Page 39 of The Devil's Tattoo
Will was the one who finally spoke. “Did you really mean what you said in the interviewtoday?”
I eyed him, wary of his intentions. “I mean everything I say ininterviews.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Good,” he said withawink.
Dammit, he was so hot when he did that. I was suddenly very aware that we were alone and sitting on a bed together, and I tried my hardest not to look at his lips, but that’s exactly what I did. Annoyed, I glanced down at thenotebook.
Will let out a low laugh and slid off the bed. “I’d better get going, anyway.It’slate.”
“Sure.” I tried not to sound disappointed as I stepped over the guitar and walked him to the door so I could lock itbehindhim.
Opening it, he said, “See you tomorrow.” At the last second, he turned back like he wanted to say something else but grimaced and walked out into the hall, closing the door softlybehindhim.
I stared after him, not sure what had just happened. Who the hell was that guy I’d just written music with? That was not the Will Strickland I had come to know. This guy was kind and genuinely interested. This guy warmed my heart and all the other places I was too embarrassed to think about. I couldn’t help but wonder which one the real Will Strickland was, and I hoped it was thelatter.
