Page 19 of Drum Me Away
“How about you finish ringing me up and we’ll take a selfie with your phone, but only if you promise not to post it for at least a week.”
“You seriously think I can wait a week to post something like that?”
“Low profile, remember?”
She hesitated, her gaze traveling over the various food items I’d selected from the shelves of this supercenter. She nodded once and began scanning merchandise again.
“Okay, it’s a deal. I hope you know how difficult this is going to be.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
My groceries were scanned and paid for and bagged, and then my new friend Danielle and I snapped more than a dozen pics together until I spotted another customer—an elderly couple shuffling our way—so I finally handed her phone back and told her I needed to get going, butthank you very much for keeping my secret.
I hoped to hell she actually did. Although we were still half an hour from our Airbnb and she didn’t strike me as an influencer or reality TV wannabe, so even if she did post something to one of her social media accounts, I doubted it would go viral.
The hatchback was full of our luggage, so I loaded the groceries into the back seat of the rental vehicle. Faith woke when the overhead light came on, blinking drowsily before stretching, her fingernails scraping the roof, her tits pressing against the front of her shirt, her muscles taut for a moment before she relaxed again.
If this were a real relationship, I’d tug open the passenger side door right now and lean in and drop a smacking kiss on her lips. And if this were a real relationship, she’d cup my face to hold me there and she’d deepen the kiss, offering up promises of what would come once we reached our destination.
Rather,whowould come.
If this were real.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I said.
“Hey.” Her voice was gravelly. She cleared her throat and reached for the bottle of water sitting in the console. “Why are we at Walmart?”
“Groceries.” I waved at the bags before closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s seat. “We shouldn’t have to leave for at least a few days if you don’t want to.”
“God, the idea of just hanging out in the middle of nowhere for a while, with no media and no fans and no expectations sounds absolutely fabulous right now.”
I deliberately didn’t point out the expectation of attending an upcoming funeral, of dealing with a family she obviously did not get along with.
“Did anyone recognize you?”
This was not an unusual question, and the answer was almost always yes. I had no idea how I managed to avoid being recognized while I was in Missouri, although to be fair, I didn’t go out in public much except when I was playing in my buddy’s band, and no one would expect a world-famous rock star to be playing in shitty bars in a small town in the Ozarks.
Still, Faith had enough on her plate right now, and after that little proclamation, she didn’t need to worry about whether a teenage cashier would keep a promise.
“We’re good,” I said, and her smile told me I’d made the right choice.
The place I’d rented turned out to be just as cool as the pictures online implied. It was a house built on stilts, high enough that the occupants were living in the tree tops. The interior was wood and sleek, simple lines, sparsely furnished, with a brown and gray color palate.
It was cozy, one narrow room that encompassed living, dining, and kitchen, with a short hall leading to two bedrooms and a single bathroom. Much smaller than what Faith and I were used to living in together but larger than the tour bus, so there was that.
If we were dating, it would be a perfect little getaway. Given the circumstances, it was still perfect, because I could be nearby for her, which I suspected Faith needed right now.
We lugged our provisions and bags up a staircase that was a cardio workout all on its own, and I let Faith choose her bedroom—she went with the smaller one—and then we put away the groceries.
“I’m going to scramble up some eggs for breakfast and then crash,” I said. We stood side by side in the galley kitchen, and I had to reach around her to open the fridge to grab the eggs and milk and butter we’d just put away.
Her breath hitched.
I froze, my hand wrapped around the handle, my arm practically around her shoulders. We’d been hugging and kissing for weeks now, and I didn’t recall her breath hitching like that before. I leaned closer until the puff of air from my lungs fluttered her hair, and then I brushed her braid over her shoulder.
She shivered, and I puckered my lips, my focus on her neck, on the soft curve, that sensitive skin right below her ear.
She stepped away, ducking under my arm and sliding down to the other end of the kitchen until she stood in front of the stove.
