Page 75 of Under One Roof

“Can you believe it?” Dahlia says, yanking me back into reality. “We’re getting what we always wanted. You’ll have a writing credit on every song. Maybe we can even get you producing too. I’m so happy.”

“So happy,” I parrot, a whirlwind of thoughts circling too fast to latch on to any one besides, “But I’m…here.”

“Yeah, but they know all about you. They know you’re the brains behind our songs, and they think our dynamic is perfect. They want to capture it on the album. And they’re willing to pay for your travel and accommodations. All I need is your okay, and I’ll forward them your contact info, and they can explain it all to you. There is so much to go over, and we’ll have to figure out contracts and stuff, but gah! It’s fucking amazing, Andi! This is you and me, like we always wanted.”

I nod. This is exactly what we always wanted, and I’m beyond grateful for the opportunity, especially when I thought I’d never have one again.

Yet I can’t muster up the energy right this second to scream and dance around.

“You’re in, right?” Dahlia prods. “I can’t wait to see your face in person again.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Okay, I’m gonna let them know you’re in. It’ll be Cynthia who emails you.” She squeals and starts rambling in Spanish, something she does when she is really, really excited. I lift my face up to my rearview mirror, expecting to see bright eyes and a big grin in the reflection. Instead, it’s red cheeks and a quarter of a smile.

“Okay,” she says, back in English. “We’ll talk later. Text me after you talk to Cynthia.” She squeals one more time. “Te quiero. Te quiero. Te quiero.”

“Love you too,” I say, realizing I said the words to my best friend when I should have said them back to Griffin minutes ago when I had the chance.

Chapter25

Griffin

Ipull into the garage at a quarter to eight and practically fling the door open, anxious to see Andi and explain… What? I’m not sure.

I didn’t mean to blurt out “Love you” like a fucking idiot, but it’s not untrue. I do love her. I just wish I was a bit smoother about it. Tell her in a moment when she could really hear it, feel it.

I toss my things down, uncaring about where they land, and kick off my boots when I hear it, Andi’s singing voice.

Following it from the kitchen to the living room, I find her laid out on her back on the floor, one leg draped over the other, her foot keeping time, wiggling back and forth. Her eyes are closed, headphones on as she sings about being young and reckless. Her voice is slightly off, but it doesn’t surprise me because of the glass of red wine on the table, next to the open bottle.

I suspect she’s a bit tipsy.

And I can’t take my eyes off her.

I love watching her play guitar. Love hearing the words she wrote, a window to her soul. I would guess she needs music to live like she needs oxygen in her lungs and blood in her veins. There is something about her connection to music, and even when she’s simply lounging around, getting drunk, and listening to songs, she makes it come alive. Even to a casual observer.

Or not so casual.

I do love her after all.

Everything she does interests me. But watching her make music, inhabit it, is like watching a sunrise. Magic. It’s light and color and beauty.

“Hey.”

She doesn’t rouse or hear me, so I sink down on the floor next to her, drawing a line down the slope of her nose with the tip of my index finger. She jerks away, eyelids flying open, surprise quickly melting to my favorite smile of adoration. “Griff.”

“Hi, baby.”

She tows me to her, all arms and legs like an octopus, and I chuckle into her mouth. Her kiss is all over the place, scraping teeth and uncoordinated lips and tongue, but I let her at it, rolling so I’m on my back. I push her headphones off and unplug them from her phone, and the music plays as she picks up where we left off.

Soon, both of our shirts are off, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a hickey on my chest. I hold on to her wrists when she attempts to go for my belt. “How much have you had to drink?”

She shrugs, though I can tell from the color of her lips and her loose limbs that it’s enough for me to press pause. At least, for now.

Setting her aside so I can stand up, I tell her, “I’m going to get you some water.”

“I don’t need any. I have this.” She holds up her glass of wine in my direction then takes a healthy gulp.

---