Page 76 of Hung Up
I only wish I were there to see her face when she reads it.
My Uber arrives rather quickly and I’m back in my hotel room before I know it. It took longer to drive five streets than it did to get from the restaurant to here, the arena only a couple of blocks from the hotel. Changing into a pair of lounge shorts and a ratty tee, I throw my hair up before I crawl into bed and turn on the television. Unfortunately, I missed Jesse and Stetson’s rides, but the rest of the boys haven’t gone yet.
They’re just announcing Wyatt when there’s a knock on my door. I ignore it, thinking it might be my father wanting to continue our conversation. It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens. When there’s another knock, I grab the remote and turn up the television, trying to tune it out. It doesn’t matterhow much he knocks, I’m not getting out of this bed. My phone buzzes beside me, and when I glance down, I see a text from Jesse.
Pretty Boy
I hear the television. Let me in, Sweetheart.
I jolt out of bed and head toward the door, pulling it open with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“I’m just glad you weren’t ignoring me,” he responds with a gentle chuckle. “I was about to go into a panic trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
“Nothing this time.” I open the door wider, letting him walk into the room. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you back to my place.” I’m about to protest when he holds out a hand to silence me. “No ifs, ands, or buts, Sweetheart. You had a shitty time with your father and deserve to spend time in a space that’ll help you relax. I’ll drive.”
I sigh. “What about my car?”
“We’ll be back tomorrow.” He walks to the corner and grabs my toiletry bag, disappearing into the bathroom where I hear my glass bottles clanging around. “My mom has dinner waiting for us. It’d be rude to turn that down.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” Jesse steps out of the bathroom with my bag now full and tosses it into my suitcase. Once it’s zipped, he picks it up and carries it toward the bed, grabbing the remote to turn off the television.
“So, what do you say?”
My heart skips a beat as I stare at him. Time and time again, this man has shown up in moments I didn’t even realize I needed him, offering me an escape from the mess that runs through my mind. It’s such a simple, easy gesture, but one he does soflawlessly, where I feel suddenly jealous of whatever woman gets his affection after me.
“Why not?” He beams, reaching for my hand and interlacing our fingers together. “I can’t say no to a home-cooked meal.”
28JESSE
BILLINGS
maybe I am the jealous type
“I still can’t believeshe made you an extra roasted chicken, packed you fresh fruit and vegetables from the garden, and made you two apple pies to bring home.” I glance in my rearview mirror at the cooler in my backseat before glancing at Faith, who lounges in the passenger seat of my blue pickup truck, her white boot-clad feet kicked up onto my dashboard. “I’m lucky if I get leftovers from dinner to take home.”
“She just likes me more,” she teases, giving me a wink as she tucks her cell phone back into her purse. “I think she wanted to have three girls.”
I scoff lightly, my attention back on the road. “My sisters made me play dress up so much when I was little, I practically was a girl.”
Faith bursts out laughing, her head tipping back, and the sound brings a smile to my face. I’d make that sound my ringtone if it wouldn’t be extremely creepy for everyone else to hear. Before I can comment on it or compliment her—which I’msure she’s sick and tired of hearing by now—she reaches forward and turns up the radio.
“I love this song,” she states,Friends In Low Placesfilling the car. She starts to sing, and her voice takes me by surprise. I’m no expert by any means, but it’s fairly obvious to know if someone is a good or a bad singer, and Faith? She could be on the radio. I know I’d listen to her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?”
She blushes, the words trailing off her lips as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. Not exactly something one goes around broadcasting. If you do, you’re generally asked to sing to prove it, and that’s not something I ever feel like doing.”
“Next time Stetson grumbles about me not doing karaoke with him, I’m volunteering you.” Her eyes widen. “Sorry, Sweetheart. It’d make me extremely happy for someone to humble the shit out of him.”
“Now I kind of want to hear him sing,” she chuckles, resting her head against the seat and tilting her chin down to look at me. “What about you? Can you sing?”
“Not well,” I tell her, and she bites her lip as the corners tip up. “Nope, not happening.”
She sticks out her bottom lip in such a cute pout that any man would cave. “Please?”
Once the chorus starts to play, I sing along, looking over to see her beaming as she starts to sing along. It’s such a simple, normal interaction that I suddenly get another flash of doing this with her for the rest of my life. Singing in the car with Faith as we travel sounds like a dream come true.
