Текст книги "The Unidentified Redhead"

Автор книги: Alice Clayton

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

God damn the luck.

***

I tore through Holly's outer office, pointing Sara back into her chair when she tried to get up. I was seething mad. It didn't matter that I had nailed, and I mean freaking nailed my audition. All my anger, all my angst, all the hurt that I didn't even know was still in there was channeled into my performance and I'd been only slightly pleased when I saw Michael's reaction. He was stunned.

I was just mad.

I slammed into Holly's office, where she was on the phone. Her eyes went wide when she saw me, and I heard her say,

"Tom? I am going to have to call you back. Yes, love to Katie. Yes, OK, bye." She hung up the phone. We stared at each other like a Mexican standoff.

Cue tumbleweeds.

"Are you kidding me?" I said quietly.

"All right now, listen. I didn't know that he—"

"Are you kidding me?" I repeated, my voice beginning to rise.

"Look Grace, settle down," she responded, her pitch mimicking my own.

"Are. You. Kidding. Me?" I yelled, breaking down. I sank into a chair, hysterical sobs breaking over me like a tsunami. All the crap from behind that wall came out, and all over the floor of her office.

She let me cry, handing me tissues when my nose started to run. She knew me well enough to just let me wade through it. When my sobs began to sound merely pathetic rather than anguished, she began to talk.

"First, Grace, I had no idea he was the same guy. It's a common name. Second, I had no idea that you were still so upset over him. I thought you had let all that go. Third—"

I interrupted her. "I didn't know I was still so upset, but seeing him—"

"Third…you got the part," she said quietly.

There was silence as I digested what she just said.

"What?" I asked, unsure that I had really heard her right.

"You heard me," she said.

Holy Shit.

"What?" I asked again, a smile beginning to break through.

"You got the part," she said, starting to get a little loud.

"Say it again," I said, really smiling now.

"You got the mother fucking part!" she now screamed.

"Holy shit!" we both screamed together.

Sara came running. We were jumping up and down, screaming, and I had snot running all over my face. She backed out again quickly. I got the part. I got the lead in a musical. I got the lead in a musical that was being workshopped on Broadway.

On Broadway.

In New York.

In New York.

But what about…

Shut it.

I pushed it away and felt the happiness.

***

We had already started to figure everything out, and when we looked at a calendar and compared the dates, we were stunned to realize that I would have to leave for New York in ten days.

Ten days.

We began to plan. First, I was pulled out of the showcase. We called my scene partner and explained, and being a true professional, he was happy for my new job and wished me luck. Holly knew another actor that could step in for me and partner with him, no problem.

Second, I needed a place to live. Holly called an agent she knew well in New York who worked a lot with stage actors and they assured me that they could find something temporary near the theater. Until then, I would be staying at a hotel.

Third, I had a house that I hadn't even moved into yet. I had most of my things in storage and the rest at Holly's. The contractors were almost finished with everything. In fact, Chad had given me a move in date of early next week. I would move in just to move back out again.

Most of the new furniture had already been ordered and was due to begin arriving tomorrow. Chad agreed to sign for all deliveries and I would worry about placing the furniture later, as long as they were moved into the right rooms.

Finally, I had to tell the Brit.

It wasn't as if we had known each other that long, and while yes, we seemed to be getting along famously, there had been no declarations. There had been no awkward conversations or uneasy confessions. We hadn't defined anything, simply because there was nothing to define. We were at the very early stages of whatever this was, and there really was nothing more to say.

Sure Grace, it's indefinable. Stop thinking about him for ten minutes, even five minutes. You can't do it.

It was true. He had gotten inside the walls and wasn't budging. Whether or not this was too early, this was going to suck.

***

Later that night, I had finished dinner. Holly was out with a client and I had the house to myself. Jack was working on his reshoots and I had missed a call from him earlier. His voicemail was sweet. I might have listened to it three times.

"Hey, Crazy. I have no idea what time I'm going to get out of here, probably pretty late. Lane, back off…no, you don't know her…oh, piss off, will you…sorry about that. Do you want me to come by tonight? It could be after two. Let me know. I don't want to wake you. Is it crazy that I want to see you, though? Ah, Nuts Girl…right then. Speak to you later…it's me, George, by the way." Click.

