All her tension upon their first meeting had evaporated. It wasn't that surprising since it had been so obviously superficial. He was still pleased to know that now it was nowhere to be found.
“Do you have a lot left?” she asked, her fingers making quick work of the ache that had started to threaten itself in his forehead. Without even asking, she gave. Sensing a need and meeting that need in a way only she could. Gentle, sweet, content. Giving him that. Him.
“A couple hours,” he murmured. “I could take a nap right here.” He smiled to himself. “I did once. Years ago. I fell asleep on this couch and Luke came back to get me in the morning.”
Clarke's lap shook a bit as she laughed quietly. “He just left you here?”
“Yeah.” Mike opened his eyes to look up at her. The troubled lines that had been creasing her eyes and mouth the last few days had disappeared, taking years off of her. She looked even younger than her age, and even more like her brother. It was bittersweet for Mike, to see the strong resemblance. To know all that she had endured and witnessed and not be able to tell her yet what a remarkable person she was.
She'd pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and a strand had come undone. It curled down the side of her face, ending just at her chin. He brought a finger to it and tucked it behind her ear. Her lips curved up slightly on the ends as she watched his face during his movement. His finger lingered on the shell of her ear, then trailed softly down her jaw, following the gentle curve of her face, skimming just under her bottom lip before dropping slowly back to his chest. Her breathing changed infinitesimally, but he felt it.
“So, Lauren Clarke Matthews, tell me what you think of the music so far. Be brutal, I can handle it,” he asked her. His words were meant to be lighthearted, but his tone and volume were far more intimate.
“I like it. A lot. You guys work really hard.” The blue and green of her eyes battled for dominance as the honest compliment, spoken in that velvety voice, slowly sank in.
Mike looked towards his feet, needing a reprieve from the intensity of their connection. But not a complete disconnect. “It doesn't feel like work when it's something you love.”
“Even if it exhausts you?” she asked, her fingers still swirling through his hair.
Mike felt his mouth pull up on one side. “You've never gotten tired doing something you love?”
***
Clarke closed the door on Mike and Harrison amid promises to be ready bright and early in the morning.
She had spent the entire day with rock stars.
She had spent the entire day with Mike. And she could truly say, without reservation, that she had been such an idiot to judge him the way she had. She had been wrong about him. So very, very wrong. Thankfully, she wasn't going to be punished for her presumptuous fears. She couldn't imagine missing out on all the fantastic that Mike Osborn was.
Grinning like a fool, she spun on her toes and ran straight upstairs to Greta's closed bedroom door. She opened it, knowing the threat of getting something hurled at her. She wasn't disappointed, a heavy-handled hairbrush came sailing past her out into the hallway as she dove low and landed on her belly in the middle of Greta's bed.
“You're lucky you're you and not one of the boys. I about knocked Steve cold one day,” Greta said, turning back to her closet and continuing her rummaging.
Clarke chuckled and rolled over onto her back. That sounded like Steve.
She stared at the ceiling, letting her eyes lose focus, and realized that the knot of tension she kept tucked in her belly was nowhere to be found.
“I had no idea that I needed a vacation this badly,” she sighed.
“I did.” Greta grinned over her shoulder. “That's why I was willing to fight Shane to get you some time off.”
That was so true that it gave Clarke pause. Greta really truly loved her to the amount that she would take on her superiors, guys she liked, and probably the federal government to protect her. What had she ever done to garner such loyalty? The question made her uncomfortable, mostly because it pointed out how she wasn't as a good of a friend to Greta as Greta was to her.
So she asked, “How is that going with Shane?”
Greta gave a noncommittal head shake. “Eh. He took off this morning before I even woke up. I think it's going a lot faster than I had anticipated. I'm going to try to get a couple drawings in this week before I have to pull the plug.”
Clarke craned her neck around to look at her towel-wrapped friend. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
Greta gave her an eye-roll. “You know better than to ask that question. Shane is a complicated, gorgeous mess, but he's not my type.”
“What's your type?” Clarke asked mischievously. Greta threw the towel at her, covering her head so she couldn't see while she got dressed.
“You know I'm saving myself for Dave Grohl,” she answered lightheartedly.
“Oh, that's right. Perfection defined,” Clarke remarked with a laugh, voice muffled by the towel over her head.
“It's the beard. If Shane could grow a beard like that, we'd have a problem.” Greta yanked the towel off of Clarke's head, revealing her now dressed state. “But what I think the world really wants to know is, does Mike wear boxers or briefs?” Greta's eyebrows waggled as she hung the damp towel on the hook behind her door.
“Oh geez, it's not like that.” Clarke felt her face heating up. “I didn't have any clothes to wear so I borrowed his. And for the record, it's boxer briefs.” She sat up, folding her legs. She looked down at the men's pair of Levi's that she was still wearing. “He doesn't have a lot of clothes. I should probably get his stuff back to him soon.”
“You gonna return the skivvies?” Greta sat next to her on the bed with a smirk.
“No, I'm keeping them.” Clarke laughed. “I have no idea if he even knows I took them. I'll have to get him some new ones. And possibly a couple more pairs for myself.”
