She nodded toward the books. “Should we get started?”
I was at war. I wanted to tell her to forget studying. I wanted to pull her close and kiss her until she forgot why she was here. But also…
She was looking at me expectantly. And my uncle was giving me a shot.
I cleared off a beaten up old lounge chair that guests used when they came to watch us play and gestured to it. “Let’s do this.”
Two hours later, my head hurt and my eyes were crossing, but I felt infinitely smarter. I told her as much, and my whole body felt lighter when she laughed.
“I don’t know that you’re infinitely smarter, but we definitely crammed a lot of knowledge into that skull of yours,” she said.
I leaned an elbow on the table we’d been using as a desk. “My head feels heavier.”
She laughed again, and I grinned in return. So freakin’ sweet when she let herself relax and smile. And she had relaxed. I’d watched the subtle shift in her as she grew more comfortable, around me and in this space.
It was the books that did it. When she got really excited about a topic, she forgot to be guarded. And when I impressed her by remembering something or putting the pieces together on my own, she was downright ecstatic.
It was in those moments that I caught glimpses of her again, and the sight made my heart do something weird. It ached. But it wasn’t painful, it was sweet. And it was all Willow. It was her doing.
I’d never considered myself a particularly lucky guy. But when I caught glimpses of that Willow—the real Willow—I knew I was the luckiest guy in town. Because I saw the Willow with depths of emotions no one would ever believe unless they saw it with their own eyes.
Those moments I knew just how lucky I was.
And I didn’t want them to end.
But she put down her pen with a sigh. “I think we should probably end there for now.”
“Think I can’t handle any more?” I asked, leaning in with narrowed eyes like I was on to her.
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m sure you could, but I told Flynn I’d be home for dinner with him and Isla.”
“You told Flynn,” I repeated. “So your parents…”
She stiffened. Just a little, but enough for me to know that I’d put her on her guard. “They’re out of town.”
“They seem to be out of town a lot,” I said.
She didn’t answer, but her gaze wouldn’t meet mine.
“Do you ever get lonely?” I pushed.
She shrugged. “Flynn’s staying with us now.”
And before? And when he’s not there? I didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t actually answered.
I had so many more questions, but she clearly wasn’t having it. She started to pile her pens into a pouch, and I snagged one. It was juvenile, but some part of me knew she wouldn’t leave without all of her office supplies. The thought made my grin widen.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked. She looked wary. Nervous.
Good. I was nervous too. I wasn’t a fan of this new nervous state, but it helped to know I wasn’t alone. In fact, if I focused on putting her at ease, I could almost forget the way my body had a mind of its own around this girl.
It wasn’t just attraction—well, it was. It was definitely that. But it was something more. The urge to please and impress. The overwhelming need to get closer—physically, yes, but also in every other way.
“You can’t leave yet,” I said.
Her brows arched. “I can’t?”
“Tell Flynn he and Isla can eat without you.”
She blinked at me, her eyes so wide and so very unreadable. “Why would I do that?”
I bounced up from my seat. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt more driven to do anything than I was to get this girl to open up. Having that mission gave me purpose and did away with the nerves.
“Because it’s your turn,” I said. I stood before all my prized instruments, my arms outstretched with what I’d been told was my most charming smile.
Her lips twitched in response. I’d call that a win. “My turn?” She eyed the instruments with open wariness. “You were serious about that?”
“Of course!”
She bit her lip as she stared at my acoustic, and I stifled a laugh. I’d never seen anyone so agonized over the thought of picking up a guitar.
“You don’t have to start with the guitar,” I said. “Do you play any piano?” I gestured to the keyboard in the corner and she shook her head.
“I’ve never played anything.”
I reached a hand out, and after blinking at it in surprise, she slipped her fingers into mine and let me tug her out of her seat so she was standing in front of me.
Just like that, I remembered what it had felt like to hold her in my arms. To feel her cry against my shoulders. Swallowing was suddenly an issue. I cleared my throat. “Right. Let’s start at the beginning. Choosing a musical instrument is like…” I tried not to be distracted by her brilliant blue gaze as I came up with an analogy. “It’s like finding your Hogwarts house.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. I wanted to kiss her in that moment more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.
“You’ve read Harry Potter?”
“I’ve watched the movies,” I said.
Her head tilted to the side like she was seeing me for the first time.
“What?” I started to laugh. “I wasn’t born an eighteen-year-old rock god, you know.”
A flash of a brilliant smile, and I was a goner. “A rock god, huh?”
“Too much?” I teased.
She shrugged. “Not if it fits.”
I looked away with a satisfied smirk. It was the closest thing to a compliment I’d gotten from her, and I tucked it away like a stolen treasure.
“So…” She drew the word out, and it made her lips purse.
Yup. Definitely could kiss this girl right now. I shoved my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her.
Her gaze met mine. “Where’s the sorting hat?”
