Page 80 of Pretty Obsessed

"You're worried he won't believe you?" Iris frowned.

"Maybe. I don't know. Look at how we met."

"You've got to tell him."

"I know." But how? How had his doubt crept so far into my soul? "But what if it scares him away?"

"But what if it doesn't?"

Sixteen

Emory Ker

“I’m not ready to go back to work.” River walked around the stage, taking in the venue.

I’d never been inside a totally empty arena. I’d taken the time off writing to come check it out. I’d gained a lot of ground on my book being here, which surprised me and the pages weren’t total crap. I’d been sending them to my editor as I finished them, and she seemed pleased.

I turned back to find River staring.

A smile bloomed over his face. “Caught.”

“Were you watching me?”

He lifted a shoulder closing the space between us. “Maaaaybe.”

I didn’t know what had gotten into him, but I enjoyed it. The way he looked at me.

He reached out and took my hand, bringing it up to brush his lips over my knuckles. “Are you staying for the show?”

My heart clenched and panic filled my throat. I’d fall for him so easily. I could feel it happening, but this wasn’t reality. This was a fairy tale. How could I think anything like this would last? I needed to keep my head on straight and enjoy this for what it was. As soon as I let my feelings get involved, I was doing both of us a disservice.

“Emory?” he asked.

“Sorry.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “What did you ask?”

“Are you staying for the show?”

“Would you like me to?” I asked, searching his face, not sure what I hoped to find there.

“They’re bringing out your kit now.” Iris came up behind us.

River didn’t jump out of my arms, but he pulled back and turned toward Iris. “Good. Hopefully it made the trip okay.”

“They’ve never fucked it up before.” Iris shrugged, hooking the strap of his guitar over his head.

“First time for everything.” He spun in a slow circle, sliding his hands behind his head.

Stress came off of him in waves.

“This place is so cool.” Iris plucked the strings on his guitar, tilting his head.

“Are you tuning that yourself?” I asked while he kept at it, twisting the tuning keys.

“He has people for that, he has people for everything, but he prefers to do it himself. He comes to the venue before anyone else to do all his guitars for every show.” River knocked his shoulder into Iris, sending him back a few steps. “He has perfect pitch on top of his lyrical talent and he says no one else gets it close enough,”

“They don’t. It’s always off and I can hear it. Like nails on a damn chalkboard all night.” Iris really was like a savant when it came to his craft.

“But Cas writes the melodies?” I was a little surprised Iris didn’t do everything, the way he micro-managed.

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