Текст книги "My Soul to Keep"
Автор книги: Kennedy Ryan
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
She closes her eyes, and the muscles in her stomach tighten under my hand. Her tone, which really is beautiful, sounds stronger. The final note, she holds longer. She hears the difference like I do, and a smile lights her face up.
“It worked!”
“You sound surprised.” My laugh blends with the notes I pick out on the piano. “I do sing for a living. Maybe you hadn’t heard?”
She rolls her eyes and nibbles at her bottom lip.
“I think I may have heard something about you being God’s gift to the stage.”
“Wow.” I have to laugh at that. “Once you get started, there’s snark under that hood, huh?”
Her sweet smile chips away some of the sarcasm.
“I’m just saying. I’m from Georgia, not another planet. Even in my little backwoods town we know you’re one of the biggest names out there.”
“Yeah, that just kind of happened.”
“Things like that don’t just kind of happen for most people, you know?”
“I’m not saying I didn’t work hard at it. I did. I just didn’t know if I’d ever perform professionally again. When I graduated from high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I knew it had something to do with music, of course, but not exactly what. So I taught voice here with Grady for a while before going to Full Sail for production.”
“Are you kidding?” She grins at me. “I had no idea. So that’s why you two are close.”
“Yeah. That and the fact that he’s my uncle.”
“No way.”
“He and my father are twins.” I link my hands behind my head. Talking about my father usually makes me want to play less, which is why it took me close to seven years to play again professionally after I left his house.
“Twins? Grady’s a twin?” She shakes her head. “He’s never talked much about his family.”
“Yeah, well, we aren’t exactly the Brady Bunch, and they aren’t close anymore. Thanks to me.”
“To you?”
“You’ve heard that I emancipated from my parents, right?”
She looks like she doesn’t want to admit it, but she nods.
“Yeah.”
“Well, the judge may have ruled that I was basically ready to live on my own, but Grady knew better. I came to live with him and went to the L.A. School of Performing Arts for my last two years of high school.”
Without realizing it, I’ve started playing Tchaikovsky’s Romance in F Minor. Even my subconscious wants to seduce her.
“It’s like breathing for you, isn’t it?” She runs her eyes over the ebony and ivory keys.
“Sorry?” I sit back and drop my hands to my lap for a few seconds before returning to the keys. “What?”
“Playing. It’s like breathing. You’re playing something so beautiful, and it’s like you’re not even conscious of it. Like it takes nothing for you to do.”
How do I admit she’s right without sounding like an arrogant prick? I don’t remember a time when I couldn’t play. I don’t even remember a time when I wasn’t good at it.
“I guess it is like breathing. It’s just an extension of who I am.”
“Oh, give me a break.” Grady strolls back into the room, pocketing his cell phone. “It’s just an extension of who I am.”
He actually does a frighteningly good imitation of me.
“What a load of crap. Don’t listen to him, Kai,” Grady says. “It’s one of his lines to pick up girls.”
She grins. I don’t. I want to strangle Grady when she picks up the invoice and heads for the door. Does she believe it was just a line?
“I don’t think that even occurred to him, Grady.”
She’s wrong. It definitely occurred to me. I’d have to be dead not to want to sleep with this girl, but it doesn’t have to be now. I think I can wait. I think I want to know her first.
Damn. What’s wrong with me? I want to know her first? Who is this guy?
“I’m almost done.” She waves the invoice in the air and moves toward the door, giving us only her back. “San’s on his way to pick me up. I’ll let myself out.”
As soon as she’s a few seconds down the hall, Grady turns to me with his eyebrows bunched together.
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“I don’t remember actually agreeing to anything.”
“We said you’d leave Kai alone.”
“No, you said I’d leave Kai alone.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Besides, we were just talking.”
“I’ve seen where ‘talking’ can lead. She’s been through enough without dealing with you.”
“What’s she been through?”
“Her mother, who she was very close to, passed away only about six months ago, right before she moved here. It was a long illness, and Kai was her main caregiver. It took a lot out of her. In a lot of ways, she’s still not over it.”
I haven’t spoken to my mom in . . . damn, years . . . but if anything happened to her, I’d take it hard. I imagine Kai had a less dysfunctional relationship with her mother. Shit, the Addams Family is less dysfunctional than mine.
“What’s up with her and the guy?”
“Santos?” Grady slips his glasses back on and takes the composition pad away from me. “Oh, they’re very close.”
My shoulders tense as I wait for more, but he’s not giving me more. He wants to lure every question out of me.