I burst out in a laugh, and her answering smile was so sweetly shy. Like she was tickled to have made a joke. Or that I’d laughed at her joke. Either way, it was freakin’ adorable.
“No sorting hat. Just me.” I clapped my hands together and gave her a mock wince of regret. “You’re just going to have to tell me about yourself, I’m afraid.”
The pursed lips were back as she considered that. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything.” Everything.
“Umm….” She looked around like the answers could be found hiding behind the amp equipment.
“Let’s start with the basics. Middle name?”
“Josephine,” she said promptly. “For my grandfather. His name was Joseph.”
I tapped my finger to my chin like I was honestly deliberating something based on her middle name. “Age?”
She smiled. “Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen next month.”
I loved the fact that she was offering up information but the fact that she was turning nineteen soon left me with more questions. I arched a brow. “Same age as me. But you’re a grade lower.”
“I was out of school for a year when I was young.” she said. Her lips clamped shut and her gaze held mine. Clearly that was all she intended to say, but there was something in her gaze that made me feel like she was holding back.
Not like she didn’t want to tell me, but she couldn’t.
“Willow, may I make an observation?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice gentle. I didn’t want to scare her off, and I could. I would if I didn’t proceed with caution.
How did I know?
I just did. I might not have book smarts on my side, but when it came to Willow, I felt like I had insight that others didn’t. Or maybe I just wanted to know her better than anyone else.
“What’s your observation?” she asked, fear hidden deep in her eyes.
“I think perhaps you’d like to tell me about yourself...�
�� I paused. “But you don’t know how.” I instantly fell into a pit of paranoia. Who the hell was I to be telling her what she wanted? I’d clearly read this all wrong. I shouldn’t be pushing her and—
“Where’s a sorting hat when you need one, right?” Her soft, wry tone made me still. She gave me a small smile. “It can read your thoughts, right? Decipher your feelings...or whatever?”
I nodded. “You’re right. A sorting hat would be amazing.”
She started to laugh, a soft little chuckle, but it filled me with a warmth that was better than beer, better than partying, and infinitely more satisfying than flirting with random girls.
I leaned into her, emboldened by her laughter. “Next question, Willow. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” She sounded so perplexed, I couldn’t hide a grin.
“Too difficult?”
She nodded emphatically.
“That tells me you’re caught up in your head.” I tapped her temple and her brows hitched up.
“I am?”
I nodded. “You are.” I crossed my arms and adopted an over-the-top cocky attitude that, judging by her answering smirk, she knew was in jest. “There’s only one surefire way I know of to fix this.”
Her brows arched in a dubious expression. But I hadn’t been lying. I knew exactly where we should start. But not like this. I eyed her starched white blouse and the pencil skirt that pegged her as a corporate America drone and not a high school senior. There wasn’t much to be done about her clothes, but the too-tight knot on her head?
I grinned and reached for a bobby pin. After doing it once, I knew how this hair contraption worked.
Willow didn't protest, but her lips parted with a gasp. “What are you doing?”
I answered with a laugh that felt more right, more genuine, more perfect than I could ever remember. “It’s time to let your hair down, Rapunzel.”
Nine
Willow
* * *
Wind rushing through trees. An ocean’s tide. A freakin’ hurricane.
Was this how they felt? The force. The raw elemental power. It was so overwhelming I couldn’t think if I wanted to.
And I didn’t want to.
Roman’s music came to a stop, and my exhausted arms stopped their pummeling on the drums.
Pummeling was exactly what that was. I was spent. I was drained. I was…
I was freakin’ ecstatic.
I looked up to see Roman grinning at me from the other side of the drum set. The beautiful thing was, I didn’t have to say a word.
He got it. And I knew that he got it. The gleam in his eyes was satisfaction and understanding. Maybe even some triumph because he’d done it. He’d broken me out of my shell. And I…
I had never felt more at peace.
I fell back in the seat, my long hair tumbling down my back as a droplet of sweat trailed down my back.
“Well?” he said as the last notes faded away.
“I had no idea what I was doing,” I said.
“I know.” He laughed, doubling over slightly like he was drunk.
I felt drunk. Or, at least, how I assumed it felt to be drunk. I felt lighter than air, and like I didn’t have a worry in the world. I started laughing too. I couldn't not. The exhilaration was coming out of me, and there was no stopping it.
“What you lacked in skill, you made up for with passion,” he said through his laughter.
That made me laugh even harder, because...he was right. The first minute had been torturous. Him nodding at me to the beat, trying to get me to use the bass drum and the snare and the other parts that I forgot the names of.
He was bobbing and bouncing, his entire demeanor pleading with me to join in. And I had. Sort of. I’d tentatively struck the drums a few times until I found a tepid rhythm. Nothing any real drummer would brag about, but I found a beat and I stuck with it.
Then I’d given it a little more enthusiasm as I grew comfortable, and the smile Roman had flashed me—
I’d gone dizzy. Lightheaded but in the very best way. Nothing at all like being sick. More like...coming alive.