“You have a glow, Clarke.” Greta reached over and brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “Vacation agrees with you.”
“Did you know Mike had so many tattoos?” Clarke asked, slightly changing the subject, but not entirely.
“Yeah, he and Blake started getting them back when the band first formed and never really stopped. I think it was a kind of competition for awhile. Not sure about now. Why? Did they freak you out?”
“No.” Clarke shook her head to protest. “Nothing like that. I just had no idea he had so many.” She bit the inside of her lower lip, trying to decide if she should admit out loud what she was thinking. “I don't know, maybe I'll get one.”
“Clarke Matthews!” Greta's eyes went wide with amused shock. “What would your father say?”
“Probably that it's about time.” Clarke chuckled and flopped backwards again on to the bed. Greta followed suit and they stared up at the ceiling together. Clarke loved these moments at the end of the day when they reconnected.
“You gonna hang out with them again tomorrow?” Greta asked quietly.
“I sure hope so. They said they'd pick me up in the morning.” Clarke breathed in and then out again. No more tension, no worry, no anxiety. “What about Shane?”
“I'm not sure what to do about him, in all honesty. I might avoid him for a few days.”
Clarke's head twisted to face her. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, hearing something in Greta's tone that was out of the ordinary.
“He bugs me. He makes me mad so fast. I mean, I've had people push my buttons before, but it's like he knows where every single one of them is and he keeps pushing them. But at the same time, I see how broken he is and all I want is to help him be whole again. And holy crap, that body. It's all I can do to keep my hands off of it.” She scrunched her face into a frown as Clarke's body rocked with silent laughter. “He can be such an ass. He makes it so hard to get past that solid wall of ice he's got built up. The girl he ends up with should really get me something nice for all the bullshit I have to get through to fix this
guy.”
“I feel like I should point out that Shane has always been an ass. I've worked for the man for years, and you know his reputation. What if that's who he is? There might not be much to fix.”
“I hear what you're saying but I can't agree.” Greta shook her head stubbornly. “I'm not giving up yet.”
“I love how you always see the good in people, no matter who they are,” Clarke said gently, and Greta looked over at her finally.
“I love how happy you are today. I saw this girl in you a long time ago. Who knew hanging out with rock stars while wearing men's underwear was the key to your happiness?”
Clarke snickered and sat up. Time to end the conversation. Greta had more insight sometimes than Clarke was comfortable with. “I better get some sleep and leave you to prepare for Shane's demise.” She looked down at her friend. “Don't make me worry about you.”
Greta flashed her a grin. “I promise to behave.”
Clarke pulled the door closed behind her then entered her own room. She changed out of Mike's clothes, folding the pants and shirt neatly and setting them aside.
She crawled into bed, reached out to flick the light off and closed her eyes.
She would get to see Mike again tomorrow. The excitement threatened to keep her awake, but her sensibility persevered and she was asleep a few minutes later.
Chapter 6
American Girl
Clarke was ready.
At least, she hoped she was ready.
She'd slept great, had her coffee, her breakfast, and her shower. Opting to look as easy and carefree as she actually felt, she let her hair air dry. It hung in a thick sheet of light brown all the way to her bra strap. She'd slung on a pair of low-rider Levi's that did amazing things to her backside, but were still comfortable. They had been washed and worn and washed again until they were as soft as the loose-fitting pale blue tee she had added on top.
She slid on a pair of brown leather flip-flops and stared at her bare toes. She had no idea how long it had been since she'd had a pedicure. A while, from the looks of it. She dug through the recesses of her bathroom vanity until she found a bottle of bright yellow nail polish. It wasn't much, but at least her feet didn't look completely neglected.
The doorbell rang and she sprinted for the door, grabbing Mike's folded clothes off the end of her dresser on her way by.
“Ready for action?” Mike asked with a quirk of his lips when she yanked the door open breathlessly. It was possible he'd heard her jump down the stairs and stumble across the landing to the door.
She thrust his clothes out to him. “Thank you for these yesterday.”
Mike's eyes dropped to her parcel, running his tongue over his lower lip and then sucking it inside, biting down briefly. Then he took the clothes and tucked them under an arm. “No problem.” He took a deep breath. “Are you still coming with us today?”
“Stop trying to push me away, Mike. You bought this hanger-on, you better own it,” she replied.
She hadn't noticed the guarded look in his pale blue eyes until it lifted at her words. He smiled slowly and she wondered at his worry. She didn't wonder long, because Harrison honked the horn on the Volvo.
Mike chuckled and rolled his eyes. “We better go.”
Clarke stepped out of the entry, pulling the door closed behind her. “I was hoping we could stop by the shop, so I could grab my shades.” She glanced at Mike and made a face. “Maybe that's a bad idea if he's in a hurry.”
“Harrison's just hungry. As usual. Don't worry, I've got it covered,” Mike said, for only her to hear.
They approached the car and he opened the back door for her. She tried not to like it too much, but she kind of did.
“Harry,” Mike started when he slid into his own seat and closed the door, “I saw a doughnut shop just up the block from Soaring Bird. You wanna make a quick stop?”
