“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Saturdays are our last show of the week. Next one isn’t until Wednesday. Normally, I’d be off until Thursday night, but we’re doing this charity thing.”
“But,” I point out as we’re walking through the front doors and out into the parking lot, “you said you guys were all on the bus and ready to go when you decided to join us for pancakes. If you don’t have anywhere to be, where were you going?”
“Home,” Matti fills me in.
“Right.” That would be obvious, I suppose. And I might have been able to conclude it for myself if eighty-five percent of my brain power wasn’t currently wrapped up in analyzing the handholding I’m still involved in. Another ten is trying to remember the last time I held hands with a man before this. Maybe I shouldn’t be attempting conversation right now.
“Speaking of places your bus is going,” Arizona joins the current topic of conversation. “Any chance you can add another stop along the way?”
“Girl, I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go,” Winston drawls, wrapping his massive arm around her itty-bitty frame.
“What are you talking about?” I cut in. “You don’t need a ride. I’m your ride.”
“You were,” she agrees. “Now I’m going with Winston and you’re going on a walk to watch the sunrise.”
“Forget the walk, you were my original date, I’m not ditching you halfway through.”
She sighs, obviously getting annoyed with me. “No one is ditching anyone. Our date ended with pancakes. And for me, that’s the end of the night. It’s time for me to get back to my car and get back on the road to head home. But for you, the night isn’t over. So, it would be dumb,” she bugs her eyes out at me toemphasize just how dumb, “for you to insist on driving me back to your place where I will switch cars and keep going. Especially when we can just switch cars now and make it easy. Why not make it easy?”
Ordinarily, I’d find it worrisome, my best friend tucked into the side of a strange man she only just met who also happens to be three times the size of her...and now wants her to leave with him, even if it is just to take her to her car so she can go home. Alone.
When stripped of all context and feelings, that just has bad idea written all over it. And yet, watching her make googly eyes at him like she’s nineteen again, while also sounding exceptionally rational about the change in plans, doesn’t feel wrong at all. It feels kind of logical.
“So, we’re doing this,” I say, just to make sure we’re really all on the same page. “You’re leaving on the tour bus and I’m...”
“Leaving with the rock star.” Arizona grins. “Yep. We’re doing this.”
CHAPTER SIX
KNOX
We’ve been walking in silence ever since we got here, a stark contrast from the drive we took to get to the beach during which we rambled and ranted nonstop. Maybe the carb coma is kicking in, or the caffeine is wearing off. Or maybe, it’s just the question that’s been lingering at the forefront of my mind ever since Arizona made that remark about Kenley not believing these feelings were mutual.
I knew the whole ride over I was going to ask once we got here. Walking barefoot in the sand, stars and moon overhead and the waves crashing in peaceful rhythm alongside us, seems like the perfect setting to scrap small talk and get serious. And yet, I’ve been struggling the get the words past my lips for the last five minutes.
“Tell me why you’re having a hard time believing I could genuinely be interested in you.” Not exactly a question after all. But something tells me I’ll get better results phrasing it this way. And I want results. Real insight. Not a brush off, denying the issue.
“You mean outside of the whole ‘you could have any woman you want’ thing?” she counters. I make a mental note of her attempt to make a joke out of it, but I don’t react.
“Tell me,” I softly reiterate my former request, squeezing her hand gently.
Even in the dark I can see her expression well enough to know she’s fighting with herself about the answer. When she finally opens her mouth, it’s only to snap it shut again a second later. She does this at least three times, before words actually start to spill out.
“Here’s the thing. And it’s a thing I generally don’t open with and will likely wish I hadn’t, but you asked and for some stupid reason I believe you sincerely want to know, so here it is. I have successfully attracted two types of men in my life. One, the super charming-but-not-so-nice abusive sort which I married, by the way, and two, the ‘this chick seems like an awesome idea’, but really, I’m going to end up with the woman I’m truly in love with and just can’t have right now sort. Conveniently enough, both types of men always seem to enjoy the idea of having me, like I’m some strange sort of novelty item they love to own but can’t seem capable of genuinely falling in love with.” She throws her hand up in a hurry, waving it back and forth as if to negate something she’s just said. “Which I’m obviously not suggesting I expect you to do.”
“Fall in love with you?”
“Yeah, that part.” She drops her hand again and turns her head to stare out at the ocean. I’d be perfectly fine thinking she’s enjoying the view, but I know she’s really just pulling away from me the only way she can since I’m still holding onto her other hand.
I stop and use the grip I have on her to gently, but firmly, swing her around to face me. “Expect it.”
“You’re insane.” Only, if she really thought that she’d probably be back to putting some distance between us, not standing within inches of me.
“You don’t really believe that,” I say quietly. Her mouth is lacking any hint of a smile, but her eyes are lit up the same way they were when I first found her standing outside The House of Rock.
“You’re playing me.”
I’m not even surprised to hear her say that. I don’t answer right away, just watch her watching me, trying to anticipate myreaction. It’s as if she’s expecting me to look hurt. To pout or throw an insult her way. Guilt at the very least.