It's me, George, by the way…funny

I did want to see him, no matter what time it was. Now that I knew I had ten days, I seemed desperate to see him as much as possible. I found myself being drawn to my laptop. I still had not Googled the Brit. It was time.

I started with images…nice. He really was so pretty. A lot of the expressions in all his pictures were somewhat weird. He did have a lot of pictures with that signature smirk, that Johnny Bite Down that I found impossible to resist. And why would I, really?

Then I moved on to the fan sites…there were a lot. Then I You-Tubed his ass. I watched his interviews, I saw his paparazzi shots and I saw the videos fans had made about him. I even watched interviews from when he was in His Better Half, which was the small independent film he had shot before being cast in Time.

As I watched, I became more and more sad. He was so freaking great. He was exactly the same way in real life as he was in all those interviews. He was so adorable with the press. I could tell he was really nervous but very honest.

I had no idea he had such a fan base. I had no idea these stories were as popular as they were. He'd had a nice respectable career up until now, but once he was cast as Super Sexy Scientist Guy? He really was about to be huge.

What the hell was he doing with me? Was he with me? Did I want him to be with me?

Of course you do.

Ah, and here was Jack out on the town. Mostly he was photographed with other scruffy hipster guys, all with ball caps as well. Did I miss the memo about ball caps? Then a few pictures with a brunette…wait a minute, there were more than a few with this brunette, and on separate occasions.

I found one with a caption.

"Newly cast Time hunk Jack Hamilton and actress Marcia Williams still refusing to acknowledge their relationship." Huh. Curious. Well, it's not as if he didn't have a past before me. I mentally pushed this tidbit away and resumed my cyber stalking.

It was late. I ran through the shower quickly, just in case Jack did come over. I put on the t-shirt that he had left behind; it was huge on me. I slipped under the covers and watched Golden Girls. I sent him a quick text before succumbing to sleep.

Hey, George by the way, yes. Definitely come over.

Gracie

***

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being cradled to a warm chest and kissed repeatedly.

"Hmm? What?" I asked stupidly, opening my eyes.

"Shhhh, go back to sleep, Grace. It's just me," I heard my Brit say. I smiled through my sleep.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself," he whispered, turning me on my side and pressing me into his nook. His hands slipped under my shirt and he ran them up and down my back. He kissed my hair and started to soothe me back to sleep.

"How did your reshoots go?" I started, but he stopped me.

"It's late. We can talk in the morning…go back to sleep," he shushed me again. This time I listened. I drank in his scent, my own personal S'more, and drifted back to sleep.

The last thing I heard him say was my name, whispered with contentment.

***

3:17 a.m.

I woke up hearing a phone vibrate on the nightstand. It was on Jack's side. He rolled towards me, away from the offensive sound, still asleep as it vibrated even louder.

"Ugh," I mumbled, crawling over him to turn it off. The sound was driving me crazy. I was laying across his chest, trying to get to it. In his sleep, his hands came up to my breasts and he muttered, "Fantastic."

I smiled through my own sleepy haze. He really did love my boobies. I grabbed at his phone and punched at random buttons to turn it off. The room fell blessedly silent.

Yawning, I started to put it back on his nightstand.

His nightstand?

I was putting it back on the nightstand, when I saw that he had gotten a text. Angel Grace and Devil Grace fought for 1.7 seconds…guess who won?

I opened the text, sent from "M".

Hey, where did you go? You disappeared.

I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye…

Marcia

Dammit.

Chapter Seventeen

I did sleep that night, but it was a thin sleep. I tossed about, not caring whether I woke him up or not. But he slept peacefully, totally knocked out.

I thought about what that text might have meant and I went through all of the likely reasons why this girl—the same one he'd been photographed with and publicly questioned about the nature of their relationship—would be texting him at such a late hour. There were many reasons, and most of them were innocent.

I, of course, chose to focus on the not-so-innocent.

Jack had left this Marcia in a bar somewhere after she blew him in the bathroom. Jack had left this Marcia in her bed after fucking her senseless and then telling her he was going to take a piss, but never returning. Jack had left this Marcia at a party, surrounded by all the other naked women he had schtupped that night, neglecting to say goodbye to her personally.

But in the end, I had to let it all go. He owed me nothing, we'd known each other for only weeks and I was leaving.

Of course, what I already knew about him told me that nothing like that had happened. I didn't really honestly think that he had been with anyone else, not in that way.