“Yeah, they’re close. I picked up on that. Are they just friends though?”
Grady shrugs, tapping his chin with a pencil.
“Maybe I should try a different key.”
“Grady, come on. Toss me a bone here.”
“Why should I?” He drops the pencil, along with any pretense that he doesn’t know exactly what I want. “There are plenty of girls out there more than willing to play your games.”
“Who says I want to play games? I just want to get to know her.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to sleep with Kai?”
Well, he just put that right out there, didn’t he? It should be awkward, him being my uncle and all, but I did live through my out-of-control adolescence under his roof. He did buy me my first condoms. We left awkward behind long ago.
“Grady, I just met the girl last night. Give me some time. Maybe start with coffee.”
“I’m just saying what’s the point? She’s very driven. Very focused, and not one of these girls looking for anything she hasn’t earned. So just let her go her way, and you keep going yours.”
“Do you really think that little of me?”
“I just think that much of her. She hasn’t been in L.A. long. Moved here from the backwoods of Georgia. She needs protecting.”
“And you’re her designated protector?”
“I seem to remember someone else who needed looking after when he first moved here.” The stern lines of his face soften just a bit. “Wasn’t I that for you when you needed it?”
Grady just played his trump card. He knows I can’t, or won’t, argue with that. I got nothing.
“So now do we have an agreement?” Grady picks up the pencil and poises it over the song we haven’t worked on yet. “You’ll leave this one alone?”
I nod and start reworking the measures he’s been wrestling with, but I don’t say the words. Another lesson I learned from my parents the hardest of ways. Don’t make promises you aren’t sure you can keep.
I PUSH BACK THE CURTAIN OF Grady’s living room window for the hundredth time and check my watch. It’s so unlike Santos to be late. If he’s not here soon, I’ll be late for my hip-hop class. I hate the thought of my girls standing around waiting for me at the community center. I’m just about to call Santos one more time, when my cell rings. It’s him.
“Where are you?” I can’t even bother with a decent greeting.
“I’m sorry, pipsqueak.” Santos sounds irritated and apologetic at the same time. “Some guy rear-ended me.”
My heart completely shifts gears, concern swallowing any impatience.
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. Still about thirty minutes away, and the cops want me to stay on the scene. I don’t want you to be late.”
Grady and Rhyson enter the room, laughing and talking. I turn my back, blocking them out of my conversation as much as I can.
“I’ll be fine, San. Just focus on that, and I’ll figure it out.”
I’m already calculating how late I’ll be if I have to wait for the next bus, and how every stop will further delay me getting to class on time.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this happ—Hold on.” His voice grows fainter like he’s turned his head. “Hey, it’s the cop.”
“Go. I’ll figure it out. I’m just glad you’re okay. Text me once everything settles down.”
Grady walks over to me, concern on his face.
“Everything okay with Santos?”
I focus on Grady, keeping my eyes off Rhyson, who stands back, observing our conversation, arms crossed over his chest. I will not notice the subtle bulge of his biceps pulling at the sleeves of his T-shirt. I will not remember the heat of his hand on my stomach or his finger caressing my belly ring. Or the way his, “May I touch you here?” pierced my peace of mind back in the music room.
“San was in a car accident, but he’s fine. He just has to stay at the scene.”
“He was taking you to class?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay. I’ll catch the bus to the community center.”
“You’ll be late.” Grady pulls the keys from his pocket. “I can take you.”
“No way.” I shift the bag on my shoulder and start inching toward the door. “Emmy’s coming. I want you two to have a great time. I’ll just take the bus.”
“I could take you.” Rhyson breaks his watchful silence for the first time.
My traitor heart stutters at the thought of spending more time alone with him. Grady looks even less pleased about that suggestion than I should be.
“No, I can do it.” Grady pulls out his phone. “Emmy will understand. I’ll just call her and let her know we’ll be a little later than I thought.”
“That makes no sense. You have plans, and I’m free all afternoon.” Rhyson walks to the door, propping it open with his broad back. “Come on, Kai.”
I look from Grady to Rhyson, unsure of what to do. If I take Rhyson up on his offer, I’ll make my class on time. Problem solved. But if I go with him, I might find myself knee-deep in one tall, dark, fascinating problem that I can’t solve.
Rhyson raises both brows and cocks his head toward the driveway.
“If you don’t wanna be late, we’d better go.”
