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She's doing the delicate calculation women do when they realize the nice guy they're with isn't the person they want. "This sun is blazing. Do you mind if we grab something to drink and head back to the studio?"
It's posed as a question, but it's not. We both know it. I nod and extend my hand to collect the balls and her club. "Sure thing." I give her the response she knew she'd get when she asked. It's the proper response from a nice guy.
The response that will get her back to what she really cares about. Her music. And my brother.
Chapter Eleven
Ariel
I punish myself. I close my eyes and scream at the top of my lungs into the microphone, sweat dripping down my face, my legs burning from hopping and jumping around for the last hour.
Adam and I are back in the studio, and I'm performing one of Devil May Care's anthems. It's a loud, momentum-building rock tune meant to keep a crowd pumping their fists and dancing out of control. Just like I've been doing.
I insisted we switch from the quiet tunes Adam's brought with him back to my band's catalog to clear my head. Adam was right. The golf game was the perfect distraction to get my mind off my childhood.
Too perfect.
He waited outside the studio for me. In the sun, in the heat, not knowing how long it might be before I came downstairs. He was there when everything in my history said guys don't do that. They don't put the needs of others first.
He's kind. He's caring. And he notices things. Things I thought only my bandmates would ever detect. Things they've learned after years and years of being together.
It's the reason I stood on that stupid golf course, hopes lifted, our toes practically touching, and my stupid chest pounding like a teenager. He made me feel something. Something I don't allow myself to feel. Something I don't want to feel. And yet…
The moment was right. If he tipped forward and pressed his lips to mine, I would have let him. I would have embraced it. Even now, after screaming out loud to block the thought from my head, I picture it.
But it wasn't real. It was just the emotions of the day playing tricks on me. Once again, the memory of my mom messing with my head. Even if that wasn't the case, it's not what I'm looking for. It's not what he's looking for.
He's here for the music. Just like I should be.
The last note fades away, and I lower my head, spent. It's one of the best feelings in the world. Giving it your all and leaving it out there. Puddle on the freaking floor. I hear Dax's laughter shouting the line over and over at the end of a long rehearsal. The cherished memory eliciting a half smile.
My hand lingers on the microphone, and I open my eyes, staring into the booth, surprised to see a set of dark eyes looking back at me.
Laredo.
He's holding a pizza box under one arm and a six-pack of beers in the other. A look of awe on his face that feeds my ego. My half smile expands to full before I realize who I've given this prize to.
I twist away from one twin, only to have the other right in my face. Adam hands me a towel and a bottle of water without me asking. He anticipates my needs.
I wrap my hands around his waist, and I pull him into a tight hug. My sweat mixes with his. This time, there's no hesitation in his movements. His strong arms wrap around my shoulder. "You good?" he whispers, and I'm sure his mind must be racing to earlier in the day, right here in the studio.
"Great!" I lift my head and give a smile to the man who deserves one. "Performance high." My snicker causes my shoulder to shake, and I step from the warmth of his hug. He unfolds the towel and lays it across my shoulder. "That was kick ass, Adam. I can't believe you've learned our songs."
"That was the assignment," he says like a dutiful student sitting in the front row of the classroom, and it reminds me of my deceit. The false assignment I've handed him. Both of them.
The crackle from the studio speakers causes us to freeze. "Pizza's getting cold." Laredo is at the soundboard, and he wiggles the beer in his hand at us.
I raise a finger. "It'll have to wait. One more song.” I stare at him through the glass. "The Devil You Know." I'm starving and could scarf down half a pie by myself, but I won't give Laredo the satisfaction of thinking he can stroll into the session at any hour and control our actions.
I gulp down half the bottle before I realize it's room temperature. The vending machine delivers ice-cold beverages. Adam has his back to me, and he's disconnecting his guitar from the amplifiers. My hand lands on his shoulder. He turns, and we lock gazes once again. "Hey," I whisper, and I can't believe how I sound. Like an infatuated schoolgirl.
His eyes sparkle. A glimmer hits me right in my chest. "Hey, yourself." He gives me his complete attention. A patient look that says, take your time, I'm here.
"Thanks for the water." I glance over my shoulder at the bottle on the floor by the mic. "Is the machine not plugged in? It's… room temperature."
His chuckle pulls another smile from me. "It's fine. I have a case of water back in my hotel room. I brought six bottles to the studio today—for you. I heard you mention on one of the YouTube interviews that you prefer room-temperature water to protect your voice. I'd be damned if I'd let anything happen to those pipes. You have no idea what an honor it is just to be in the same room, let alone…"
I don't let him finish the sentence. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight with all my strength. "I'm the one who should be so honored." I'm in a dangerous territory. I'm always an emotional wreck after a performance. I've been known to hug strangers up to an hour after stepping off stage. Some of my most disastrous decisions were made in the backstage whirlwind shortly after a performance. My lips press against his neck. A soft peck of gratitude is all I allow myself. "Thank you."