Still, I would like to meet this Marcia. If for no other reason than to stop referring to her in my head as "this Marcia".

I looked at him, slumbering quietly next to me, his body warming my bed. His arms were wrapped around my waist. His hands were on, as was quickly becoming tradition, my breasts. And I knew that he didn't want to be anywhere else.

Which was troubling because soon all this fantastic was going to have to end. And as all true Scarletts do, I decided to think about that tomorrow. I snuggled back into his arms and tried to put all of this out of my head.

Like I said, I slept, but it was a thin sleep.

***

I was up before Jack and decided to go for a run. I left him a note:

George, I went for a run, be back in an hour. Coffee is downstairs.

If you wait to shower, I'll join you. Then, you know, we can be all kinds of naked.

Gracie

I almost wrote "Love," but I changed my mind at the last minute.

Chicken shit.

Ain't nobody here but us chickens.

As I ran, I thought about how to tell Jack I was leaving. I knew he'd be happy for me and would realize what a tremendous boost this would be for my career. Hell, this would make my career. And we could work something out, right? I mean, he was crazy about me…at least, that's what it felt like. He'd still want to see me when I was back in town. And he'd probably be doing press in New York. We could get together then, right?

Who are you trying to convince?

Then I thought about working with Michael. Shit, this was going to be a nightmare. I knew that I could handle it, I could be a professional. A professional that wanted to remove his balls and wear them as earrings.

Gross.

Obviously, there would need to be some kind of air clearing ceremony, or at least some kind of ass kicking. But as the writer, he had some say in who was cast, and he must have been OK with working with me. Of course he was, he wasn't the one who was left with the smashed up mess of a heart.

I ran faster.

***

When I got home, I noticed that Holly's car was in the driveway. That was weird. She never came home during a workday. I let myself in the back door off the kitchen and heard her talking to someone. Jack must have been up.

I rounded the corner, ready to start kissing on the Brit, when I saw who she was talking to.

"Hey, Grace. Good to see you again."

"Michael! Hi! Holly, look, it's Michael!" I said, surprised into the defensive.

"Yeah, I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to talk, ya know, hash things out," Holly said, offering me some coffee, obviously as a gesture of peace.

The air clearing ceremony would be starting earlier than I'd planned.

I took a moment to really look at Michael; yesterday all I could see was red. He was the same guy I had gone to school with. If anything, age had made him better looking. Curly brown hair, sweet face, deep brown eyes. I remembered those eyes. He was looking at me expectantly.

"Grace, until I talked to Holly, I didn't realize there was anything to hash out."

"Well, I'm not surprised," I started, walking towards him with my finger pointed straight at him. "You left my apartment, never saying a word about what happened, and then all summer you—"

"Uhm, guys? Let's be constructive here. Grace, why don't you take him out on the terrace and you guys can talk there. You don't want to wake our house guest," she hinted heavily, reminding me that Jack was still asleep upstairs.

"Humph. Whatever. Come on, O'Connell," I huffed, taking my coffee and the chip on my shoulder outside. He followed with a twinkle in his eye and a wink at Holly. I saw them both.

Once outside, I turned on him.

"So, let's get this out now and then not speak of it again, shall we?"

"Fair enough. Why don't you start by telling me why you're so pissed about something that happened so many years ago?" he asked, sitting in a lawn chair. I took the seat next to him.

"I don't know. To be honest, I didn't know I was still so pissed. But when I saw you yesterday, it brought all that rejection back and it just slammed into me," I answered, feeling good to finally be able to unload this on him.

"Rejection? What are you talking about? Is that was this is about? I watched you date countless guys, most of them jerks, all through school. And then you jump me at a party, I foolishly tell you how I'd felt about you all those years, and then when I don't instantly propose the next morning, you go back to treating me like your little buddy."

"My little buddy? You were out the door before I even had the sleep wiped out of my eyes! And then you were such a dick to me the rest of that summer!" I yelled, angrily brushing a piece of hair away from my eyes.

"Grace, did it ever occur to you that when I woke up that morning, after wanting to be there like that with you for three years, that I panicked? I mean, come on, you're Grace Sheridan! The fact that you were even interested in me was beyond the realm of possibility! And then when you invited me back to your apartment…oh man, Grace. That night was, well, amazing." He sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in a way that was so familiar to me.