I glance at my watch one more time, as if it has the answer. My girls will be waiting. I can’t afford to miss this class because I need the money. I don’t want Grady missing his date. Should be an easy choice, but the way my breath keeps catching in my throat when Rhyson looks at me complicates the hell out of this situation.
Screw it. Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
I drop my eyes to the floor, and when I look up, a small smile plays around Rhyson’s mouth. He gestures for me to walk past him. Before I do, I lean up and plant a quick kiss on Grady’s cheek.
“I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
He nods, but fixes his eyes on Rhyson at the door.
“Remember what we talked about, Rhys.”
Rhyson runs his fingers through that silky, messy hair and nods, exchanging a look with Grady I can’t begin to decipher. I walk past him and approach the only car in the driveway, the silver Porsche Cayenne that was parked there when I arrived. I didn’t think much of it since there’s always a student, a producer, some friend visiting Grady. The SUV is gorgeous, but not over the top. No butterfly door in sight. It’s not a Ferrari or a Lamborghini Mercy. Maybe I’ve seen one too many episodes of Cribs. Or maybe Rhyson left his Lambo at home.
“Nice car.” I buckle myself in, watching him slip on aviators and adjust his mirror about a millimeter.
“Thanks,” Rhyson says, backing out of the driveway without looking my way again.
I tell him where to find the studio. We should be there in less than twenty minutes, but the first five minutes feel like forever. We ride in complete silence. No music. No conversation. Not even a sigh from either of us.
“So, did you and Grady finish what you were working on?” I finally ask.
Why am I attempting small talk? Back at Grady’s, I was fighting what I felt, resisting the pull of him. Now that he seems to be doing the same thing, I’m stirring the pot. This is what girls do. But not me. Usually.
Rhyson flicks me a glance before looking back at the highway.
“Uh, yeah.”
Okay. That was a dismissal if I ever heard one. This is what I wanted, and yet I already miss the intensity of his eyes on me. I miss his complete attention.
“This car is kind of my namesake.”
Really, Kai? You’re still trying? But I can’t help it. Parts of me that have been numb for months are humming and buzzing every time he looks at me. Every time he talks to me. Even though I have my reservations, now that he’s withdrawn, I find myself drawing him back out just so I can feel those things again.
He looks over at me, one dark brow quirked up.
Damn, that’s sexy. And he’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“I’ll tell you a secret.” I open and close the snaps on my cargo shorts, focusing on my fingers before looking his way again.
“That’s unexpected.” One side of his mouth pulls up, but he doesn’t look my way again. “I’m all ears.”
“My middle name is Anne.”
I wait a few seconds while he assembles that little bit of information into the goofy embarrassment my mother made of my name.
“Your name is Kai Anne?” He looks over at me, a wide grin spreading his lips and showing his teeth. “Like the pepper?”
“And like your car.”
I have to laugh. I can’t believe I just told the guy I was trying to shut down something that has always embarrassed me. I have no one to blame but myself. He was fully cooperating until I started sharing.
“Oh, God. I thought I had it bad with Rhyson,” he says, chuckling.
“I like Rhyson.”
Our eyes connect across the few feet of space separating us, heating up the air and melting his smile a little around the edges
“I mean, the name.” I draw a deep breath. “I like the name Rhyson.”
“I knew what you meant.” He looks straight ahead as he takes the exit for the rec center. “So, did everyone call you Pepper?”
“No one has ever called me Pepper.”
“You’ve got to be kidding? How could they not?”
“Not many people know my middle name is Anne. And my mother didn’t realize the punch line she was making of my name.”
“So there has to be a story behind it. Come on. Fess up.”
“No confession. My mom was Korean, but my grandparents adopted her when she was just days old. She already had a name though. Mai Lin. She wanted me to have a name that at least hinted at her ancestry, even though she couldn’t speak a lick of Korean.”
“Not a lick, huh?”
“Don’t you start that again.” I level a warning finger at him. “Leave the South alone.”
“I’ve spent very little time there, but if all the girls there look like you, I should visit.”
“Wow. You just couldn’t resist the line, huh?”
His mouth quirks. I need to stop noticing all the enticing things he does with his mouth, but I can’t help myself. I’m trapped in this car with one of the most brilliant musicians of my generation, who just happens to have gorgeous bed hair at four o’clock Pacific Standard Time and grey eyes that go a little darker every time he looks at me for more than three seconds.
He pulls into a parking spot at the center, leans one elbow on the steering wheel, and faces me.
“Looks like we’re here, Pepper.”
