“Really?” he asks me, incredulity in his tone and expressed in his face. He looks to me, eyes wide, lips wanting to smile but fearful he’s misinterpreting what I’m saying. He makes me think of a little boy searching for an answer with cautious optimism.
I nod my head shyly, wanting him to see this is possible. That we can figure it all out, take everything that’s been wrong and turn it into our own kind of right. We don’t need to be perfect—we are never going to be and I’m okay with that. Bumps along the road are expected, misunderstandings and miscommunication are a given, but it’s how we move on from there that will make us last.
A shy smile starts to spread on his lips. “Well, if I’m gonna fall, there’s no place else I’d rather land than on top of you,” he deadpans, with such relief in his eyes that I want this with him, whatever this ends up being, more than ever.
The laughter falls freely from my mouth, the one thing I can always count on when it’s him and me.
I guess I took an iron to that piece of paper after all, got rid of most creases. And the ones that remain? I will love them for being there, adding in a little history, telling our story, and reminding me where we’ve been and how we got here.
And when he taps out the beginning notes of Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” on the piano in front of him, the gravity of our day fades away and the poignancy of the moment we’re sharing right now hits both of us. We erupt into another fit of laughter.
He leans in and brushes a tender kiss on my lips, so paranoid to touch me anywhere else for fear it might hurt me. I fist my hand in his hair and as much as my muscles scream, I can’t resist pulling him in closer so that we can lose ourselves in each other, sear the commitment of this moment in our minds and weave it around our hearts.
“When you feel better,” he murmurs against my lips, “I’m taking you on this piano.”
“Still working on finishing the band, are we?” I arch an eyebrow, feeling such a surge of emotion and love for this man before me.
“Sweetness, we’ve got a whole helluva lot of instruments to play yet.”
He places a lingering kiss on my lips that causes that ache to settle deep in my belly. I lean back and look into his storm-cloud gray eyes. “The only Play I want is the one right in front of me.”
Chapter 39
QUINLAN
“So here’s the schedule.” Hawke lays a calendar on the table in front of me. The ocean breeze rustles it some so I take it in my hands and hold it up to look at Bent’s tour schedule over the next few weeks. The cities and venues are marked on each day and then every few days feature bright red asterisks in pen that have no rhyme or reason.
“Thank you,” I say distractedly to the waitress as she sets down my drink. After gazing at the calendar for another minute, I still can’t figure out the red marks that bleed all over the page. “What are …?” My thought trails off when I lift my eyes and meet Hawkin’s.
He’s staring at me beneath the shield of a baseball cap, the bruise on his face almost gone now, and I can see the amusement mixed with love in his eyes clear as day. A soft smile curls up one side of his mouth as the moment stretches on. “Figure it out yet?”
“The red?”
“Mm-hm.” He nods his head and tips back the bottle of beer to his lips. There’s no specific pattern and the closer I scrutinize the dates, they cover over two-thirds of the days on the tour. I look back up at him, eyes narrowed, and shrug. Hawke leans forward and kisses me. “I’m making it count, Trixie,” he murmurs against my lips before leaning back to see my reaction. “I thought you might want to come cause trouble with me.”
My heart squeezes in my chest because my love for him has grown stronger with each passing day. I can feel my mouth fall lax in surprise before spreading into a beaming grin. “Really? You want me to come visit you on tour?”
“Yep,” he nods. “You’ll be on winter break most of the time and I thought you might want to get away. That and … well, I figured if we’re making a band together, it’s only natural that it travels a bit.”
“Of course. Every band has to tour,” I tease, but I’m also blinking back the tears that burn in my throat. His admission that he wants me with him makes me feel like I’m walking on air. For a man so used to pushing everyone away, he sure as hell is doing a great job of keeping me close. It’s my turn to press a kiss to his lips. “I think I can manage being one of your groupies for a bit.”
“Well, you did dress me up like an eighties hair band,” he teases, “so I get to dress you up as a road ho so that you can fit in.”
“Hmm, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Short skirts, high heels, no panties, teaching me the soundboard in small alcoves,” I murmur as the memory of our tryst fills my head and turns me on.
“I like alcoves,” he groans under his breath and I love that I do that to him.
I point to a day where there is no asterisk. “Why not this day? This day works for me too.”
“Well, I have another groupie signed up for that day,” he deadpans, earning a punch in his shoulder. He dodges me with laughter and grabs my hand, pulling me close to him.
“No you don’t, Play!” I struggle against him in jest but I surrender willingly when he uses his kiss as the means of negotiation. “I just might have to get a thing for lead guitarists then.”
His mouth opens in shock and I take full advantage. My hand is fisted in his shirt in an instant and my tongue slips between his parted lips. Damn the man can kiss me senseless.