The Duet(59)

His hair was sticking up in every direction and he was snoring softly, but that only made the scene more endearing.

I laid there watching him for a few minutes, wondering why he hadn’t joined me in the bed or gone back to his room once I’d fallen asleep.





When I woke up again later that morning, he was gone.

…



Jason was quiet when I stepped into his room the next day so that we could continue writing. I took a deep breath in the center of the doorway, but he didn’t look up when I strolled in. He was strumming his guitar with his head down. His guitar pick was wedged between his lips as he concentrated on his instrument.

I stood back, watching him. The chords he was playing weren’t part of our song. I’d never heard the harmony before. It had a gentle, smooth sound, but the moment he noticed me standing there, he clapped his hand down on the sound hole and pulled the pick from his mouth.

“Morning,” he said. His tone was as distant as it’d ever been.

“Hi,” I spoke softly before taking a sip of my tea. I’d skipped the coffee, opting to ease my vocal chords back into action with a little honey and jasmine blend. “How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged, his eyes focused on his guitar. “Not great. You?”

I smiled at the memory of him in my armchair. “Okay.”

He set his guitar down on the stand beside the couch and then folded his hands between his legs. “Have fun last night?”

There it was.

The furrowed brow, the slight frown.

He was pissed that I’d gone out with Derek.

But that wasn’t part of our rules. We were the king and queen of living in the present. We didn’t talk about the past and we didn’t talk about the future. For the last week, Jason and I lived like someone had told us that if we wanted to write the next big hit, we had to have sex everywhere. All the time. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore when I felt him join me in my bed or when I walked into his bathroom in the morning. I’d wait patiently for him to finish brushing his teeth so that I could tear his clothes off. Pretty much every surface of the upstairs needed to be disinfected or blown up. We were getting a little ridiculous, but let me explain something. The way Jason sings, that soulful, deep, crooning — that’s how he had sex. Every time we fell into bed together it felt like he was making love to me, digging the heels of his hands into mine, twining our legs together, teasing every surface of my body until I was sure I’d slipped into a coma.

But then when it finished, we were finished. It felt as if someone flipped a light switch as soon as the sex was over. Either he’d gather his clothes and leave, or I did. We never stayed because it wasn’t part of our silent set-up. We were treasure hunters, thrill-seekers, adrenaline junkies.

So when he asked me that question, it was the first time I was forced to acknowledge what we were doing beyond the moment we were actually doing it in.

“Yes. Derek took me out for drinks,” I answered hesitantly.

He chewed on his bottom lip and stared out through his massive bedroom window. The bottom panel was pushed up and I could feel the breeze blowing through. We sat there in silence for a few seconds and then he nodded.

“Right, let’s get started,” he said, his gaze hovering somewhere far off in the distance.

And that was that. Whatever confusion, anger, or doubt he’d been feeling moments before were completely gone. When he glanced up at me, his brown eyes weren’t clouded over. Rather, they were crystal clear.

Which meant we were back at square one.

Except maybe I wasn’t quite as content with square one as I’d been five minutes earlier.





Chapter Nineteen





Saturday morning, two weeks after I’d first arrived in Montana, Cammie was scheduled to visit and I couldn’t contain my excitement. I’d paired my red boots with cut-off shorts and a white blouse, and I’d even added some matching red lipstick. The outfit, plus the fact that I didn’t bother with my hair in Montana, made me look like a full-on country singer. My dark blonde curls were going every which way as I stood outside of the airport, but I didn’t care. Snap away, paparazzi.

“If you try and step closer again, I’m calling airport security,” Hank warned the group of photographers positioned on the other side of the street. Like a flock of scared pigeons, they scooted back a couple of feet.

I gave him a small smile, but he of course, just nodded curtly as if to say “it’s part of the job, ma’am.” Seriously, someday I was going to set Hank up with a woman who loved the strong, silent type. I laughed just thinking of how terribly awkward their dinner conversations would be.