Page 43 of Fresh Tracks
Even after being around here almostevery day for the last couple of weeks, I still feel like I could get lost in TJ’s house. He should put up street signs or something so I don’t end up in the wrong room again.
When I came here, I planned to give him shit for putting an RV pedestal in his driveway. I thought I’d even tell him that I’m going to have Jake take it out of my pay since he’s already paying me way too much. I’m sure he’d just figure out someway around that though and pay me even more. Wait. When did I start complaining about getting paid well? It’s not that I’m not grateful, it just seems like overkill and he’s being far too generous.
After not finding him in the living room, kitchen, office, or his gym, I’m starting to lose my resolve and find myself less irritated with him. Maybe I should accept that he’s just a giver — move on, and let him do his thing. I’m about to do just that when a sound at the end of the hall grabs my attention. That’s when I see that the door to his studio is ajar and the lights are on.
As I step toward it, I realize that I haven’t heard him playing music or seen him in his studio the entire time I’ve been working here. I lean against the doorway, listening to the notes drifting through the cracked door. The soft notes from the acoustic guitar feel tentative, like he’s searching for something.
I quietly walk into the room to find TJ sitting on a stool in the corner of the room, facing the window toward the guesthouse, hisback to me. Even from this angle, in his black t-shirt, it’s hard not to see how gorgeous he is. Holding the guitar, those perfectly toned back muscles rippling under his well fitting shirt while his triceps flex, strumming the notes. I stand there quietly, admiring the view when something else dawns on me.
Watching his body language, the way he hesitates and replays notes, I don’t think he knows this song. I think he’s feeling it out and writing it.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t be. From everything I’ve ever heard of him, he all but gave up on music after the band broke up. I’m sure there’s more to the story, but I still can’t imagine giving up something I loved like that. I’m about to sneak back out of the room, but something deep inside me says stay. That’s when my indecisive, clumsy legs betray me. I trip over my own feet, falling to my knees, and swinging the door wide open and loudly into the wall.
Shit, shit, shit.
To my surprise, he hardly moves, crooking his neck just enough to look over his shoulder and see me on the floor.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” I say, standing up and wiping the knees of my overalls.
“You weren’t interrupting. I knew you were there,” he says, the corner of those full lips lifting into a smirk.
He must see the surprise on my face because he tilts his head toward the window he was facing. “Saw your reflection.”
Oh. Yeah. I didn’t think about that.
“And I heard you.”
“You heard me?” I ask, trying to think of what he could have heard over the guitar.
He turns to face me, shrugging, and huffing a laugh. “Musician’s ear. You’d think I’d have lost more hearing, but I still have a knack for picking up sounds.”
He places the guitar on the stand next to the stool and Inotice a notepad at his feet. “Did you need something? I assume you’re sneaking around my house for a reason,” he says with a smug grin.
I fold my arms over my chest, trying unsuccessfully to regain my normal confidence. “I was not sneaking. I clearly announced my presence.”
“Yeah. Not very gracefully though. So seriously, what’s up?” he says, raises a brow, bringing my eyes to the scarred piercing.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, looking around the room suddenly at a loss for words. “Thank you.”
Damnit. Thank you? That’s all I can come up with after he just installed an electric hookup for my van because of my wonky heater. I’m supposed to tell him that it’s too much and he’s being too generous. There goes my strong, independent woman streak I guess. What the hell is wrong with me when I’m around him?
And this always smooth and smug man must know that, because he just smirks back at me knowingly and shrugs. “For?”
My eyes dart to his popped dimple, which is infuriatingly distracting at the moment.
“I don’t even want to know what it costs to get an electrician here on a few hours’ notice and run power for those RV outlets you put in.” I glare back at him, but it quickly fades when my eyes find that damned pierced eyebrow again.
“Good, because I wouldn’t tell you even if you asked. And no, I won’t take it out of your pay, even if you tell Jake to.” Yep, there goes that idea I guess.
Leaning forward on his stool, he props his elbows up on his knees. “Consider it a gift. So what are you getting into tonight? No plans to watch old music videos of me again?”
I groan, rolling my eyes, but I still find myself grinning and looking back at him. “Nope, I’ll let you get back to playing. Don’t let me keep you up. Well, anymore than I already have. Thanks again, TJ.”
I start to turn toward the door when he calls from behind me. “Tommy.” I look back to see him, his eyes fixed on me.
“Tommy?” I ask, not sure what he’s saying.
He stands up next to the stool and nods, but I catch the slightest bit of pleading in his eyes. “Call me Tommy.”