It was like ten years faded away instantly and we were sitting on the campus quad, arguing about Brecht and Stanislavski, like the pretentious theater brats we were. Or arguing about whether to use the fifteen dollars we had between us to buy the new "Toad the Wet Sprocket" album, or keep us in pitchers and chicken wings for two nights.

"If you felt like that, why did you leave? And why did things get so weird for us?" I asked, feeling a wave of nostalgia pass over me that was so strong I could almost smell the Drakkar.

"Because I was twenty-one. Because you were twenty-one. Who knows, who remembers? Because we were idiots." He laughed, and I felt myself begin to relax.

We stared at each other and I saw him, really saw him. I saw the boy I remembered, and now I saw the man he had become. The face was the same, but different somehow. More full, and the facial structure was stronger. His face was a little careworn and the laugh lines that were there, even in college, were etched a little more deeply. His hair was still curly and the eyes full of mischief. He was still the funniest guy I had ever known.

I thought about what he said. Did I treat him like a "little buddy" after we had sex? Maybe, out of self-preservation. And our friendship had cooled so quickly after that.

"Revisionist history…" I muttered.

"What? I didn't catch that."

"Revisionist history. One event, two sides, and over the years it changes and twists into what we need it to be," I said, looking at my old friend.

"And it is history, Grace. It really is." He smiled, taking my hand. I was quiet for a moment, taking it all in.

"You know, it really is great to see you," I said shyly, remembering how much fun we all had together.

"You too." He smiled again. "Oh, come here," he said and pulled me into a big bear hug.

I heard the French door open.

"Grace?" It was Jack, standing there in jeans, once again bare chest and barefoot.

I removed my arms from around Michael's neck.

"Good morning, Hamilton."

***

After Michael went back inside to talk to Holly, I pulled Jack to me for a close hug. He still smelled like sleep, warm and toasty. But his eyes were chilly. He returned my hug, although it felt perfunctory.

"Did you get my note? You must have, you haven't showered yet," I teased, making a show of sniffing his underarm. He gave me a compulsory smile.

"Yes, I got it, and no I didn't yet. Who's the guy?" he asked. Wow, he went right for it.

"His name is Michael, and he's an old college friend. I haven't seen him in years."

"A friend, a college friend. OK." He nodded, his face relaxing just a touch.

"And, he's also a writer. In fact, he wrote the show that I had the meeting about yesterday, and I—"

"Oh, hell, Grace, I wanted to ask you about it last night, but you were so sleepy. How'd it go?" His face was animated again as he asked me about my audition.

"Well, it went well. Very well, in fact. I…I got the part," I answered quietly, looking at him with a hesitance. His face broke into a huge grin.

"Grace, that's brilliant! Well done!" he shouted, sweeping me up and swinging me around in a circle. "Oh, love, that's fantastic! I am so proud of you!" he exclaimed, laughing while he twirled me. Then, he stopped, and without setting me down, crushed his lips to mine.

Love? Pride?

I smiled into his kiss, my legs kicking in the air. He finally set me down, hands settled firmly on my ass.

"Now, let's go get some coffee and you can tell me all about it," he decided, taking my hand and walking me into the kitchen.

Shit.

Once we were in the kitchen, Michael looked at our entwined hands and raised an eyebrow to me. He then walked over to Jack and stuck out his hand.

"Hey, man. I'm Michael O'Connell."

"Jack, Jack Hamilton, nice to meet you," he answered as the two shook hands.

Michael looked him up and down and raised his eyebrows again at the lack of clothing Jack had on. I loved that he didn't feel the slightest bit embarrassed that he was considerably less dressed than all of us.

"So, are you staying here with the girls?" Michael asked, nodding at Holly and me.

"Well, I stayed with Grace last night. And Holly loves having me here, don't ya Holls?" He laughed, ruffling her hair.

"Oh, yes, it's just one big whorehouse here and I'm the Madame." Holly chuckled. "Actually, Jack's an actor and I represent him. He has a huge movie about to open this fall."

"Ah, so you and he work together," Michael said. "Grace, playing this one a little close to home, aren't we?" Michael asked, winking at me.

Jack had been in the process of pulling me close to him, wrapping his arm around my waist when he heard Michael. He looked over at him and I felt him tense a little. He pulled me even closer.

