“When I meet a woman after a show, I’m expected to put on a different kind of show. She wants to be…entertained. I’m not sure I’m explaining it right. Yes, obviously I enjoy the sex too. But it’s expected. The whole thing is another part of the show. Most of the time I enjoy it.”
“Most of the time?”
I hesitate. I would never say stuff like this out loud to anyone else, not even my band. “I love playing music. I get on stage and put on a show, four, five, six nights a week. I love seeing the crowd react, our fans singing along to words I created in my head—it’s magical. One of the coolest things ever. But when the music part is over, I have to keep performing. The rock star persona. The image. Drinking and partying and having fun. Even when I’d rather be in bed watching a movie or getting my laundry done.”
“Do you always have to do it? Can’t you just say no autographs tonight or whatever?”
“I can, and once in a while, I do, but there are journalists, radio personalities, industry executives—you never know who’s backstage and this is our first album, first tour. There are expectations. That’s the only way I can describe it. My life right now is full of expectations, twenty-four-seven. So it’s been nice being with someone who doesn’t expect anything. We met at a restaurant, you had no idea who I was, and we clicked. We waited out the storm helping you at the diner, getting to know each other on a different level. The sex wasn’t a given. Hell, I was a little surprised you asked me to go home with you.”
She smiles. “I never bring anyone home. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy dating and sex—but I usually go to their place. My house is…sacred. Where I go to relax and unwind. I don’t bring a hookup home with me.”
“So there are expectations in your life too. You bring a guy to your house and he expects…something. It may not be as obvious as it is for me, but I get it. That need to protect your space. My problem is that I don’t have any.”
“Well, you can have all the space you need while you’re with me,” she says softly, and I understand that’s not some passive-aggressive statement where she’s hinting that I’m free to go and expecting me to say I don’t want to. She’s simply reiterating that she’s happy to give me whatever it is I need while we’re together.
I slide my arm around her shoulders. “I really like you, Summer.”
“I like you too.”
Chapter 8
Summer
Tate and I are standing at the cash register at the grocery store, arguing about letting him pay the bill, when my phone rings. The name of the nursing home flashes on the screen and I grab it, giving him a dirty look.
“Would you stop already? I have to take this!” I put the phone to my ear, absently trying to bat his hands away as he gently but firmly pushes two hundred-dollar bills at the cashier.
“Her money is no good here,” he tells the cashier as I answer the call.
“Hey, Tony, what’s up?”
“Hey, Summer. Your mom is super agitated today. I know this is your day off—any chance you could come by? She almost fell trying to leave and she’s upsetting the other residents.”
I sigh. “Yeah, give me ten minutes.”
“Everything okay?” Tate asks, pushing the cart filled with a week’s worth of groceries and supplies to make pies.
“Mom is having a bad morning, so I need to stop by the nursing home, help settle her down again. Should only take about fifteen minutes. Then she’ll relax and we can head home. You can wait in the car if you want.”
“Why would I do that?” he asks in confusion. “I’m an adult—I know how to behave in front of people. You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, are you?”
I know he means it as a joke, because he’s chuckling, but I sense a hint of insecurity, like there are people in his life who are ashamed of him.
“Of course not!” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just…a lot. Meeting my mom scared off the last guy I introduced her to.”
“Then he was an idiot,” he says, putting the bags into my trunk. “What does your mom being sick have to do with anything?”
“Well, it’s a responsibility that extends to anyone in my life. Interruptions like this happen a lot. That’s why I work nights, so I’m around during the day if Mom needs me. She takes medication to help her sleep at night so she rarely has issues then.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says, “but your mom doesn’t scare me and she certainly wouldn’t scare me away if I was here.”
If I was here.
Because he’s not going to be here.
I know that, but somewhere in the depths of my romantic heart, I’ve been holding out hope that he would somehow be able to stay.
“I appreciate you saying so,” I whisper, getting behind the wheel.
