Page 47 of Fresh Tracks
He pops the top and hands it to me. “Oh, this is too good,” he says, palming his face with a muffled laugh. “I’ve known you for years and I’ve never heard you even talk about a girl. Now she’s got you afraid to be at your own house. What happened?”
I take a sip of my beer, staring daggers at him.
“Less talking, got it.” He leans against the counter across from me, still looking far too please with himself. “Well, figure your shit out before Seattle. I’m not going to be your awkward third wheel buffer on the jet there. But if you ask me?—”
“I’m not asking you,” I say dryly, cutting him off.
He just shrugs and continues anyway. “But if you did ask me, I’d say go for it, man. If you’re this torn over her, you owe it to yourself to give it a shot.” He smirks back at me before grabbing a bar towel and wiping down the counter. “Either way, stop hiding here. Your moping ass is starting to scare off customers.”
Someone calls from the stock room and Sutton finally leaves me to my beer. Despite his razzing, I love him like a brother. He’s right though. I need to figure my shit out.
I’ve spent nearly every minute of the last twodays replaying that kiss in my mind. I still can’t believe she leaned down and kissed me.
It was perfect.
I don’t know why I’m surprised by that. Everything about her makes my heart race. Her smile, that laugh, the sparkle in her eyes when she’s about to do something impulsive. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head and it’s nearly driven me mad. Thinking of the sounds she made makes my dick inconveniently hard way too often.
If I could go back in time, I’d have told her to stay and talk through this with her.
Sutton isn’t the only one who’s right. She was too. She said I don’t hold back and, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, she’d be right.
If I want any real shot with her, I need to be myself. The real version of me. The one that apparently Grace Chapman is into.
CHAPTER 19
GRACE
CRACKED
I’m startingto think TJ, no Tommy — shit, what do I call him now? Boss? Mr. Jacob? Definitely not Hot Daddy Boss. Whatever I’m calling him now, I’m pretty sure he is hiding from me.
I’ve barely seen him since last Wednesday night. I’ve just gone straight from my van to his office when I’ve come into the house. Even when he has been around, he quickly found a reason to leave and head to Sutton’s restaurant, or there was this awkward tension between us. It’s not like I’ve had much free time anyway.
Ever since he was so quick to agree with my recommendations for charities, I’ve had this other idea I couldn’t get out of my head. I know he wants to make a difference and he certainly has the budget to do it. While I know he wants to stay anonymous with his giving, I think there’s a way for him to make so much more of an impact. I’ve spent the last week and a half working on this proposal.
I’m probably crazy for obsessing over this on a Friday night. I know Josie is out with Collin and Walker tonight and I can only imagine the trouble those three have been getting into.
I’m just so inspired by this idea, I feel like I need to tell him.He was very clear that I could work whatever hours I want, so I’m going to do just that. I still can’t get the other night out of my head. And here I am walking through his house looking for him once again.
Obviously there was that kiss though. The sound of him moaning and rasping my name has been echoing around in my head so much that I’ve had to keep my earbuds in, constantly listening to music loud enough that I’m pretty sure I’ve sustained hearing loss.
Ugh, men who moan. Forget rent free, that moan has its own Presidential Suite in my brain.
Not helpful, Grace.
I need to remind myself that tonight, I’m here for business. Or that’s what I tell myself as I walk down the hall to his studio, the room I’ve avoided since our kiss. I haven’t found him anywhere else in the house but I spot the door cracked with a sliver of light creeping into the hall. The image takes me back to the night of that kiss again.
I still don’t know why I left so quickly instead of staying to talk with him. Maybe pride, maybe stubbornness, or maybe that’s just what I do — go with what feels ‘right’ in the moment. And in that moment, I didn’t want to stick around to hear an explanation about why I wasn’t thinking straight or not actually feeling what I thought I was feeling or some other bullshit. I wasn’t going to let him mansplain my own mind to me, not that I think he would, but I’m just used to men doing that.
That’s not the only thing that stuck with me though. I might have walked out of his studio confidently and quickly, but I didn’t make it that far. I stopped just outside, in the hallway, exactly where I’m standing now. I stayed and argued with myself about going back in to talk to him.
I was there long enough that I heard him start playing the guitar again, the same notes that he played earlier.
This time, there was a depth and vibrancy to them. They were more powerful and forceful, but there was something else that wasn’t there before, an unmistakeable, harsh, frustrated edge. I could practically feel the emotion in the cords.
Clearing my head, I take a deep breath and push open the door. To my surprise, the light is on but he’s not here. My curiosity takes over and I walk around the open studio, looking at all the little things I was too distracted to notice last time.
There’s black soundproofing foam on most of the walls, but there are open sections covered in memorabilia and photos of the band. There also has to be at least a dozen electric guitars around the room and a few stacks of amplifiers and speakers. It’s the two acoustic guitars in the corner, by the window, that I’m drawn to.
