Page 18 of The Tip-Off
“Just me,” she squeaks. “I texted Blair to make sure it was okay. Wes said it was cool if I just crashed here. I didn’t want to worry about finding a sober ride.”
I nod. “Sorry, yeah, of course.”
“Wait!” she calls as I’m backtracking out of the room like there’s a fire. When I turn around, she stands up straight. “Do you have headphones I can borrow?” She bites her lip because it’s not really a question of if I have headphones, she already knows the answer, but she rambles on pleading her case anyway. “I can’t sleep without music and I left mine at home.”
“Sure.”
I lead the way to my room. The lights are off, so I turn on a lamp and open the desk drawer, presenting her with the options.
She laughs. “Why do you always wear the same ones when you have so many?”
I shrug, eyeing my red Beats. “They’re my favorites.”
Gabby rifles through my headphones before pulling out a pair of earbuds and holding them up as if asking for approval.
“You can keep those,” I tell her. “The cord always gets tangled and takes forever to get straight.”
“That’s not necessary. I have some at home but thank you for letting me borrow them.”
With a smile, she heads toward the door and my chest tightens.
“Want some new music?” I ask, surprising even myself by the offer.
She studies me carefully, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, before responding, “Sure. Whatcha got?”
I sit on the bed and Gabby does the same, watching me as I pull out my phone and scroll through my many playlists. “What are you in the mood for?”
She shrugs. “I like everything. Surprise me.”
“Try this.” I hold my phone out for her to see.
Instead of taking my phone, or pulling up the app and finding my playlist, she scoots farther onto the bed and plugs the headphones into my phone, puts one earbud in, and offers me the other.
My large frame takes up most of the mattress all by itself so even though Gabby is pint-sized, I’m basically on top of her as I settle back and take the earbud. Our bodies touch from hip to shoulder. Her soft curves mold against me and I fumble with the earbud.
As I pick it up, the cord tangles and I let out an exasperated groan as I tug on it as if to say, “See, I told you.” My effort to get it untangled is half-assed though because Gabby hits play, and the sound of Billie Eilish relaxes me and Gabby too from the looks of it. Her body melts into the bed and she lies back, giving me little choice but to do the same. I scoot up against the headboard, still mostly upright so it isn’t like we’re lying together exactly. Because that would be weird, right?
“I didn’t picture you for a Billie Eilish fan.”
“I like everything. Well, except country.”
She smiles and then her eyes flutter closed, dark lashes against ivory skin. Her face is bare, free of the heavy makeup she usually uses to cover the scars. I can’t see them from this side, something I’m sure she considered when she sat on the bed. Gabby is always thinking of her scars. The way she stands in a room, the way she holds her head when talking to people, the nervous habit she has of playing with her hair and holding it over that side of her face. Yeah, I’ve noticed. I’d blame it on my observant nature, but I’m not sure that’s entirely all there is to it.
The song ends and I expect her to open her eyes, take the headphones and her hot ass back to the other side of the wall. She doesn’t and the next track starts. Am I an ass if I nudge her and tell her I’m ready to go to sleep? Technically I don’t have to be anywhere at a specific time tomorrow, but I like the schedule of a workout first thing in the morning, so I’ve got my alarm set for the usual five a.m. wakeup.
We’ve listened to four more songs before I’ve summoned the courage to politely inform her that I need to get to sleep. At my touch on her upper arm, her eyes fly open and meet mine. The words I’d planned are stuck in my throat.
She sits up suddenly. “What was that?”
Nathan’s voice filters through the wall – a cross between a cry and a yell.
“Shit.” I’m on my feet and rushing to his room. I reach him just before he rips the covers from his bed. I know the routine and his next step is flipping the mattress. He swings, arms wild, looking to connect with anything. He clips the side of my face before I get both arms pinned. “Nate, you’re good, man. You’re good.”
His eyes are glossy, and he smells like smoke and rubbing alcohol. He goes limp and settles back on the bed.
“I’m fine.” His words are terse as he grabs the blanket and pulls it up over him. “I’mfine,” he says again when I haven’t moved. “Go away.”
Gabby’s in the hall watching with wide eyes when I close his door. Fuck, if she’d gone in there and he’d clipped her instead of me… I don’t want to think about it.
