Page 37 of Dead Rockstar

He looked up at me with a slow, sexy smile, and pinched the skin of his arm. “Nope, no dream,” he said with a laugh, rising on his haunches and standing. “I'm as undead as they come, Stormy Spooner. I'm afraid you're the real deal, a real-life necromancer. Fuckin' weird, huh?”

“Very fuckin' weird,” I repeated.

“What's weirder is that I've never set foot in Georgia in my life until a few days ago, but I can't shake the feeling that I've been here before, y'all.”

He stood there, grinning, then he pitched forward and enclosed me in an awkward but very warm hug. His arms were strong and warm and held me tight. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him back, inhaling the woodsy, clean scent of him, feeling his tangled hair brush against my cheek. The sound of the water lapping up on the shore was behind us, soothing and calm.

He gave me one more quick squeeze and pulled away, his pretty green eyes catching the dull light. “I don't want you to worry. We'll figure all this shit out, and it's going to be fine. I promise.”

“How do you know?” I asked as we began to walk along the water, our shoes left behind in the sand. “What if it's all a giant clusterfuck and I've opened a huge can of worms and we have to somehow fix it?”

“I've already died,” he said. “What's the worst that could possibly happen now?”

Nine

The only noise was the loud rumbling of my engine. I couldn't get Spotify to work; it kept saying “no connection,” and Phillip was oddly silent as he navigated the truck on the highway. He was leaned back, switching gears like the truck was his. Even though I hated myself for it, it gave me a little thrill to see him driving it. And it gave me plenty of opportunities to sit back and look at him.

He felt my eyes on him and gave me a small smile but said nothing.

I could hardly believe the night before had actually happened– the salt bath, lying against him in the warm water, the tub seeming to expand to fit us both, my head in the crook of his neck, his hair soft and damp against my skin, his voice in my ear as he sang to me. Never in my wildest imaginings could I have conjured up such a perfect moment. I'd never forget the way his breath felt on my forehead, how he smelled, how it felt to have his long, muscular legs wrapped around mine, the feel of his skin against my own, wet from the tub, coarse with salt. It was an odd thing, but sensual and private and perfect.

So perfect that I'd ached with wanting when I had gone to bed a little later, alone. Once the water started to cool to lukewarm, we'd exited the tub, and I'd stood there in the steamy room, staring up at him, waiting for him to say or do something. A signal, a hint of a flush, a look in his eye. But instead he handed me a towel and ran his finger over my cheek. “You still have salt on you,” he'd said.

I held the towel away from me, not wanting to cover up yet, craving more intimacy. “I don't care,” I said softly.

He had leaned down then, his face inches from mine, breathing deeply, and I felt the thought on his lips. But he seemed to think better of it, and pulled back slightly with a smile, then drew a towel around his waist and left the bathroom.

I'd gone into my room without saying goodnight, confused, slightly hurt and incredibly turned on, and pulled on my pajamas in the dark. I half expected to hear him knock on the door, but he didn't. I heard the creak of the couch springs, then his light snoring, and after about an hour I'd finally gone to sleep, frustrated but oddly satisfied. Then, an equally perfect but bittersweet moment out on Driftwood Beach, when he'd talked about himself and enveloped me in that warm hug that just felt right.

Now, in the truck, it felt like it all must have been a dream. If not for the little flecks of salt I was still finding stuck to my skin from both the tub and the beach, I would have believed it was. The energy had changed within both of us, and whatever dream-like, magical bonding had taken place had given way to anxious, worried energy.

I didn't know what to say to him now and figured I probably shouldn't bring up anything that would only make him worry more. So I stayed quiet. I wished I could have some music, though. The silence was more than deafening and I was starting to feel acutely embarrassed. I fiddled with my phone, closing the app and reopening it, but Spotify still wouldn't work. Neither would iTunes. It made no sense; I usually had stellar internet connection on the open road. Of course, I knew, in the back of my mind, what it was. The same thing that had rendered my laptop useless and had caused Phillip's burner phone to keep going off. It was Phillip.

Something – his brainwaves, maybe - fucked with technology. As if this whole thing wasn't weird enough.

“Sorry.”

“What?”

“None of your shit works around me,” he said.

“Stop doing that!” I said, with mock irritation. “Reading my mind!”

“It's not on purpose,” he said. “It just sort of happens.”

“One of these days you'll catch me thinking something I don't necessarily want you to know, and then I'll have to throw myself off a building.” He only grinned in response. “Oh god, it's already happened.”

“It's been enlightening.” He smirked. “I know that you still crave McDonald's cheeseburgers, and that your friend with the cool band name is banging an old dude who dresses like Winnie the Pooh-”

“Oh, god, stop.” I groaned, then started to laugh. “Don't ever tell anybody about the Mickey D's.”

“I'll buy you one,” he said in a sly voice. “We're out on the road, it's a vacation. Nobody will ever know.”

“No!”

He laughed. I fiddled with the radio and managed to pick up one channel. Through the static I could hear George Jones' booze-soaked crooning of White Lightnin’. Phillip began to sing along in his velvety baritone, and the hair on my arms stood up. It was such a weird juxtaposition – his doom-metal voice lilting along to one of the country greats – but it was absolutely beautiful.

“I know what you're feeling,” he said, staring at the road, picking up our pre-song conversation. I busied myself looking at a truck we were passing, just like mine but blue. “But don't worry. I'm not trying to pick up on anything you don't want me to. I'm working on controlling it. And I'd never knowingly invade your privacy.” He glanced over at me and smiled. “Please don't be scared of me.”

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