I open my eyes as wide as they can physically go.
“I told you no one has ever called me that. You cannot. I forbid you.”
“Oh, and I’m so scared of a five-foot fairy.”
I will not smile back at him. As much as my grin muscles strain, I will not.
“Five. Two.”
He throws his head back and laughs, the muscles in his neck working to get the husky sound out.
“Okay, five two.” He looks just past my shoulder at the simple square structure of the community center. “Is there a bathroom in there I might be able to use?”
“Sure. Um, I’ll show you.”
“Wait a second.” He reaches into a compartment between our seats and pulls out a Dodgers baseball cap. “I’m not in the mood to sign any autographs at the urinal.”
“Does that really happen?”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve been asked to sign at the most awkward times in the most awkward places.”
“You think a cap and a pair of aviators make that much of a difference?”
“Oh, I know they do. I’ve literally had people walk up to me and say I look just like Rhyson Gray. I tell them I get that a lot.”
I’ve only known him for a day, and I’m pretty sure I could pick him out of a stadium full of folks wearing baseball caps and aviators. I have to admit though, with that unruly hair covered, at a glance he’s just another tall, attractive guy. We walk together and silence falls between us again. He opens the door for me, and I point him down the hall.
“Bathroom’s down there. I’m gonna go to the locker room and change for my class.” I look up at him, his eyes on me a welcome weight I shouldn’t let myself become accustomed to. “Thank you so much. I didn’t want the girls waiting.”
“The girls in your class?”
“Yeah. They’re your typical pain-in-the-butt teenagers most of the time, but they’re good kids. A lot of them wouldn’t get exposure to quality teaching if it weren’t for the community center.”
“And you’re the quality teacher?”
“I didn’t mean it like—Well, I’ve been dancing my whole life, so I guess I better be a good teacher by now.”
“I taught you something about singing today. Maybe you could teach me a few moves for my next video?”
We both laugh because that’s just ridiculous. He may have transitioned from classical piano prodigy into modern rock star, but he never strays too far from an instrument and a microphone. The idea of him doing any of the moves I’m about to teach my girls is hilarious.
“I’d like to see that. We’re learning a routine inspired by Beyoncé today. You doing those moves . . .”
“You’d make a pretty penny selling that footage to some tabloid. Believe me.”
He laughs, but there’s less humor than before.
“Have you . . . well, has anyone ever done anything like that? Sold a video or whatever?”
“Let’s just say I’ve learned to be really careful about who gets close to me.”
I angle a wry smile up at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t offer rides to strange women.”
The smile drops from his mouth, but lingers in his eyes.
“Some risks are worth taking.”
Some aren’t. He stands about a foot above me in height, but his success positions him in another stratosphere. I know there are girls who would do everything they could to get as close as they can, but I’m not those girls. As good as it feels to talk to him, to share those loaded looks, to laugh with him and see those protective layers he wears fall way, that’s the opposite of what I want. To take advantage of him to propel me forward. I’ll make it on my own, or not at all. He’s a distraction, and a risk I’m not willing to take.
“Thanks again.”
I smile and take off toward the locker rooms. Even though I know he’s still there and that he’s watching me, I don’t let myself look back.
LET THE RECORD SHOW I TRIED.
After that warning look Grady basically fired at me before we left the house, I was determined to keep Kai at arm’s length. Not to go any further with whatever this thing is that keeps flaring up between us. I was downright rude in the car. Completely silent. She started talking to me. She was the one who shared personal, adorable things that only served to increase her desirability rating.
I mean, come on. Kai Anne, she said. Like the pepper. Like your car. You can’t make this shit up.
So it’s basically her fault that I faked a piss so I could see her in action. I’m actually not to be held responsible for the fact that I’m hovering outside the small studio where she’s teaching, just beyond her line of vision, barely keeping her in mine. She’s definitely to blame for my semi-stalkerish behavior. Talk about the irony. I’m hiding behind sunglasses and a hat so I’m not recognized as a celebrity while trailing a girl who no one would know from Adam.
She stands in front of about ten girls. She changed from the cargo shorts and T-shirt she wore earlier and now wears some leotard thing that shows the lean muscles of her thighs and the ridiculous curve of her ass. A tiny YOLO T-shirt looks like it’s been cut in half, hitting just below her high, pert breasts and hanging off one shoulder. She’s built like a cheerleader or a gymnast. A dancer. She has an athlete’s graceful body, one that has obviously been disciplined into delicate strength.
