The Duet(86)

4. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a week





The night before the Grammys, I was tossing and turning as my mind worked over every single scenario that could possibly play out during the show the next day. What if the lights cut out? What if my microphone breaks? What if I forget my lyrics during the song? What if a bear gets set loose inside the Staples Center?

As you can see, I was starting to plan for all plausible outcomes.

Which is why I didn’t hesitate to roll over and check my phone when I heard it vibrating on top of my nightstand. I hadn’t been asleep anyway.

Jason’s name flashed across the screen, but I couldn’t fathom why he’d be calling me at midnight.

“Hello?” I asked, holding the phone up to my ear.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“Nope. I was just thinking about the best way to defend myself with a mic stand if a bear was on stage with us tomorrow night.”

He chuckled. “Huh, I hadn’t thought about that,” he admitted. “Come let me in.”

I sat up and glanced around my room, trying to comprehend what he meant.

“Let you in… my condo?” I finished, utterly confused.

“Yes, and hurry, the pizza box is burning my hand,” he said, as if his request was perfectly normal.

I shoved my blankets off my bed and continued to hold the phone up to my ear as I walked through my silent condo. All the lights were off since I should have been asleep three hours before. I flipped the light on in my kitchen and went to the front door.

When I swung it open, Jason was standing there with a boyish smile and the most delicious pizza I’d ever had the pleasure of smelling.

“Well, hello there,” I smiled, pushing the door open wide enough for him to step inside. Then, I promptly stole the box of pizza out of his hands. When I pried it open, my eyes feasted upon cheesy, pepperoni goodness. “Oh sweet, baby Jesus. This smells like crack.”

Jason rolled his eyes and stepped into the kitchen to retrieve two plates as if he joined me for a midnight snack in my condo all the time.

“This is technically off limits,” I said, eyeing the pizza like it had the ability to kill me. Which is theory, it did. But let me tell you, as Jason pulled out that piece of pizza and held it up for me to take my first bite, it tasted pretty damn good. I ate two slices and enjoyed every moment of it. If I had a little flab on my stomach on the red carpet the next day, I’d just let the paparazzi spin it into a baby speculation story— that’d keep them occupied for a while.

“So I’m guessing pizza was a good choice?” he asked with a cocky smile.

I picked up a stray pepperoni from my plate and popped it into my mouth. “Oh yeah.”

He nodded before taking the pizza box to my refrigerator. He could hardly fit it inside among all the fruit and vegetables that my nutritionist had loaded me up with earlier in the week. I swear if I die soon, the cause would be death by vegetables.

“How’d you know I’d be awake?” I asked once he’d shut the refrigerator door and turned back to face me. Now that the pizza wasn’t distracting me, I took in his appearance. He had on a worn black t-shirt and jeans. His arms were sculpted, but not obscenely so. Even still, I had a hard time focusing my attention anywhere else.

“It was a wild guess,” he said simply, meeting my eyes with a grin of his own.

“I technically have to be up in a few hours to start getting ready for the press and everything. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

He leaned forward and propped his hands up on the kitchen counter so that he could support his upper body.

“Well, I guess I should probably go then,” he said, though he didn’t bother actually moving his body.

“Guess so,” I replied with a slow smile that built upon itself the longer he watched me from across the island.

“It’s pretty late,” he said, although he wasn’t looking at his watch. His dark eyes were pinned on me.

I could have told him to leave, but instead I shrugged. “You could stay here if you want, you know, just to make it easier for you.”

He glanced around my kitchen as if I had asked him to literally sleep on the counter.

“I mean, I have a comfortable couch,” I said, pointing to my living room.

His eyebrow arched and he finally pushed himself off of the kitchen island. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh please, get over yourself. You’re not too good for the couch just because you’re a fancy pants singer.”

I’m sure I would have kept on rambling had he not stalked around the island and forced my silence with his lips. Oh, ohhhh. He wasn’t going to be sleeping on the couch because he wanted to sleep in my bed.