And that was when it had started. The music had grown louder and louder, so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. And then I stopped trying to think. And then my muscles found the rhythm all on their own.
My body said ‘step aside’, and my foot started tapping, sending the bass drum pounding. My arms and hands loosened, and I tried new beats.
And I felt it.
I felt the music in my veins and reverberating in my heart. It was…
Insane.
Intense.
“That was amazing,” I said, my face in pain from smiling more in one afternoon than I had in years.
He came around the drum kit and surprised the heck out of me by falling to his knees. With the guitar in his arms, he looked exactly like the rock god he’d jokingly referred to himself as, slung out at my feet in a worshipful pose.
“You are effing gorgeous,” he said, his awe filled with reverence.
My lips parted in surprise, but I was still smiling. I felt gorgeous. But I didn’t say that. Reality was returning, though this heady haze still remained.
He seemed to see the change in me, though, because his smile grew soft. Not sad, but...tender. Like he got it.
Maybe he did get it, but I sure didn’t. I still had no idea what was happening to me, but for the first time in weeks I wasn’t terrified by this change.
“Come on, Rapunzel,” he said, his smile growing as he took in my hair, which had been flying around with abandon. “Let’s get you fed.”
I blinked in surprise. “Um, what?”
But he was already walking away, putting equipment back and getting ready to leave. “I kept you from dinner with your friends, right?”
He didn’t give me a chance to answer.
“The least I can do is make sure you don’t go home hungry.” He flashed me a smile that made me so grateful I was still sitting behind the drum kit because my legs turned to putty.
I didn’t argue, although part of me felt like I should. I let him fuss about me, fetching my jacket and gathering my books. It was...nice.
Nice was the lamest word in the world for what this was, but I couldn’t think of anything better. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had fussed over me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt cared for like this.
It was strange, but nice.
It wasn’t until I was tucked in the car, my seatbelt on and the heat blowing on me to get rid of the fall chill in the air that I finally thought to ask, “Where are you taking me?”
His smile felt dangerous in the darkness of the car. “To dinner.” He reached out, plucked my hand from my lap and kissed it, leaving me unable to speak.
When he turned back to face the road, I saw his cocky smirk, but I didn’t care.
He’d earned it.
This night had been more breathtaking and exciting and adventurous and...passionate than any other experience in my life.
And I owed it all to him.
The darkness of the car made it easier for me to smile. To grin just like he was. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He glanced over. “For what?”
For what? I sighed as I tried to figure out an answer. Finally, I settled on, “For everything.”
A little while later, I was tucked away in a corner booth at his uncle’s restaurant.
“Roman, you don’t have to treat me to dinner.” I shifted uncomfortably, despite the fact that the red leather booth was warm and inviting. We’d missed the dinner rush, according to Roman, and so it was only half full, and most of the tables that remained were lingering over drinks or dessert.
He hovered over me, and for a second, I wondered why he wasn’t sliding into the seat across from me. But he answered that question when he flashed me one of those dimply grins. “I’m not treating you to dinner.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’m making you dinner.”
I w
as speechless, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of what he’d said or how natural it had felt for him to kiss the top of my head.
It wasn’t natural. Not for me. I wasn’t the touchy-feely sort. But with Roman…?
He made it hard to care.
A little while later, he returned to the table with two plates piled high with pasta and meatballs. I gaped even as my mouth watered from the heavenly scent. “Did you…” I glanced up at him as he finally slid into the booth across from me. “Did you make this?”
His smile was filled with satisfaction again.
I loved this smile. Of all the many and myriad adorable, sexy, beautiful, and yes, godlike smiles I’d seen on him, this one was my favorite. There was something childlike about it. Like he just wanted to please. To make people happy.
My heart gave a little wrench.
He was succeeding. In a big way. My insides felt mushy again, like hot butter that couldn’t seem to hold its shape.
Was this real?
It couldn’t be.
But here I was. Being wined and dined by the hottie bad boy of Lindale High.
“Dig in,” he said.
I did as I was told and gave an embarrassingly loud moan that made him laugh.
“Glad you like it,” he said.
“It tastes like...like…”
He paused in his eating, and I fumbled for the word.
“Like home,” I said.
His smile told me he knew exactly what I meant. But he couldn’t possibly. It had been ages since I’d felt like I’d had a real home. A home where I was just the kid. Where I wasn’t a team member, but a daughter.
Flynn moving in had helped. My co-workers making the house their own had too. But nothing in the world had prepared me for this.
For Roman’s homemade spaghetti and meatballs.
He leaned forward. “Willow?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to freak out if I ask you more questions about yourself?”
I honestly thought it over as I twirled my fork in the strands of spaghetti. “I don’t think so.” And then I surprised myself by asking, “But do I get to ask questions in return?”
Long Hair Don't Care Page 8