“Yes,” Harrison answered instantly. “Yes, I want that.”
Clarke smiled down at her lap as she buckled her seat belt.
They parked outside of the doughnut shop and Harrison was out of the car and up the curb before Clarke had released her seat belt. Sure enough, the bakery was in a little strip half a block up from her place of employment, even though she'd never really noticed it.
Mike leaned around the seat and gave her a half-grin. “Get your shades, check in with your boss, whatever you need to do. Harrison has an affinity for sweets. You've got about twenty minutes.”
“Get me something?” she asked as she reached for the door handle.
Mike's face gentled and his half-grin turned into a soft smile. “Yeah,” he answered.
Clarke ignored (or tried to) the tightening in her chest that happened in connection to the look in his face. Instead, she hurried down the sidewalk without looking back. If she had, she'd have seen Mike standing outside of the Volvo, sunglasses trained on her. He waited for her to get to her destination and inside before joining his band mate at the doughnut counter.
***
“Just get a dozen already.” Mike sighed in exasperation.
Harrison rubbed his chin with one hand. “Hmm.”
Mike wanted to kill him.
“Seriously, dude. At this rate, we really will be late. Just get a dozen of your favorites and let's go.” Mike looked out the window at the car in the parking lot. Clarke was leaned back against the back door, arms crossed, shades on, waiting patiently.
When she'd opened the door that morning and thrust his clothes at him, he'd actually been afraid she was going to pull back inside her shell. She hadn't. Thank God for that. He wanted her around. He wanted her in his space. He wanted her in everything about his day.
The more often her smile came out to play, the deeper the knife in his gut twisted. She wouldn't be smiling at him if she knew. She'd walk away and never look back.
But her toenails were bright yellow that morning. He took that as a good sign. Maybe a brightening of her future days.
***
“Hey, hun.” Tessa stuck her head in the door of the studio. “I'm sending Chase out for tacos, would you eat one?”
Sometime in the past twenty-four hours Clarke had become “one of the gang.” Spending the entire day in the studio yesterday she developed quick friendships with the small staff that worked there. Tessa was more than just the receptionist, she scheduled everything and kept all the rowdy boys in line. Chase was the runner and he did whatever Tessa told him to.
“Yeah, I'm starving.” Clarke grinned and Tessa nodded her approval.
A lot of time and work went into making an album, and Clarke realized this wasn't even a major record they were planning on releasing. But she got the impression that Harrison and Mike were putting the same amount of care and attention into it that they would for a Double Blind Study album.
She loved watching them work on it. They were focused and in their element, and she really felt honored to be able to see this side of the creative process.
Mike glanced over his shoulder at her from his seat at the switch board. He gave her a little wink and then faced forward again.
Having spent the past two days with him, Clarke had deduced that he was indeed sober. Not just from Harrison's earnest warning about disrupting his sobriety, but mostly how he behaved. He was clear, centered. And sweet and funny and attentive and...
Clarke shook her head. He was pretty awesome.
***
Mike let out a contented breath. He liked Clarke nearby. Her energy reminded him of something. Something familiar and soothing. As soon as she let go of the stress surrounding her, she was everything he knew she would be. Was it fair that he had inside information into who she was without her knowing that? Probably not. But he wasn't ready to start going into that with her yet. They were still getting comfortable with each other.
He totally dug how she fit into the studio and got along with the people in it. They loved her instantly, and she warmed up to them almost as quickly.
The mus
ic was coming along nicely too. The flow was what he was most impressed with. He and Harrison had always gotten along, but this experience was completely new, and they were rocking it.
“I have to see if Nicky has a different pedal, this one is ticking me off,” Harrison grumbled as he left the room.
Mike spun his chair around and regarded Clarke thoughtfully. She tilted her head to the side and gave a small smile, as if to ask what was on his mind without actually saying the words.
He was having an idea. He'd been having this idea for the past three hours.
“I have a song I haven't shown anyone yet. Can I get your opinion?”
“Of course.” She tucked a long strand of honey hair behind one ear. “But I'm not a musician, my opinion is worthless.”
“Don't you dare insult yourself like that ever again.” He raised his eyebrows and she rolled those multicolored eyes of hers. Today they were an aquamarine with the brown ringing the outside, making the color more pronounced. He stood up and motioned with his head for her to follow him into the recording area.
“Sit over there,” he said, pointing to a folding chair near the piano as he settled onto the piano bench.
“I had no idea you could play the piano.” She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward eagerly.
“I can play pretty much anything. I just happen to really like the drums.” Mike let his fingers touch the top of the keys, feather light. He took a deep breath and sucked both lips into his mouth nervously. His eyes connected with hers briefly, hoping she knew, without being told, how big of a song this was for him.
His eyes closed.
His fingers began to play the slow ballad. He focused on the simplicity of the words that he had written, had memorized. Probably because it was written on his very heart.
It was a song about the all the things he couldn't say. The people he'd lost, including himself along the way. And finding the way back home, how long the journey and how hopeful he was to see it on the horizon. The desire to make amends without knowing if it were possible, the regret of not regretting everything. And of course the ever present yearning to get it right this time.
Deepest Blues Page 8