“Martha is terrifying.” I filled my own bowl and started eating. Hot cheesy carb-loaded goodness. Not bad at all.
“I know, right?” He smiled. “This really is good. Thanks.”
I nodded. “That why you chose her? Because she scares small children?”
“Small children actually love her. Well…some do.” He loaded up his fork. “I chose her because she’s honest, if a little blunt. Negotiates contracts down to the last letter. And she doesn’t let anyone fuck with me. Not even me.”
I finished chewing my mouthful. “Why do you think she let me past the bodyguards and everything?”
“Dunno.” He stared off at nothing, seeming to think it over. “There’s messing with people, then there’s just having a little fun. Putting you and me together might have been her idea of fun.”
“Hmm.”
“Also a good way to stop me from hanging at any bars tonight. She doesn’t like how I’ve been spending my spare time—not that I get much of it. But better winding down in a bar with music and people than just being alone here.”
I stirred my fork around and around, making patterns in the pasta and cheese. “Strange to think you spent so much money on this place but you don’t like being here.”
“I didn’t say that.” His shoulders hunched defensively. “Just that it gets a bit quiet. Never lived on my own before. When I was staying at Ben’s—”
“The bass player from Stage Dive?” I asked, somewhat awed.
“Yeah. He and his wife are good people. At the house, there was always someone around willing to hang out or jam. Before that, I was coming home to you so…and no, I wasn’t with you just so I wouldn’t be alone.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Hmm.”
“You can’t knock on your friends’ doors? The ones that live here?”
He downed a swig of beer. “Feels like intruding on their privacy or something, you know? Everyone’s busy as hell. I don’t want to interrupt the time they get with their significant others.”
“I can see that. Still, these new friends of yours are complex.”
“They’re just like any other family.”
“With the exception of being crazy rich and famous.”
“True,” he said.
“Is that what they are to you? Family?”
He stabbed at some noodles in a contemplative fashion. “Yeah. I guess they are. They kind of took me in, you know?”
“After I threw you out.”
At this, he said nothing. A whole heaping lot of it. Then he cleared his throat. “Maybe I sort of deserved that, you kicking me out and everything.”
“Sort of?”
“Alright, so I did deserve it. I got complacent, fixated on the music and forgot about everything else. Well, I didn’t forget. I just stopped putting the work in…”
Someone knocked at the front door.
Still avoiding my gaze, Adam stood and ambled on over. Standing outside was a drop-dead-gorgeous buxom woman in a skintight black leather sheath with Louboutin point-toe booties I’d kill for. Seriously. What was it with these women and amazing footwear?
Which was about when I realized that the woman standing in the doorway was supermodel Mae Cooper. It would be nice to say I didn’t stare all bedazzled-like. But that would be a lie. She was magnificent with curves for days and perfect skin. Given sufficient time to adjust to being in the presence of yet another famous person, I’d definitely have grilled her about her skincare routine.
“Martha said you needed these?” She handed a pair of scissors to Adam before giving me a smile, accompanied by a curious look. “Hi, you must be Jill. Nice to meet you.” She pointed guiltily at the scissors. “Don’t think badly of me, but I have been known to tamper with my own hair from time to time.”
“It happens,” I answered, sounding stilted. “Oh, umm…hi.”
“My stylist goes off at me every time. He almost burst into tears the time I cut myself bangs. Honestly, you’d think I’d learn.”
My brain wouldn’t work, so I said nothing.
“Starstruck again,” muttered Adam. “Incredible.”
“Oh dear, that sounds like jealousy. Isn’t she finding you sufficiently impressive?” Mae grinned. “They can’t all fall at your feet, Adam. It would get boring.”
He frowned. “With her, just once would be nice.”
“Best of luck with that.” Mae patted him on the cheek and disappeared.
Adam closed the door with a frown.
“Any other famous people going to appear?” I asked, stirring my fork through the midnight meal. “If so, I kind of need time to mentally prepare myself.”
“I hope not.” He sat down once more, heaping his fork. “You know they’re just normal people with high-profile jobs, right?”
“Yes, but they have that famous-people thing about them.”
He raised a brow. “In that case, don’t I have that thing?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve lived with you. You are neither glossy and lit from within nor mysterious and otherworldly. Like Mae. Or Mal, even if he is crazy.”
“The only thing mysterious about Mal is how someone hasn’t snapped and killed him yet.”
I laughed.
We ate in silence for a while, the scissors sitting on the counter between us like both a promise and a threat. Maybe I shouldn’t have offered to cut his hair, despite it badly needing a trim and then some. Cutting hair was my job, but it still involved touching. Not always pleasant, but not usually something that resulted in an existential crisis on my part. Normally the touching component wasn’t something I gave a great deal of thought to, due to having a professional attitude, etcetera. However, I wasn’t certain I should be getting within six feet of this particular male. And yet, on the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel a smidgeon of proprietary attachment to both the man and his hair. God, this was complicated. Feelings were the worst.
“What?” he asked with a raised brow, the bowl of food in front of him already almost empty. He started gathering up the dirty plates and putting them into the sink. The leftovers went into the fridge. A nice show of newfound domestic abilities.
“Finish up and I’ll do your hair, then I better get going.”
“You want to