"O'Connell, shut up," I teased, pulling away from Jack and crossing over to where Holly stood by the fridge. We exchanged glances and settled against the counter to watch this unfold.

"So, Michael, was it? You're a writer?"

"Yep, I've written for film and TV for years. This is my first musical, but with Grace as my lead, how can I go wrong?" he answered coolly, smiling at me warmly though.

"Well, Grace is amazing, that's for sure," Jack answered back, winking at me.

This was weird.

"How about I make us all some lunch? Who's hungry, I'm hungry!" I said, whirling around and looking in the fridge for something to make for lunch.

I made food for the four of us, although it was a little difficult with a Hamilton stuck to my hip. Honestly, he could not have been more obvious if he'd just peed on me.

While I bustled about making sandwiches, Michael, Holly, and I talked about old times. It really was nice to talk to him again and he was reminding me how much fun we all used to have together. He was telling the story about how one night we all got drunk, snuck into the theater, climbed up through the fly system and went out on the roof.

"Grace, when the cops showed up, you were white as a sheet!" he howled with laughter.

"I was white as a sheet because I had just vomited over the side of the building." I laughed back.

Holly had tears streaming down her face as she remembered. "Oh, God, I forgot about that. You really had trouble holding your liquor then." She grinned.

"You also had trouble holding on to your clothes. You were in your bra when the cops got there. Wow, all that lace," Michael sighed, making a face at me when I swatted him with the dishtowel I was holding.

"Shut up. I was not!"

"Oh, yes ma'am you were. You tried to convince the cops that it was your costume, that you had just performed in Cabaret and it was really a very tiny corset." He laughed.

"That's true, Grace, you were half naked up there," Holly agreed.

We all laughed while I finished making lunch and we settled in to eat. Jack was quiet most of the time and as the meal went on, I noticed he was not making as much of an effort to touch me as he was earlier. I grabbed his hand at one point and he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

He was watching me and Michael.

When Michael and Holly were getting ready to leave, Jack and I followed them to the front door.

"Grace, I'm really glad we got things straightened out. It will be so great spending time with you again. I can't wait for you to move to New York."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I heard Jack's intake of breath and I saw Holly's eyes flash to him. Michael leaned in to hug me goodbye, placing a peck on my cheek. The two of them left through the front door.

I closed it behind them, waiting a little longer than I needed to before turning to face Jack. His face was confused.

"You're moving to New York?" he asked.

"Temporarily."

"When?"

"Nine days."

His face hardened and he spun on his heel, walking upstairs.

***

When I got up to my room, Jack was standing by the bed, furiously making it. I watched him as he worried the sheets up, trying to make them smooth. I went to the other side and tried to help him, but he jerked them out of my hands.

"Thanks, I've got it," he snapped, darting his eyes up to mine. Since I couldn't smooth the sheets, I attempted to smooth this.

"Wow, third morning making a bed and you've almost got it. Nice, Hamilton. Impressive," I joked, retrieving a wayward pillow from the floor. He didn't smile.

He fussed about for another minute and then he finally rounded on me.

"Explain to me why you didn't bother to tell me that this show was in New York?" he asked, frustration showing through.

Is it wrong that I still noticed how hot he was with no shirt on?

"It was only an audition at first and there were so many other actresses up for the same role. I honestly didn't think I had a shot in hell. And then when I found out I was cast, I didn't, well, I didn't know how to tell you." I looked at the ground, suddenly really sad that I was going to be leaving this man, right when things were getting amazing.

"Grace, I know we haven't known each other that long, but hell! This was a fairly big piece of information to leave out." He sighed. I was still thinking about that text from last night and I almost asked him about it when I noticed him pulling up the duvet, upside down. I smiled in spite of myself.

He was throwing a bit of a tantrum and I was reminded of his age. He was my little emo, but the fact that he was obviously upset at the thought of me leaving touched me.

I needed to touch him. I climbed onto the bed from my side and crawled across. I sat on my knees in front of him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I laid my head against his chest and I felt his arms come up around me. That felt better.

"I know…I'm sorry. Is it that hard to believe that I didn't want to tell you? I'll miss you. I've kind of gotten used to you. Who will tell me my tits are fabulous?" I mumbled into his chest, feeling his little hairs tickle at my nose. I could tell I'd made him smile, even without looking up.

