Love Song (Stage Dive 4.70)

The California-king-size bed sat unmade with pillows that smelled of him and no one else. Which was interesting. Guess he really didn’t bring other women back here. Or at least, not recently. And while I probably should have been ashamed of sniffing his belongings, I hadn’t reached that stage of the proceedings just yet. I was quite content to suffer pangs of guilt for my appalling behavior, but not until I’d investigated the whole apartment. Priorities mattered. Next were two spare rooms. The first sat empty and the second had been stuffed full of about a dozen guitars and various amps. They lined the walls, just waiting to be played. A notebook and pen were discarded on the floor. As tempting as it was to read what songs he was working on, I managed to respect his privacy and not look.

It kind of evened out the weirdo sniffing thing in my mind.

A half-bathroom and coat closet near the door finished up the apartment. And Adam was still asleep. I threw a blanket over him in case he got cold and headed for the kitchen.

Not a whole heck of a lot in the fridge. Some wilted salad mix, a couple of pieces of pizza, a variety of beer, a block of cheese, some orange juice, a bit of butter, and milk. Cold cuts turning a suspicious shade of green, and bread more than a few days old. Those went in the trash. If I was overstepping, he could get mad at me later. Guess he didn’t have a housekeeper. Or at least, not a regular one. The pantry wasn’t much better, but I could scrape together mac and cheese—happily one of his favorite comfort foods. I was more of a taco girl myself. Let every day be Taco Tuesday and I’d be happy. Cooking also gave me something to do while he caught up on his sleep. To be honest, being a domestic goddess had never been my thing. Ordering delivery was more my style these days. Didn’t mean I couldn’t look after him a little this one last time. Because this had to be the last time we’d see each other. My feelings were too confused to allow us to be friends, and he’d be off on tour in a few days’ time anyway.

The end was definitely nigh. Not exactly sure how I felt about that.

When he woke, I was humming under my breath to a song by The Nationals, stirring the noodles and sauce together. “That smells good.”

“Hey…yeah…I hope you’re hungry.”

He smiled, and I didn’t know what to do. My insides lurched in the strangest way. Me being here was beyond awkward. Us being together. So much was different, yet so much felt the same. Give or take the million-plus-dollar apartment.

“I’ve been thinking about the check,” I said, stopping to take a sip of water.

Adam rose from the couch, stretching so that his tee crept up, revealing a slice of flat stomach and slim hips. The man could eat whatever he wanted while my ass expanded if I so much as looked at a piece of cake. Talk about unfair. Though it didn’t stop me from eating cake because happiness mattered more than butt size.

He stood on the opposite side of the counter, staring at me sleepily. “What are you thinking, Jill?”

“Oh. Right. Take one of the zeros off and I’ll accept it. I’ll give half of the money to a local foodbank and use the rest to get caught up on things. Like replacing my crappy old car and taking a vacation maybe…stuff like that.”

Elbows on the stone, he leaned forward, his mess of dark hair falling in his face. Hiding or thinking or a bit of both. “That’s a nice idea, though I do support lots of local charities already. Thought you might want to buy your own place. Open your own salon or something.”

“Speaking of which, when was the last time you had a haircut?”

“I dunno. Whenever you did it last.”

My brows rose as I dished up a bowl of comfort food. “Don’t you have stylists and people like that making suggestions about how you look?”

“They suggest. I ignore.” He shrugged, sliding onto a stool. “Unless it’s for something important, then Martha gets on my case and it’s just easier to give in. But I’ve pretty much just been tying my hair back and ignoring it.”

I pushed the bowl across to him, along with a fork.

“You’re frowning,” he said around a mouthful of food. “This is great. Thanks.”

“I’d cut it for you, but I didn’t bring my shears. I thought it wise not to bring sharp metal blades to our little catch-up.”

He looked up, gaze still tired. Still waking up from his nap. Then he pulled his cell out of his back jeans’ pocket and fired off a text. “That’s easy enough fixed. Martha will know someone who has a pair.”

“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.”