress. “Anyway, I’ll let you two get started.”
She teetered back a step, hiccupping behind her glass and winking at Adrian. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”
He nodded, and we watched her walk off, already waving at someone else across the yard like she was a reincarnated windmill.
“Wow.”
Adrian huffed. “She sells perfumes in some social media group she’s in. They were on the deck when I arrived, spritzing themselves to try each one.”
Well, that would certainly account for the smell. Between all that perfume and the alcohol, they probably couldn’t even detect the scents anymore.
I must’ve said that thought out loud because Adrian grunted. “That would explain why she’d practically shoved her chest in my face, asking me to tell her which one smelled better.”
Realizing I’d left my capo in my case, I pushed up, leaning my guitar against my fancy chair, and rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason she wanted to shove your face in her cleavage.”
He shot me an unimpressed look from beneath his lashes, and I wiggled my eyebrows as I stepped to the side and squatted down to open my case. I’d just clasped the edge when I realized I could hear my phone vibrating in my purse next to it.
I always left my phone in my purse for a reason. I didn’t like answering calls or looking at texts when I was at a show. It felt unprofessional. But I decided to reach in and lift it up to glance at the screen just in case it was Madison. She was at work and knew I was as well, so she’d only be calling if it was an emergency.
The name that stared back at me on the screen made me glad I did as my heart dropped to my feet.
“What’s wrong, Davis?”
I held up a finger to Adrian, letting him know I’d be right back, and walked around our Bush City of a stage area, to find some privacy to answer, just in case I burst into tears or vomited.
