Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“No shit,” she retorted. “I’m asking where I need to make travel arrangements from. Are we still going to be here?” She tucked her hair behind her ears again, even though it hadn’t fallen forward.
I bet that hair would feel like silk sliding over my stomach.
“I booked the ranch out through February,” I said as I poured myself a glass of milk. I’d have to cut the dairy in the next few days for the show—it always clogged up my voice.
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.” I put the milk away and turned to face Zoe, who looked like I’d just told her aliens were landing in the backyard. “I need to get these songs written, and I like it here. So far, I’d say ninety-eight percent of the population is pretty great. There are no fans at my door, no groupies pouring tequila onto their breasts and declaring ‘body shots,’ and no party invitations that I have to come up with excuses to turn down. It’s pretty much sober-living heaven since I don’t even know where the liquor store is.” Not that I couldn’t look it up on my phone.
“Ninety-eight percent?” she challenged, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’d say I’ve probably met about a hundred people between the diner, the grocery store, shopping, and the Fall Festival.” I shrugged. “So, there’s just your douchebag ex and his socially obsessed wife, who, I might add, was the only person in this entire town to post a video online of me singing last night.” The fact that it was only one person posting blew me away. If I’d pulled that shit in Seattle, it would have been caught and shared by at least half that audience.
Just another reason I liked it here.
She cringed. “I was hoping you might not see that.”
“At least I look good.” A smirk lifted my lips.
“And sound good,” she noted with a little smile. “In all the years I’ve worked for the band, I’ve never heard you play an acoustic set, let alone an acoustic guitar, and yet that’s the only one you brought with us.” She walked past me, opening the fridge and taking out the apple juice to refill her own glass.
“We’ve never been an acoustic set band.” It was always something I’d wanted to try but had never brought up.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t be.” She lifted the glass to her lips and drank. “The video is getting around. I might even call it viral.”
“Is it?” I wanted to be that glass.
Our eyes locked again. Regardless of our conversation, the tension between us hadn’t dissipated—it had tightened like a bow string right before you nocked an arrow.
She broke first, studying her glass. “Right. So, I’ll make the arrangements for San Francisco. I’m assuming you want to charter a private flight out of Gunnison?”
“That sounds fine.” Usually, we’d take Quinn’s plane, but since we were scattered across the United States now, that wouldn’t work out. “But I don’t want to stay the night.”
Her brow furrowed. “Ethan sent over the schedule already, and sound check is pretty early.”
I gritted my teeth. The longer we were surrounded by my vices, the more likely I was to indulge in them. “Fine, then we can stay the night before, but I want out of there as soon as possible.”
“I’ll make it happen.”
I nodded, knowing she would. Then I headed back to my guitar in hope I hadn’t lost what inspiration had struck earlier, but all I could think about was the gig.
The booze. The girls. The drugs. The fucked-up decisions…they all went hand in hand with the shows. It was always the same. My emotions rose, the memories flared, and I took a shot to steady my nerves—that’s how it started.
“Always” needed to become “used to,” and next week, we’d know if that was possible.
* * *
Two nights later, I cursed as I fumbled through the kitchen cabinets, holding my phone up as a flashlight so I didn’t wake Zoe.
Yesterday, she’d bought that same tea she’d given me in Seattle. I knew it was around here somewhere, and since I’d pinned all my hopes for getting back to sleep on that little box, I needed to find it. The teakettle was already full and heating on the burner behind me.
The dream tonight had felt real. They always did to some degree, but tonight I’d woken up covered in sweat, my neck arched, and my muscles straining against a villain who only existed in my memories.
Let me help. That’s what she’d said in real life. She’d found a bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in a dishtowel, then held it against my cheek. In my dream, she’d been on the floor, her curls matted and red, staring at me through lifeless eyes.
Fuck, I wanted a drink. I wanted anything that would block out the dream and help shove the memories back in the little locked box I tried my best to keep them in.