Over the giggles and squeals of the girls, her voice reaches me in the hallway.
“Okay, chicas.” Kai claps a few times. “The majority has spoken, and we’ll be doing a routine inspired by Beyoncé’s ‘711’ video for the talent contest.”
More squealing. Laughing. High-fiving. Thank God I’m not in high school anymore. I fought so hard to go to school with “normal” kids my age. It was a great experience, but once was more than enough. I figured out pretty quickly that I wasn’t missing much.
“I’ve choreographed a routine that I think you’ll like. I know a lot of you are interested in cheering. The video has some of that, and I’ve included those elements.” She walks over to a music system against the wall and plugs her phone in. “I’ll show you the whole thing once all the way through in real time. Then we’ll start breaking it down piece by piece.”
Beyoncé’s voice invades the room. I’ve heard the song on the radio. Then I forget about Beyoncé. I forget about the girls. I forget that at any moment someone could realize who I am and ask me to sign a boob or take a selfie. All I see is Kai.
I realized something pretty early in life. When we’re doing that thing we’re made to do, it transforms us. Elevates us. The high I get from creating and performing has a lot less to do with the applause and fame or money, and so much more to do with me feeling like I’m doing exactly what I was put on this earth to do. That’s what I see when Kai dances. A confidence shines from her eyes. Even her posture changes, straightens. Her movements are crisp and then mellifluous. One moment tight and controlled, but the next, as fluid as water. The routine melds ballet, hip-hop, modern dance so seamlessly, moving from swan to swagger in heartbeats.
When she’s done, the girls run forward and cluster around her, laughing and mimicking the snippets of the routine they caught on to. Kai laughs with them for a moment, her face glowing and alive. Then she claps twice, shooing them back to their positions. For the next hour they slice this elephant of a routine into manageable bites. Manageable for them, at least. All my rhythm is in my fingers. I couldn’t dance my way out of a paper bag.
As class breaks, I don’t think about all the things I could have done with the last hour and a half I forfeited to spend more time with Kai. There’s pressure to write my next album. I’m producing tracks for a few artists. Not to mention needing to check on my investment into Wood, the studio one of my buddies opened not too long ago. All of that seems pretty pale next to this girl’s vivid presence.
She’s a star.
Grady’s hinted before that Kai has the potential to be the next J. Lo or Katy Perry. I’ll go a step farther. She has “one name” potential. Madonna. Cher. GaGa. I’ve only heard her sing a scale and dance one routine, but her potential is glaringly obvious. And it’s not even just her talent. She’s magnetic. That “it” people talk about is so strong in her I can’t believe she’s still processing Grady’s invoices and teaching dance to high schoolers in a community center. There’s nothing else you want to look at if she’s in the room. I know this from personal experience. The right break would catapult her into the fulfillment of all that potential.
While I’m contemplating all of this, the girls one by one drift past me. I slump and drop my eyes to the floor, tugging the brim of the baseball cap lower over my hair. Once the last girl is safely out the door, I walk into the studio. Kai is looking down at her phone with her bag slung over one shoulder, and she doesn’t notice me for a few moments. Then she practically walks right into me.
“Oh.” Her tilted eyes, which I now know are a legacy from her Korean mother, widen, and I see surprise all over her face. “What are you—I thought you . . .”
She peers up at me, a frown settling between her thick brows.
“Rhyson, why are you still here?”
Truth? Lie? Okay, split the difference.
“Well, after I used the bathroom,” I say, leading with the lie and easing into the truth. “I saw your class starting and hung back to watch. Looked like fun.”
The frown doesn’t disappear completely, but she does add a tiny smile.
“So you want to learn some of those moves after all?”
“Oh, no. I’m not doing that . . . what was that roll thing you did with your . . .”
“Body roll. It’s easy. You could totally do it.”
She demonstrates, starting the move at her neck and pouring it over her chest and hips and down the rest of her. I focus on everything from Brussels sprouts to global warming to keep my dick down.
“You overestimate both my ability and my desire to roll my body,” I manage to say.
“You’re probably right.” She grins and glances at her phone again, moving toward the exit. “Well, I need to run. The next bus comes in a few minutes, and I can’t be late for work.”
“More work?” I keep pace with her, determined not to let her make it to that bus stop. “I seem to remember you working at Grady’s and then me driving you to work here. Now, you’re going to another job?”
“Girl’s gotta eat and live indoors.” The smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes sits firmly on her mouth. “I need to run.”
