His kisses start to migrate, leaving my lips and making a trail across my cheek and under my jaw. Soon, he is kissing my neck and every single part of my body is humming. But when his fingers start moving up my side, I get self-conscious. It’s like as soon as our lips aren’t touching, connected, then my mind starts to circle like a Ferris wheel, the thoughts spinning slowly: Is he going up my shirt? Do I want him to? My parents could come back. Will he get weird if I stop him? Do I want to stop him?
His hands are still on top of my shirt, moving upward, inching their way toward my chest, and I pull his face to mine again, keeping my elbows tucked in tightly so that he has to stop just at the base of my bra. I kiss him hard, trying to shake the questions from my brain and just be in the moment, just enjoy the kissing. I could kiss Kai for hours. He matches the intensity of my kiss and leans against me, the weight of him so powerful that it’s as if he could fall into my own body, that we could become one.
He certainly seems happy to see me, and the thought makes me laugh. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head and kissing him again. My hands stay in the cheeks, head, neck area, but his are on tour again, this time traveling south as he starts to rock against me. At the top of my shorts, his hands hesitate. Involuntarily, I stop kissing him, stop breathing as his thumb dips beneath my waistline.
“Kai,” I whisper urgently.
It means yes and it means wait and it means I want to and it means I’m not sure. I say his name and it means everything and it means nothing. It means I love you, but I’m scared and I don’t want to be, but I am.
“Kai,” I whisper again, calmer.
And then, all at once, his hands flatten on the wall at either side of my head and he pushes his body back from my own. I breathe again. He leans his forehead against mine and searches my eyes. “You okay?”
I nod. “Uh-huh.”
He watches me for a couple of seconds, and I can see his mind working, the wheels turning as if he’s having an argument with himself. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, and his lips are wet and red. I realize that I don’t want to stop.
“I’m okay,” I insist, breathless as I gather the material of his T-shirt in my hands and tug gently.
But he must see something in my eyes that tells a different story because he kisses my nose and takes my hand in his, pulling me from the wall and leading me into the kitchen. “You know you drive me crazy, right?” he says with a crooked grin.
He exhales, loudly, almost like shaking something off. “Oh-kay,” he says when we get to the fridge. He stands in front of the open door for a moment, not really focusing on anything as the cool air flows out. I turn to the cabinet next to the stove to grab us a couple of glasses for water.
Then, we get to the work of cooking dinner. We waltz around each other in the kitchen, stealing kisses here and there, but mainly talking, the conversation spilling out, natural and effortless like before. I’m so relieved. The easiness is reassuring after two months of forced telephone conversations and texts that have been getting shorter every day. Long-distance is tough, but when we’re together, the energy between us is palpable, the chemistry intense.
As Kai puts the food on our plates just so, paying careful attention to the placement and even wiping the edges with a paper towel like they do at a restaurant, I go to the dining room and set up the perfect ambience. I bring out a candle from my room and plug my iPhone into the sound system, pulling up the very first playlist that Kai ever made me.
“Dinner is served,” he says, bringing over our plates.
“It smells delicious.”
He holds my chair out, which is so cute I could die.
“So?” he asks when I take my first bite.
“Mmmm… delicious.”
He grins and allows himself to dig in, his relief adorably evident. “I’m no chef, but I pay attention at the restaurant. I’ve actually cooked some for Astrean and the band. She’s been to Makana and was saying how much she loves it, so I offered to cook for everybody. I called Matt, and he gave me some of his recipes. It was fun.”
I stiffen at the thought of Kai cooking dinner for Astrean, hanging out on her tour bus. I’ve Googled her and she’s beautiful, has traveled all over the world, and plays a slew of instruments. I try not to be jealous, but it wasn’t so long ago that Kai was on my tour bus.
“That’s cool,” I manage.
“Yeah, I think you’d really like her. I told her all about you. I told everyone all about you,” he clarifies, grinning.
I blush a little. “Good.”
“She loves your music.”
“Aw, that’s nice,” I say, feeling better.
“And she’s a classically trained violinist.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” I say. “A couple of times.”
“Oh,” he says, frowning. “Well, I just think you have a lot in common. I mean, she’s older, but she writes her own songs, moved to Nashville, then LA. Maybe we can all meet up the next time she’s out here.”
“Do you always get close with the artists on tours?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. I take a drink of water as he studies me and try to keep my features smooth and my face expressionless.
“No,” he says, drawing the word out.
The Pause.
Ugh, no! The Pause.
“You know, speaking of meeting up, I’d love for you to meet Devyn,” I say, changing the subject.
“Oh.” He takes a bite and looks out the window. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’m heading back to Nashville tomorrow for a while, but I’m sure I’ll be back and forth a couple of times before Christmas,” I say. “Don’t you get a break around Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah, but then I’m going out with the Genuine Scoundrels.”
