Page 71 of All of You

“You’re a Jamie Morris fan.” She cracked a half-smile, but smothered it by pressing her lips together.

“I am.”

“How did you never tell me this?”

“It was irrelevant.” I let my eyes flick around the kitchen to avoid hers, but that was pretty impossible.

She blinked slowly and eyed me from under her lashes.

“Okay, fine. It wasn’t exactly on the top of my list to admit that I’m a moderately big fan of your ex-boyfriend. That just seemed weird.” I shifted from foot to foot, unable to find a comfortable stance.

She watched me for a moment, no change in her expression. Then she swallowed, and all at once, reached out, pulled my face to hers, and crushed herself against me in a kiss. Just as suddenly, she let me go. “I like you a little too much, you know?”

I was perplexed, thrilled, and now mildly turned on with a side order of still-awkward and over-excited that Jamie Morris was still sitting in the other room, strumming what must be one of his infamous practice guitars.

“Too much?” I asked, my voice coming from some other guy.

She just smiled, grabbed my hand, and said, “Come on, let’s go hang with your idol.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Whit

It was startling to realize how opposite Ben and Jamie were physically. In some ways, I saw them as similar in that they’d both been through hard things, had both suffered in some way, though Ben had come out of it, and Jamie… who knew if he’d ever make it out.

We played our song a few times, and Ben sat, rapt, watching Jamie. If I didn’t know how much he liked me, I’d probably be jealous. That, and I knew how good Jamie was—that was why I’d pushed Nikki, my manager, and everyone else I knew to get me paired with him on this project. Turned out he’d wanted me for it, anyway, which was its own kind of dream come true.

Where Jamie was dark, Ben was light. Jamie’s hair was long and usually pulled back away from his face but for a few strands that fell moodily over his eyes. Ben’s hair was close-cropped into a military-approved cut.

Jamie had ever-present stubble, sometimes a beard. Ben could grow an impressive beard as I’d seen over the weeks of the tour and his leave period when he hadn’t been required to be clean-shaven, but most of the time, his face was shaved close, and even at the end of the day, the five-o’clock shadow was just a suggestion since even his beard hair was still a blond color.

Both men had presence. Jamie had presence because he felt a little like a black hole, all energy and attention collapsing into wherever he sat—that angled, brooding face, those dark blue eyes, the tattoos. Even his energy seemed intense.

Ben’s presence was lighter, easier, comfortable in a way that snuck up on you and you didn’t realize you required it to be at ease until it was gone. He wasn’t just a simple man with no problems like he sometimes projected— I’d realized he had incredible depth to him, and he was constantly processing the world around him, working to be at peace with his past, with what might lay ahead in his future. But he didn’t generate that restlessness Jamie did, and I hadn’t realized how much I liked Ben’s calm and confidence until this moment, sitting on my couch with the two men.

No chance Jamie and I would get back together, so the comparison was moot, but of course, it was hard to avoid with them both sitting in the same room. Jamie and I never would have gotten far—he wasn’t emotionally available for much, and though we did care about each other, I think we cared about each other in the same way we did now—as friends, as fellow artists whose talent and drive we respected.

Seeing Jamie there was a reminder of how lonely I’d been for so long. It’s what we’d seen in each other—that aching longing for love and companionship, and yet, we couldn’t provide either for the other person. For him, I suspected that whatever in his past tormented him and seemed to drive him also kept him from real connection. And for me, in my heart of hearts, Jamie and I just didn’t connect.

He was beautiful, talented, driven, honest, and respectful. But he was also closed in so many ways.

Ben was open. Ben had been open with me since the very beginning, and I knew what I owed him. I owed him honesty about the song, and then honesty about my feelings, because that’s what he’d give me.

“You guys sound so good. Seriously. I can’t imagine what other song would win,” Ben said, looking back and forth between us.

“Thanks. I guess we’ll see.” Jamie was still picking away at his strings.

“I hate waiting. I hate the build-up of this season with one show after another, getting dressed up and parading around while you’re so nervous, you just want to puke.”

I set my guitar aside and rubbed my hands down my jeans. The flare of nerves from just thinking about the Grammys, which were fast approaching, rattled me. I’d have to fly out in two weeks, a few days early, but hopefully, Ben would join me. We needed to nail down the details.

“You get nervous?” Jamie asked, eyeing me even as he plucked out some elaborate melody I didn’t recognize. Maybe it was one of his newer songs—I hadn’t heard it.

“You don’t?”

“No. Award me, or don’t, whatever.”

A surge of irritation hit me immediately.

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