Page 33 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
He laughs. “You know I’m a light sleeper. Sorry, nobody is going to walk down the hallway without me hearing at least a creak of the old floorboards. Don’t think there’s much soundproofing in those walls either.”
“Yeah, and maybe you and Liv should remember that,” I toss back. “Before you start waking up the neighbours.”
He ignores the bait, fixing me with a stare.
“Somehow, I don’t think it’s because Rachel doesn’t want to. She looks at you like you’re her next meal.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” I laugh.
“So why aren’t you throwing the door open wide and letting her in?”
“Because I don’t want to wake up the neighbours?”
“Come on, Teddy—spill. While you’re different these last couple of days, it’s not all good. There’s something eating away at you in the background. I can tell—way more of this than usual.” He kicks at my jiggling heel, which is tapping out its own rhythm on the Persian rug like it’s possessed.
This guy knows all my tells. Living in such close quarters on the road, we understand what each other’s normal looks like. This isn’t mine.
I take a deep breath and exhale in a rush, gathering my thoughts. How the hell do I explain it? I give it a go.
“It’s like—like I’m scared to light the fire, because once I do it’ll take hold, blaze bright for a few days, then fizzle out. The usual. You know what I mean?”
“Does it have to? If you want something else with her?Notyour usual?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I think she’s only interested in messing around a bit this week. She won’t want to be another fling of mine splashed across the tabloids once we step out into the real world. Normally I’d be perfectly happy with that, but with her, it’s not enough.”
“Then go for it.”
“Easy for you to say. You do long term. Me? No experience.”
Garrett scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Think Liv and I knew what we were doing? We were kids—smitten and clueless. No manual for turning a quick backstage hook-up into a marriage and a life. We didn’t even know that’s what we wanted. We just…kept at it.”
“But how?”
He spreads his hands. “One day at a time. Show up, then show up again. Days stack into weeks, weeks into a year. Blink and you’re two old fogeys—yeah, I know, thirty-three is practically drawing a pension in your book—and you’re still together. And it’s good.”
“I’d like to try,” I say, picking at a callus on my thumb. “And hope she notices. Wants it too.”
“You’ve got to tell her, mate,” Garrett says, softer now. “She’s not a bloody mind reader.”
My mouth goes dry. “But will she actually believe me? That’s the kicker.”
“Teddy, try these on.” Ollie tosses a pair of shiny dress shoes at me, and I catch them just before they smack me in the face. “Size nine, right?”
“How come he gets to wear his boots?” I jerk my head at Christian, standing now in waistcoat and trousers, looking smugly down at his footwear.
“Because they look a damn sight better than your pair of scruffy old Vans. Don’t argue, just put them on,” Ollie orders, apparently in charge of the session—probably on Haley’s instructions.
“Then, once you’re sure they fit, take them off and get your arse over here,” Ollie calls. “Donovan’s waiting to sort your trousers. And Garrett, this pair of canoes must be yours.”
He tosses a second enormous pair of shoes at Garrett’s feet.
“You won’t know unless you try,” Garrett mutters.
“Yeah, Cinderella, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Ollie jokes. He’s got no idea what we’re talking about.
“Okay, I’ll try.” I look directly at Garrett as I say it, and he gives me an approving nod. We both know I’m not just talking about the shoes anymore.
I swap my jeans for suit trousers, trade my comfy shoes for shiny leather, and perch on the little stool. Donovan crouches, finalising the hems.
