Page 82 of My UnTrue Love
“Well, you do tend to nag.” Clem agreed. She adjusted her weight on his body, morbidly aware of her BMI. “Are you sure you’re comfortable? I’m not crushing you?”
“You’re perfect.” Bill twisted one of her curls between his fingers. Blonde strands tangled around his knuckles and he looked entranced. He was very tactile. Artists often craved sensory input.
Clementine had never felt so safe and cozy.
Bill seemed just as content. He hummed a few notes that she recognized asMy One True Love, his body relaxed and his touch gentle.
She suppressed a smile. “I’d like to hear your song, whenever you’re ready. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just play it for fun.”
He made a dissatisfied sound. “It’s not good enough, yet. Just notterrible. Nothing I hear in my head is ever good enough, which is why I never write it down.”
No matter how many times she explained the idea ofpractice, he clearly wanted his work to be flawless or he wouldn’t play a single note.
“If you’re determined to have your very first song be a masterpiece, then you need to put your emotions into it.” She counseled. “True art can’t be half-assed. It takes everything.”
“All or nothin’.” He muttered. “That’s always how it goes with stuff that matters.”
“Exactly.” She rested a hand on his chest. “Great art comes from great truth. And the greatest truths are only felt by the heart.”
“I don’t have a heart.”
She deflated a bit at how sure he sounded. “I think you’d better find one, Bill. …For your music’s sake.”
And for hers.
Chapter Seventeen
“No True Love, for all your kin,
While they prioritized their needs,
And know just what it is to win,
Their prize through heartfelt deeds.”
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
Although Johnny was too big a star for The Kitchen, he liked to try out new songs there a few times a month. It made the locals feel special and he got a rush out of the applause. Tonight, he felt none of his usual gratification, as he arrived for his set and moved through the crowded saloon. People were whispering about him.
Not ego-inflating “oooh, he’s famous” whispers.
The snickering “look at that loser” whispers he’d endured all through high school.
He thought he’d left that behind when he’d gone to college and reinvented himself. With his improved looks and streamlined moniker, he’d been able to date the hottest girls on campus. Not just Mamie O’Rourke. (He hadn’t been about to tie himself down to some dumb whore, who couldn’t even get him on her dad’s TV show. Johnny was still pissed about that.) No. He’d been popular with lots of women.
He wasstillpopular with lots of women. All chicks wanted to fuck a genuine celebrity. It was indisputable. Johnny took full advantage of his status, too. It was his right!
So, why did he keep dwelling on his decision to not take Clem to Homecoming? Why did it feel like a huge mistake that had set all this current wrongness into motion?
Fucking Pecos Bill. That’s why.
That dirty coyote had confusedeverything. Clementine should be at home, making chicken and dumplings, while she helped Johnny with his new song. He missed her bright eyes and sweet smile. Instead, she was imprisoned at Bill’s rat-trap apartment, while Johnny dealt with the entire band by himself.
“Johnny?” Tony Beaver’s eyes widened as Johnny approached the bar. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a set in twenty minutes.” Johnny said dismissively. “Is the bourbon here organic? I need a drink, but I don’t want any unhealthy chemicals…”
Tony cut him off. “Fiddley-i-o, didn’t you get Dinah’s message?”
