Page 47 of Highball Rush
Some people did. They wanted fame and fortune and the rush of playing for a packed house. Thousands of people screaming their name, singing along to their songs. They lived for it. And you could tell those people from the ones who didn’t. The ones who loved music, but didn’t want the trappings of a life in the spotlight.
Gibson was one of those. I was almost certain of it.
I wondered if he’d ever considered getting a pet. Maybe a dog. I could see him with a sweet dog at his side. A loyal companion, jumping in the passenger seat of his truck, tongue hanging out. Curling up at his feet at the end of a long day. And the thought of Gibson with a puppy was ovary-melting.
Maybe a dog would help. I’d have to see what he thought about the idea.
Although thinking about leaving him with something made me think aboutleaving. Which made my heart hurt.
This little unrequited crush I was nursing kept growing. The fact that we were pretending to be together in public only made it worse. I found myself living for those moments when he’d hold my hand or wrap an arm around my shoulders. Snuggling with him at Scarlett’s bonfire the other night had been like a daydream come true. I’d nestled into him, and for a little while, allowed myself to pretend it was real.
I knew I was setting myself up for disappointment. We were just friends. That was how it had always been between us. He played the part well, when other people were watching. His touches felt awfully real; I was sure they looked convincing from the outside. But when we were alone, he kept his distance. It reminded me that this wasn’t my home, and Gibson Bodine wasn’t my boyfriend.
The noise of power tools quieted. This little fantasy I harbored wasn’t realistic anyway. Even if Gibson did see me that way, what would I do about it? My life wasn’t here. As nice as it had been to visit Bootleg Springs again, that was all it was. A visit. It wasn’t like I could stay.
I pulled my song journal out of my bag and flipped through the pages. Snippets. Unfinished lyrics. Hastily scrawled melodies. I rarely jotted down more than a line or two. I wrote songs with other artists. I helped them get past their self-doubt to find the words and melodies that were waiting to come out. But writing my own songs had fallen by the wayside in the busyness of life on the road.
But really, lack of time wasn’t why I’d stopped writing. The songs in my head were too close to the truth. My truth. Every time I’d sat down with this book and a pen in my hand, I’d stalled out. Just like the artists I was so good at helping.
There was that hazy spot in my memory again. The box in my mind shook. Maybe being here would allow me to face whatever was inside, rattling around with so much noise.
But whenever I tried, there was nothing. It was like a foggy night, nothing but darkness and mist.
I closed the journal and put it back in my bag. I’d put all those things in the box for a reason. Maybe I just needed to let the rest stay there.
I heard the noise of a door shutting, interrupting the quiet stillness of the afternoon. It sounded like Gibson had emerged from his workshop. A minute later, he stuck his head out the back door.
“Hey. I need a shower. Then we can head to the Tuckers’ place.”
He had sawdust in his hair and a few flecks in his beard. I could smell the faint scent of wood from here.
“Okay. I think I’ll change into something a little nicer.”
His eyes flicked up and down. “If you want.”
Without another word, he went inside.
To the outside world, Gibson and his girlfriend Maya were having dinner with Harlan and Nadine Tucker. In reality, this was a chance for the sheriff to interview me without blowing my cover. I appreciated that they were willing to do this for me, but I was nervous. This was the next step in not only revealing who I really was, but hopefully bringing the truth about Judge Kendall into the light. Which scared me to no end.
I couldn’t keep my real identity hidden forever. I’d already noticed a few people giving me curious looks in town. For now, our story was working, but news of who I really was would get out eventually.
Plus, I didn’t want to keep it from Bootleg much longer. This town had held out hope for me for so long, and I wanted more than anything to tell them I was alive. To thank them for never giving up on me. I loved them for that, more than I knew how to express.
I went inside to change and paused outside the bathroom door, listening to the sound of the shower. The thought of Gibson in there, hot water streaming over his body, made me tingly between the legs. I had a momentary urge to strip off my clothes, jump in, and surprise him.
If I’d thought he wanted me, I’d have done it. Right there and then. There was nothing wrong with a little friendly sex between two people who weren’t exactly dating. I wasn’t an innocent girl anymore. I’d had a fling or three.
But I wasn’t getting anattracted to youvibe from Gibs. He was protective—which I enjoyed—and did his part to make it look like we were together. But despite those little moments—like his arm around me at the bonfire, or the way he’d looked at me when we’d been singing together—I felt the force of his friend-zoning.
So I let it go.
I went into his bedroom, where I’d been keeping my things, and changed into a cute summer dress. It was one of my favorites because it never wrinkled, no matter how scrunched up it was in my bag.
Gibson pushed the door open behind me and I turned. Oh dear sweet lord, he was in nothing but a towel, slung low around his hips, his skin damp and glistening. My eyes traced down the length of his body. Past a dusting of chest hair. Solid abs. A trail of body hair that disappeared beneath that towel. A droplet of water slid down his chest, between his pecs, tracing a wet path to his belly button.
Holy shit. With clothes on, Gibson was ruggedly handsome in adon’t approach mekind of way. But half-naked, he was stunning. A glorious specimen of rough, powerful man that sent my hormones into a tailspin of unbridled lust.
“Sorry,” he said, backing out the door. “Didn’t realize you were in here.”
