"That's a relief." He walked to the kitchen. I followed him.
I sat on the counter, dangling my legs while he put the first meal in.
"You know the best three words in the English language, Price? The ones that make everything simple and easy?"
"My guess would be ‘I love you'."
He rubbed my legs. "You're batting outside the ballpark, baby. In fact, I'd say you're using the wrong kind of ball. Those are the most complicated and least easy words."
"What then?"
The microwave buzzed. Evan put in the second meal and threw me the empty cardboard box.
"Read it yourself."
I looked down then back at him, completely confused.
He didn't make me guess again. "Heat. On. High."
"Heat on high are the three best words? Really?"
"There's none of that heating at fifty percent, taking it out, stirring shit, putting it back in. Taking out the brownie. Why do you always have to take out the brownie? What's that shit about? You know how hard it is to get a frozen brownie out of a plastic container?"
"I wouldn't know. I don't eat a lot of frozen dinners."
"I do, and I really appreciate the concept of heat on high."
I wasn't sure if he meant it as some deep metaphor or we were really just having a conversation about convenience foods and their cooking requirements.
We took our seats again and I had to admit that for a frozen meal, it did look tasty on the white china.
"Next time, I'll cook," I offered.
"You only have chocolate and chips at your place."
"You forget about the fruit, Evan. Don't worry, I'll go shopping."
"I wasn't worried. When?"
"Sunday. Our night off."
"Sounds good."
I closed my eyes, realizing I had plans on Sunday. "I forgot, I'm having dinner at my mom's house with the family."
It happened so quickly, I didn't know if I'd imagined it, but I saw a flicker of disappointment in his face. "Another time then."
I smiled as the idea came to me. "Why don't you come with me?"
He chuckled as if I'd made a joke. "I don't think so."
"I get it. You're scared."
Evan's expression read like offended amusement. He jabbed a finger against his chest. "You think I'm scared to meet your family? Honey, I toured with Rob Zombie. I've swerved my motorcycle at ninety miles into oncoming traffic when a couch flew off the truck in front of me. And I've run with the bulls. I'm not scared."
"In Barcelona?"
"Nah, in East Texas. I worked at a rodeo for a spell and the bulls got out."
"What did you do?"
"Ran like hell. Point is, I did it and now I own the bragging rights."
"Imagine doing all that and not having the balls to come meet my family."
"Billie Marie, hold up and un-reverse your psychology. My balls are plenty big."
Yes they are. "I promise you, I don't have any devious plans. We're friends. That's what we'll tell them."
"Why do you want me there?"
"I think you'll have fun."
He sighed, mashing his fork into the potatoes. "I'm not the guy you bring home."
"You don't know my family. They aren't judgy and they'll love you. Hell, I think you'll probably fit in better than I do."
"Are you trying to be funny, Price?"
"Serious as Seventeen Years Locust."
He whistled real low. "You know you're a Rob Zombie fan if you can name that song."
"My mom's a fan."
He paused his fork mid-air, waiting for me to tell him I was kidding.
I wasn't.
"I wasn't scared about meeting your family before but now I kind of am."
"Either way, that's got to make you curious. So should I tell Mom to set another place setting or what?"
"Thanks for the invite."
I bit my bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable end of that sentence.
"I'll go."
I tried not to act too excited. "Cool," I said, feigning nonchalance, except it came out all high-pitched, school girl, giddy.
I glanced around the room, because otherwise he'd see how happy I was. I didn't want him to see that. It wouldn't do either of us any good. His apartment looked like the inside of a freezer, with its barren white walls. "Have you ever thought about putting up a few pictures? Maybe try to make it homier in here?"
"Why make it something it's not? Besides, I don't stay in one place long enough to bother with it."
Those words sliced into my heart, tearing it just a little. I tried not to think of his statement. I focused on the trees I'd seen while shopping today. The leaves were just budding. We had a lot of time left.
I should have talked about the weather or music or a hundred other things. Instead, I asked a dumb question that I really didn't want the answer to. "How does this nomad thing work, Evan?"
"What do you mean?"
"How do you carry all your stuff on the motorcycle, for one?"
"I don't. I take only what I need, which isn't very much."
"You don't take your guitar?"
"When I say I don't have any ties, it works for possessions as well as people."
"But don't musicians prefer to use the same instrument?"
He shrugged. "Some of them. Personally, I don't care. I usually pawn and buy new ones in the next place-one acoustic and one electric. As long as it's a brand I like, I can make it work."
I crossed my arms. "I don't buy that. What about your Harley? You love it. That's a possession." I wondered if I was trying to convince him or myself.
"I do love it, but it's the fourth one I've had over the years. It's not always practical, depending on the weather and location. I trade it in for a used car sometimes. If I'm going on tour with a band, I don't need transportation at all."
I took a long sip of my water, trying to absorb what it must be like not to care about anything enough to own it. "I guess you really don't hold on to anything." All the joy had evaporated from my voice.
"You feeling sorry for me, Price?"
"No," I said out loud, even though my heart was moving up and down, nodding a big yes. "I just think it's sad. People need to hold onto things, especially other people."
"What you call sad, I call freedom. I wouldn't have it any other way."
I lost my appetite as I swallowed down his statements and their underlying meaning. Evan's preferences were not only because he didn't want to own anything or anyone. He didn't want anyone owning him either.
Chapter Nineteen
I sat cross-legged on my bed with my laptop open. I punched the keys, but the words didn't make much sense. Nothing made much sense with him leaning against my headboard in nothing but boxer briefs, a guitar sitting across his lap. I turned my head, watching as he restrung it and tested it.
He flipped his arm, revealing the scripted words I caressed every night before falling asleep.
"When do we have to be at your mom's?" he asked, without even looking up.
"We have a few hours."
"How's the writing going?"
"Um … just taking a break. How's the restringing?"
"Finished." He demonstrated by playing a sexy rift. "Nice and tight-just the way I like them."
"I'm jealous."
He laughed, crooking his finger toward me, a fire in his warm brown eyes. "Want to play?"
I nodded, shut my laptop, and set it on the floor before crawling toward him. I ran my fingers through his thick hair and kissed him clumsily. He rolled us so I was on my back. He kissed my neck and nibbled on my earlobe. He needed a shave and I was happy he did-the stubble on his face drove me wild. I squirmed against his touch.
"He wondered why she kept moving around as if she wouldn't allow herself to surrender to him." His deep, raspy voice and panty-melting words caused me to squirm harder. He was a brilliant narrator.
"If he wanted her to be still then he would need to tie her up because she couldn't lie quietly under the spell of his touch."
Evan lifted his head from the crook of my neck, a wicked smile crossing his lips. "Is that a request?"
I shrugged, not sure what had prompted the sentence in the first place.
"I need a definitive answer, Billie Marie."
"Yes."
"You got a few scarves?"
"No," I said, disappointed. I hated wearing them, but hell, they'd come in handy right about now. "Do you have neckties?"
"Do you think I have neckties?"
"I guess not."
"This is BYOP, Billie."
"BYOP?"
"Bring your own props."
He sat on the bed and looked around my room. "But don't worry, I've got an idea." He walked over to the curtains and removed the tie-backs.