“Right, I know, but we can see each other if we time it right. And maybe we could all go to Makana or something,” I say, perking up. “Devyn could bring some of her friends, maybe Bria and Bridget, or no, even better, she knows Zac Efron and Jennifer Lawrence. I don’t know who, but she would definitely tweet about it to all her fans.” The more I think about the idea, the more excited I get. “The paparazzi might even show up. Wouldn’t that be the best press for the restaurant?”
I look at Kai expectantly, but he doesn’t seem nearly as excited as I am about the idea. “Um, I don’t know that they’re desperate for business or anything.”
“No, of course not,” I say, a little stunned. “That’s not what I meant. I just think it’d be cool to meet up there. And I could meet your folks again, I mean, officially.”
“I’m definitely going to introduce you to my parents, Bird,” Kai says. He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. I smile, not wanting to make things weird, but I don’t understand why he’s not more eager to meet my friends.
When he turns his focus back to his plate, I do the same, my mind going a mile a minute. I think about my conversation with Devyn, about Kai being older and not wanting to wait forever to have sex. I think about all this time he’s spent with Astrean, this sexy woman with a sultry voice who also happens to be a violinist but is “classically trained”—blah. As I chew, I sneak glances at Kai and want those moments on the beach again, that pure joy of seeing each other after so long, of being so happy. Devyn is right; I need to be sexier.
I take a deep breath. “When we’re finished, you want to go to my room and watch a movie?” I keep my chin down the way I’ve seen Devyn do a thousand times, her hair falling over one eye and her head just slightly tilted.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d let me hear some of the new stuff you’re working on.”
“Oh,” I say, pleasantly surprised. “Definitely.”
He picks up my hand from the table and kisses it. “Are you finished?”
I nod and follow him into the kitchen with my plate, but he shoos me away. “I’ll clean up. You go get your guitar.”
“Okay,” I say, but I stand
behind him, wrapping my arms around him as he starts rinsing the plates. I thought it would be hot—I always see Devyn wearing guys like shawls in photos, their arms wrapped around her tightly—but I just feel awkward. Kai’s back stiffens, like he’s bent too far over the sink. I pull away. “I’ll meet you on the balcony,” I say.
On the way to my bedroom, I unplug my phone, not at all surprised to see messages from Stella and Devyn. I texted them both a pic of Kai and me on the beach, back when I expected tonight to be perfect and not, I don’t know, a little awkward.
Stella wrote back first:
OMG that’s so sweet.
I write back:
He made me dinner.
and then check the text from Devyn:
OMG tap that! lol #sohot #Iwillifyouwont
I roll my eyes. Leave it to Devyn to use hashtags in a text. And she’s not exactly helping. A reply from Stella comes through:
Dying. Turn off your phone and have fun!
Followed by another text:
Then call me in the morning with all the deets!
I start to text her about how weird things got toward the end of dinner, but Kai knocks on my door frame. “Bird?”
“Oh, hey, sorry,” I say, sliding my phone into my pocket.
“I like your room,” he says, walking in and looking around, and I realize for the first time that he’s never seen it before. When he stops in front of my old Hatch Show Prints posters and photos of Johnny Cash, June Carter, and Loretta Lynn, the appreciation is evident on his face. “These are so cool, Bird.”
I walk over and grab his hand with both of mine, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Yeah, I brought those from home.”
“A little country with the city,” he says, nodding. “Really cool. Johnny Cash was sort of a country revolutionary, you know? Nonconformist. Dark.”
“Your kind of guy?” I ask, amused.
“Exactly.” He kisses me on the lips—a quick peck—but I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back in. He is slow to respond, but as I run my hands down his spine, he shivers and wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight. Before I know it, he is leading me back toward my bed, and I marvel at how suddenly we feel like “us” again, at how quickly the disconnect vanishes. We need each other. Maybe Devyn was right: I need to show him how I feel.
“I missed you so much, Kai,” I say as we sit on my bed.
“I missed you, too,” he mumbles through the kisses. His lips barely leave mine. His hands are everywhere.
“Kai, I…” I start to say it—the L-word—but then I chicken out. “I really missed you.”
“Bird,” he says, looking into my eyes. “I really missed you, too.”
Okay, so this is it, I think as he kisses my neck and squeezes my thigh. I grip my hands around his shoulder blades, holding on tightly, my breathing shallow. As he lays me back, a loud thump from upstairs shakes the chandelier above me.
“Agh!” I scream.
“Bird!”
“Sorry,” I say, extremely embarrassed. I cover my face with my hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I just—that totally scared me.” I peek up at him. “I’m sorry.”
Kai hangs his head. Then he leans back on his palms and clears his throat. “We probably shouldn’t be in your room, huh?” he says, getting up from the bed. “I mean, since your folks are right down the hall and everything.”
Desperate to save the moment, I look up at him and say in what I hope is a sultry voice, “Afraid they’re going to catch us?” Immediately, I know I just made things worse.
He looks at me strangely. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh.
