Looking away, I shrug. But she’s not fooled.
Her guitar goes back in its case and she swivels around on the loveseat to face me more fully. “Why?” She spreads her hands. “I’m content. I can write my songs. You’re capable of taking my ‘chicken scratch,’ as you so kindly put it, and making it into both sheet music and tab. Why does it matter if I can read music or not?”
I open my mouth and close it again a few times like a fish out of water. And that’s how I feel right now—a fish deprived of what it needs to survive. It’s how I’ve felt for years, actually. Close to ten. And what I need is finally—finally—within reaching distance. So I shake my head. I’m not screwing this up by making her mad. “It doesn’t, really. You said it. You’re happy. You have what you need. I just wanted to offer if you wanted to learn.”
She studies me for another moment, but her scrutiny is too much. She sees me too clearly, even after only knowing me for such a short time. I suppose being locked away together for over two weeks is sort of a pressure cooker for being able to read someone. I head into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. “I’m hungry. You want some lunch?”
“Um, yeah, I could eat. Did you make more of those salads? Those are really good.”
Opening the fridge, I pull out the containers of salad I prepared for the week and toss everything together minus the dressing for hers. “You should try it with the dressing,” I tell her for the umpteenth time. “It doesn’t have to be a ton. But the little bit of fat helps your body absorb the nutrients from the greens.”
She lets out a loud sigh. “You say that every time.”
Salads in hand, I come out of the tiny kitchen, a crooked smile on my face. “It’s true every time.”
She gives me a sour look. “I promise I’ll try your amazing dressing when I’ve lost the five pounds I still need to lose.”
And once again I’m forcing back the words I want to say. Where are these extra five pounds you’re hiding? Or, You really think Delores will be satisfied with only five pounds? Or, How will you have enough energy to perform if you’re barely eating a thousand calories a day? Or, When your hair starts falling out will you finally listen to me?
But those questions only make me sound like an angry, patronizing asshole. And while offering her salad dressing every time probably isn’t much better, I keep hoping that she’ll agree to even a teaspoon of dressing, even a few extra calories, a few grams of fat to give her body a little of what it needs to function properly.
She’s determined to do what Delores tells her to, though. Me being here is ample proof of that fact. And I guess I’m really no better. Because I agreed to be here, after all.
The least I can do is make sure the food she does eat is as nutritious as possible. It doesn’t feel like much. But at least it’s something.
Chapter Twenty
Alexis
I thought I had a hard time with Colt in sweats and nothing else, but somehow watching him get ready to meet one of his concert promoter contacts is a thousand times sexier.
It must just be pent up sexual tension making me think these thoughts. Yes, he’s hot, and there’s no denying it. And charming. And sweet. And caring. And funny. And …
Well, anyway. That’s not the point.
The point is that I’ve been celibate for way too long, and because he’s all up in my space and we’re sleeping in the same bed, I can’t even relieve myself in the usual way. Because if he hears me, then I’d have to admit that he’s got me too revved up to sleep, and then he’ll offer to take care of the problem for me, and I’ll be hard pressed to come up with a reason why not, and then it’s all over but the crying.
And it’s the crying I’m trying to avoid.
So him leaving for a meeting will be fantastic, because I’ll get some time to take care of myself. When he’s at the gym, I’m too nervous to get the job done, because what if he decides to cut it short and comes back early?
And if he’s the star in my fantasies, well, so what? I’ve had plenty of fantasy stars over the years, famous and not, guys I’ve known and ones I’ve only seen on screen.
But none of them have slept next to you every night for weeks, a voice whispers in my head.
Oh, hush, inner voice of reason. Don’t you get that I’m trying to protect myself?
He comes out of the bedroom dressed in close fitting jeans that show off his dedication to leg day and a trim button-down shirt in navy blue with fine, widely spaced pinstripes. Somehow the dark shade of blue makes his eyes seem even brighter. Bright enough that I’d be tempted to accuse him of borrowing my colored contacts, except he’s made the comment that putting something on his eyeball freaks him out. His hair is artfully styled, getting long enough that he’s got that shaggy, sexy vibe that contrasts just enough with his put together clothes to make him seem a little edgy.
A grin tugs at his lips as he catches me checking him out. And instead of poking fun at me, he spreads his arms and executes a turn. “Your verdict?”
I have to swallow a few times to make sure I can actually speak. “You look great.” Unfortunately my voice still comes out as a croak. So I clear my throat and try again. “You look great,” I repeat, waving a hand at him. “They’re bound to take you seriously as