“Hey, how about I take you?” I say casually. “I mean, I stayed. I’m here. Might as well. Where do you need to go?”
Her hesitation makes me hold my breath. Why does it matter so much to me? There are literally a dozen girls I could have tonight. I could swing by Wood. Some groupies would be hanging on while an artist is in the booth. I could hit it. Quit it. Zip and roll. But this one scrambles my brain. I haven’t thought about another girl since I saw Kai last night at Grady’s. I want a little more time, mostly just to sort out what this is. I’m sure it will pass, but it hasn’t yet.
She looks up at me from under these long-as-hell lashes, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth and toying with the end of the braid hanging over her shoulder.
Nah. Kidney stones pass. This girl, I’ll have to work out of my system.
“Okay.” Her face looks less convinced than what she says. “You familiar with The Note?”
“That place off Magnolia?”
“Yeah. That’s my next job. My last for the day.”
Once I’ve opened her door and then settled into the driver’s seat, we’re off. The clock is ticking. I have to tell her that I want to see her again.
Tell me I’m performing on Fallon, no problem. Number one album in the country? Unfazed. But this? Unfamiliar territory. I want to know her, and I can’t remember ever feeling like this before, responding to anyone like this before, so it’s freaking me the fuck out. Next thing I know, I’ll be sliding her a note that says check yes, no, or maybe.
I have to say something.
“So how does a half-white, half-Korean girl from the backwoods of Georgia learn to dance like that?”
Yeah, that’s actually what I came up with. I seem to find inventive ways to insult her every time I open my mouth.
“I just meant that, you . . . well—”
“I know what you meant.” She laughs a little and gives a “Wow, this guy” raise of her eyebrows.
“I’m really not that much of an idiot,” I assure her. “I’ve seen So You Think You Can Dance. I know everybody’s dancing now.”
Her face is half puzzled, half amused. She’s still not sure how to take me. It takes a while.
“That was a joke,” I say. “Apparently not a good one.”
“Oh, so you haven’t seen So You Think You Can Dance?”
“I’ve seen a commercial for it, and from what I could tell, it was a veritable rainbow of contestants.”
Finally we smile at the same time, on the same page.
“I used to get that question a lot, actually,” she says. “I’ve always loved to dance, and I took every class I could get into. It didn’t matter what kind as long as it made me a better dancer. The good ones were a thirty-minute drive one way. My mom drove me every day between shifts at her diner.”
“Grady mentioned that your mom passed not too long ago. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.” A shadow passes so quickly over her face I almost miss it. “It was a long time coming, so we knew, but I still wasn’t ready when it happened.”
“And then you moved here?”
“I was way off schedule. I was supposed to move out here with San right after high school, but when my mom was diagnosed with ALS, I couldn’t leave her.”
It’s quiet again, and this time she’s not trying to break it. Her head is turned to the passenger window, and her arms are folded across her chest. She’s done talking. She’s sitting here, but her mind and everything that counts is somewhere else. Maybe in the past. Maybe on the future. Wherever it is, she’s there alone.
I lean back a little in the driver’s seat, draping my wrist across the steering wheel. We’re almost at The Note, and I’m no closer to defining what I’m experiencing for the first time or to letting her know I want to see her again. I’m not used to chasing any girl. I’ve never had to. Music has pretty much been the silver platter women have been served on for me. And though she’s been friendly, by all indications, Kai’s signaled me that she is not on the menu.
I pull into the parking lot. I’m a waste of space. I didn’t even write a speech when I accepted my first Grammy. Came right off the top, but I can’t tell this girl I want to see her again? Grab your balls and do it, man.
“So, Kai—”
“Rhyson, I wanted to—”
We both laugh a little because after riding so long in silence, we choose the exact same moment to speak.
“Ladies first.”
“I just wanted to say thanks for everything today.” She fiddles with the strap of her bag and keeps her eyes on her fingers. “The reminders about breathing and the compression exercises. Thanks for that, and for chauffeuring me around. I’m sure you had better things to do.”
“Nope. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do.”
She glances up at me and then away, but not before a little bit of a smile breaks through.
“Look, I may not have been lining up for your autograph or anything last night like everybody else, but I do love your music. I’m a fan.”
“Sure you are.”
“I am.”A grin as wide and sweet as licorice spreads across her lips.
“Okay, fangirl. What’s your favorite song?”
“Not the one you think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“You probably think it’s one you won a Grammy for or one of the ones that went platinum, but it’s not. It wasn’t even a radio release.”