"Fucking Nuts Girl. Are you really leaving in nine days?" he asked, his hands skimming along the skin between my tank top and running pants.

"Yep."

"And how long will you be gone?"

"I don't know, it depends on how well the show does, the response it gets. I would say at least ten to twelve weeks," I answered, pressing my face into his skin. He smelled like my bed.

He sighed and was quiet for a moment. He finally bent down and kissed the top of my head. "Right then, let's not get all dodgy about this, this is great news for you. I'm happy for you, Grace. You know that right?" he asked seriously, tipping my face up to his.

"Yes, I know. The timing just sucks."

"I agree, timing is everything." We gazed at each other for a moment, when he broke the silence. "Now, I believe you requested some shower time? I have cleared my morning and am ready to attend to your washing up whenever you are so inclined." He smirked, letting me know this tiny squall had passed.

"Yes, please. I am soooo inclined," I answered back, kissing his stomach and beginning to move south along his happy trail. His hands came up to my hair and twisted it roughly. I started to pull him back onto the bed, his arms propping himself over me as I struggled to undo his button. I unzipped and…

Hello, commando.

"Hey, I just made this bed and you're going to mess it up," he complained.

I looked around at the pillows haphazardly thrown, the sheet trailing out on the side, the upside down duvet, and smiled. "I love that you tried, but what you are an expert at in this bed has nothing at all to do with making it. Now, get down here," I teased.

I heard him mumble, "This is why it's crap to make a bed," as he laid his full weight on me and my legs came up around him.

It was an hour before we made it to the shower.

Then at least another hour before we made it out.

***

That afternoon he told me that he had no real plans for the rest of that week and that, if it would be all right, he would like to "spend as much time with me as humanly possible." Who was I to argue?

So we cocooned. We wrapped ourselves in a little bubble of lust and freaking cocooned. We railroaded right through what should have been our first twenty dates, all in four days time.

We ate at FatBurger for lunch almost everyday; he was a freak for it. I made him go running with me at Griffith Park, but only twice. He had trouble keeping up with me the first time, and the second…well let's just say we went a little George Michael behind a tree.

We drove for miles up PCH. He drove while I sat back relaxing, watching him in his sunglasses, looking sexy as all get out. We listened to music, trading iPods back and forth, playing each other our favorites.

We watched hours of DVD's. We watched The Office—UK and US versions, Flight of the Conchords, and we spent an entire afternoon watching a Corey marathon: The Lost Boys, License to Drive and Stand by Me.

We spent a morning at my new house, helping to place all my furniture. I couldn't believe how beautiful it had turned out and I wasn't even going to get a chance to enjoy it.

We talked for hours. I told him all about my new show and how nervous I was about it. He confessed to me that he was getting a little worried about all the hype Time was creating and whether he would be painted with the same teeny bop brush as other actors the same age.

We were barely sleeping at night, but we managed to sneak naps in each afternoon. We cuddled in my bed, usually with me wearing one of his shirts. It was how he preferred me to be, if he couldn't have me naked.

It always started out with me on my back and Jack draped across my chest. I would scratch his head and he would trace little circles on my arm. His breath would get heavier—I had learned to recognize his sleep patterns. Right before he would really fall asleep, I'd turn on my side and he would fit his body into mine, holding me close against his chest, his arms under my shirt, holding my breasts in his hands.

We stayed in and I cooked for us every night. Holly would usually join us and then retreat to her room as Jack cleaned up. He felt that he should do the dishes since I cooked, and I let him. I found that I could watch him do almost anything and be happy.

We would usually go for a swim after dinner and he kept a bottle of wine on the side of the pool for us while we splashed and played. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he'd make us skinny dip.

We sang songs as if we were at freaking camp. I finally got him to play guitar for me and he was amazing. Watching those fingers all over that guitar with the same tenderness and attention that they gave to me was amazing. And hearing him sing? He had a sweet voice, but rough at the same time. A little mushy, thick and wonderful. He was truly talented, his voice hypnotizing. He played some of his favorites, and some that he had written. He played songs he knew I knew so I could sing along. We were so trite. It was nice. He would strum absently while he watched me get ready in the morning, and when I'd make the bed (I'd taken back this particular duty) he'd write me my own little action soundtrack, his playing mimicking my motions. When he thought I should be moving faster, he played faster.