He stands a few feet away from me and I stay put on the bed, not really knowing what to say or do next. I have never felt more awkward. Finally Kai’s eyes land on my guitar and he walks toward it. “You were going to play me something, right?” he asks as he picks it up.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”
I grab my journal and follow him out to the living room. We settle on the couch and I start tuning, avoiding all eye contact. Not only did I just embarrass myself—again—but tonight is not going at all the way I’d imagined. Plus, I’m incredibly nervous about some of my new stuff, especially the pop undertones that I know Kai won’t like. I decide to play the song I wrote the other night, hoping like crazy that he’ll approve. Out of the very little new material I’ve come up with, it’s the only one I’d categorize as mellow.
“You excited about the CMAs?” he asks, breaking the silence as if everything were perfectly normal.
If he’s willing to pretend the bedroom fiasco didn’t happen, I’m on board. “I can’t wait,” I answer truthfully.
“I’m so proud of you, Bird. Really. It’s incredible.”
I don’t know why it’s so important to me that Kai see my music as “legit,” why I feel so desperately that I have to prove myself to him, but this compliment means the world. I feel my shoulders relax. “I hate that I can’t bring you as my date,” I say, looking up at him with a frown, “but Anita thinks it’d be better for me to take my dad. You know, with the whole firing-him-as-my-manager thing. Shows there’s no ill will.”
“Hey, I totally get it,” Kai says. “It’s really not my scene anyway.”
I pause a sec, gritting my teeth as I move the capo on the fretboard of my guitar while his words sink in. I get it already, I want to say, my world’s too “mainstream.” But isn’t loving someone showing up when you don’t want to and having an open mind to the tastes of the other person? Doesn’t it mean being so proud of the person you love that you shout it from the mountaintops, not caring what your too-cool friends think? Aren’t you supposed to love the other person the way they are instead of trying to change or diminish them?
“Bird, are you okay?” he asks.
I snap out of the argument I’m having with him in my head and meet his cocoa eyes. He is completely oblivious to my anxiety. He didn’t mean anything by his comment, and in all honesty, he’s probably right. As much as I want him to be on my arm at the CMAs, I take in his skinny black jeans and bright graphic tee, his faux-suede Clarks, and bold wristwatch, and realize it’s probably the last place he’d want to be. He’s not a country guy and not a musician, which makes me think of a guy who would be the perfect date for an event like the CMAs: Adam.
Of course he’d probably rather go with Kayelee Ford.
I shake my head and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I want to be present. As I start to strum, I focus all of my energy on the song. “This is rough,” I warn Kai. “It’s something I just wrote this week and it needs work, but I hope you like it.”
The Pause.
“ ’Cause I wrote it for you,” I admit, feeling my cheeks redden. Before he can say anything, I start singing:
“You—
Got me wrapped, you
Got me rolled, you
Got me restless.
And you—
Got me waiting every day.”
I glance up at Kai, who is actively listening, his forehead creased in concentration, but he’s not nodding or smiling, which kind of freaks me out. I keep singing:
“You—
Got me hooked, you
Got me hung up, you
Got me helpless.
Then you—
Had the nerve to go away.”
I really liked the song, but now that I’m singing it live—to the very person it was written for—I am way more nervous than I ever was in any of the sold-out arenas.
I glance up as I start the chorus and Kai smiles at me. Ah. I am flooded with relief and I feel my body unwind. Just that smile of his, it gives me everything I need. I sing with strength, with confidence, enjoying myself as I belt the hook:
“And I—
Knew better than to fall in love.”
I beam at him:
“But you—
Make it worth being in love.”
I bend over my guitar and all self-doub
t vanishes as I lose myself in this moment. I basically just told Kai how I really feel and my heart feels like it could grow wings and fly around the room. I can’t control it. I just told him how I feel. For me, music was always something that brought people together, and right now, I am bursting with joy. Kai is finally here. A song is finally working. All is right with the world.
Then, before I start the next verse, his cell phone rings.
“Oh God, Bird, I’m so sorry,” he says, scrambling to get it out of his front pocket. I keep strumming for a minute, but the look on his face when he sees the caller ID shows that he’s clearly conflicted. “Bird, I should… um…”
“No, no, answer it,” I say, the euphoria instantly gone as I slap my strings quiet. “Really. This one is so new and that’s all I’ve really got anyway.”
He looks at me skeptically, glancing down at my journal, but I close it and look away as his phone rings for the third time. The silence between the rings is resounding. Finally, he lets the call go and we sit in stillness until a voice mail alert sounds. I try to swallow back the lump in my throat and focus on the rounded edges of my pick in an attempt to cover up the stinging sensation in my eyes.
Kai takes a deep breath. He gently pulls the guitar from my hands and lays it against the wall. “I’m sorry, Bird,” he says. “I didn’t want you to stop. I just—that was about a job—” He shakes his head. “Whatever. I’m sorry. That was rude and I’m sorry.”
The Road to You Page 17