Page 27 of Highball Rush
I followed him in and watched as he started pulling things out. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know where anything went. And he was so gruff. It wasn’t just his gravelly voice and furrowed brow. Even his movements had a rough edge to them. It made me feel like I should stay out of his way.
That, or climb him like a tree.
“I thought you were just getting breakfast?” I asked after he’d emptied the third bag.
“I didn’t know what you’d want.”
He pulled out a bottle of shampoo. Then conditioner, followed by a bagful of toiletries. Pinks, lavenders, flowers. A hairbrush. None of that was for him. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He was stocking up for me.
I felt like a ping-pong ball, bouncing back and forth across the table of indecision. Run. Stay. Run. Stay.
Gibson looked over his shoulder and his eyes flicked up and down. His expression softened and one corner of his mouth lifted. “I kinda went overboard.”
Like magic, that little smile calmed my thundering heart. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
He muttered something that sounded likeyou’re welcome, then went back to putting things away.
“How about this. You were sweet enough to go to the store, so I’ll make us breakfast.” I stepped closer and hip-checked him out of the way. His head whipped around and he gave me a look I couldn’t read. That damn brow furrow he kept doing made me all melty inside. I had to stop myself from sidling up to him and threading my arms around his waist.
I needed to calm my hormones. Apparently my old crush on Gibson was another thing that hadn’t gone back into the box. It was out in full force, as if it hadn’t been thirteen years since I’d seen him.
But it was totally one-sided. Just like it always had been. He was being nice to me, but I wasn’t getting a hint of attraction from him.
Unless he was trying to hide it.
I sighed and got to work on breakfast. Now I was just making things up. This situation was complicated enough. I didn’t need a bunch of imaginary sexual tension making it worse. Even if the tension wasn’t imaginary for me.
After breakfast, Gibson said he had work to do out in his shop. He brought my bag in from my rental car. He seemed hesitant to let me go outside. Or to leave me alone. Whether it was because he was afraid someone would see me or that I’d leave, I wasn’t sure.
I showered, using the stuff he’d bought for me, and changed into clean clothes. I left his flannel shirt lying on his bed. I wondered if there was a way to get him to wear it for a little while and then let me put it back on. Probably not. There really wasn’t a way to sayhey Gibs, can you wear this for a few hours so I can put it on and enjoy your scentthat wasn’t weird.
While Gibson worked—I could hear the muffled sound of power tools coming from his shop—I checked my messages. I had a text from Oliver, wanting to know how things were going. What was I supposed to tell him? I’d slept at Gibson Bodine’s house last night because he’d been my friend before I ran away and changed my identity?
Obviously I couldn’t tell him the whole story, but I decided to call and check in.
“There you are,” he said when he answered. “I was starting to worry.”
“Why, because you sent me out to talk to a random singer who’s… what did you call him? Hostile?”
“Pretty much. Do you have good news for me?”
“Well, I havesomegood news. He hasn’t signed with another label.”
“Great. But why do I get the feeling you have bad news, too?”
I twined a strand of hair around my finger. “The bad news is, he doesn’t want to sign with us, either. He doesn’t want to sign with anyone.”
“Damn. Really? You couldn’t talk him into it?”
I sighed.No, because I got distracted by the fact that he thought I was dead and then we sang together like old times. “Not so far.”
“That’s my girl. Wear him down.”
“Don’t expect any miracles, Oliver. He’s talented, but he has a lot going on in his life right now.”
“I have faith in you.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I think.”
