Page 9 of Wrapped Up In You
“Pass me my glass.” He poked just his hand out of the blanket, waiting for me to hand it to him.
“You’re not going to answer the question?”
“No, I’ll answer it, but I’m going to have a goddamn shot first.”
I picked up his glass and handed it to him. He downed the shot and held it back out. “More.”
“Seriously? Is it really that bad?” I obliged him and poured a little more of the clear liquid into the glass.
“It’s not bad. It’s just…I’ve never told anyone before.”
“No one?”
He shook his head and then tossed back the liquid I’d poured.
He straightened in his seat, still looking ridiculous the way he was wrapped up in his blanket, with just his head and hand visible, yet he seemed resolved. “I want to be a musician.”
6
HAYDEN
Jonathan stared at me in silence, and as the seconds ticked by, I wilted. I could actually feel it, my body curling in on itself as if I could make my six-foot frame as small as possible.
Without looking at him, I held out my glass once again. When I didn’t hear any liquid being poured out, I looked back at him. He looked shocked. Wow. Was it really so hard to believe? Had I completely misread his reaction to my music last night? He’d said I was amazing and had a gift. Was he just being polite?
“Listen, if you’re not going to say anything, at least trade me the glass for the bottle.”
That seemed to get his attention, and he sprang into action, taking the glass from my hand and replacing it with the bottle as requested. I immediately placed it to my lips, fire burning my throat as I swallowed. I was probably going to regret that later, but fuck it.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“Thanks, man. Appreciate the support.” I stood, shedding the blanket and setting the bottle on the coffee table so I could reach for my pants.
I pulled my clothes on much quicker than I’d taken them off. That had been a game. I’d wanted to see what he’d do. See if I could ruffle those perfectly groomed feathers of his again. Now, I just wanted to make a hasty exit.
“Game’s over,” I said, snatching up the bottle and retreating toward the bedroom. I’d just lock myself in there for the next twenty or thirty years. It’d be fine.
Before I could make it through the door, Jonathan grabbed my arm, halting my escape.
“Wait.” I let out a huff but didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to play the game, but please come back and sit down.”
I chanced a look at him. His blue eyes were full of concern, and for a moment, I forgot why we were standing there. I was transfixed. What I’d felt for him all those years ago had been a silly childhood crush fueled by teenage hormones, but this was something else. Something more…adult. I’d never, not in a million years, ever thought he’d look at me like that. With anything other than…I don’t know. Annoyance. Indifference. Tolerance. I didn’t trust my read of him in that moment. I was too vulnerable to believe it.
When I didn’t respond, he slid his hand down my arm, linking his fingers with mine and giving a little tug. “Please? Please come sit back down.” My eyes traveled the same path his hand had, down my arm to where our fingers were now loosely threaded. I marveled at the sight of it. The way his fingers—a little more slender than mine, his skin a little lighter too—looked just right together.
Was he drunk? I didn’t think he’d had any alcohol, but maybe he’d had some when I was outside. I couldn’t make sense of this behavior. The softness in his demeanor and the concerned, almost pleading look he was giving me. Alcohol seemed like the only explanation for the one-eighty he’d turned.
Hesitantly, I nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief before he turned and crossed back to the living area, not letting go of my hand, even as we sat on the couch, closer than we had been before.
“You have an amazing gift. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything right away. I was just thinking how perfect it was for you. I could actually picture it.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Why do you ask that?” He seemed offended, though his eyes shifted like he was avoiding my gaze.
“The Jonathan I know would give me a lecture about responsibility and how music doesn’t produce a reliable income. He’d encourage me to pursue… I don’t know, investment banking or something.”
He finally released my hand, turning to pour alcohol into our glasses. I missed the feel of him immediately. He handed me my glass before taking his, and we both took a sip.
