Here With You (A Laurel Heights Novel)

chapter Twelve



Grif sat on his makeshift bed in Nicole's living room, Roddy's latest message playing in his head: Chase, you're effin' blowing this. The execs are getting nervous.

Well, so was he. He'd had a couple ideas but nothing of quality. His guitar mocked him from where it rested against the wall across the room.

The closed door of Nicole's room mocked him, too.

They'd hung out with Nicole's roommate that evening, and it'd been fun. Dinner at home, laughter and discussion. Susan had asked him about the rock star lifestyle, and he'd teased her about pushing drugs.

It's been nice. Really nice.

Nicole had been quiet, but she'd seemed to have relaxed as the evening went on. At least he'd thought so until she announced she was retiring to her room.

He stared at the bedroom door. He was desperate to know what was going on in there. Was she drawing? Was she in bed? Did she have clothes on?

In high school, she'd gone through a phase when she fell asleep in her street clothes. She'd said then she didn't have to spend the extra minutes getting dressed for school. He couldn't see her sleeping in her clothes anymore. He saw her sleeping naked.

Not something he should be seeing. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image burned bright even in the darkness of his mind. Sleek limbs, smooth skin, her shiny smile, and her dark hair fanning on her pillow.

He was lusting after his best friend.

It'd caught him by surprise. He hadn't expected it. He'd thought seeing her would be grounding, like it always had been. But there was nothing settling about seeing her. He felt off-kilter and confused.

He was dying for another kiss.

The problem was that he wasn't sure Nicole felt the same way, and pushing her too far could cost him the one person who meant as much to him as his family. He was torn between respecting her and getting her to take a chance.

A surge of desire made him stand up. One chance, one night. If he didn't try, he'd always wonder, and he didn't make it a habit to live with regrets. Before he could talk himself into sense, he strode to her door and opened it.

Startled, Nicole looked up from the book she was reading in bed.

Grif took her in: her mussed hair, her face innocent of makeup, the temptingly bare shoulders. He swallowed back the urge to crawl into bed with her and love her with his body. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" Glaring, she pulled the sheets up to her neck. "You used to know how to knock."

Smiling, feeling alive for the first time in forever, he knocked on the wall. "Can Nicole come out to play?"

Nicole didn't look amused. She clutched her book in front of her chest. "It's late. I'm in bed, Grif."

"I see that." He wished he could see more. She had the covers pulled up so all that was showing was the thin straps of her top. Pink. He wondered if it was a nightgown, or just a top, and how much was covering the bottom. He tried not to imagine her wearing the underwear she'd drawn in her sketchpad.

Truthfully, since he'd seen her drawings, he'd had a hard time not imagining her in one of those creations. Especially that see-through black one.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Let's go out."

"Out?" She blinked at him like he spoke a foreign language she didn't understand. "It's ten-thirty at night."

"Early still. Usually, I'm just getting going right about now."

"But I worked all day." She clutched her book closer to her chest, as if it were armor. "I'm tired."

He looked at the half-naked couple on the cover and read the title. Never Love a Highlander. He smiled. "You still read bodice rippers?"

She frowned indignantly at him. "They aren't bodice rippers. These are stories of love and hope."

"A physical book is so old school these days."

"I read digital books, too. Ebooks are convenient, but there's something to holding pages in your hand." She shrugged, and her strap fell off her shoulder.

It took all his willpower not to go to her and fix it. Or touch her skin. Or bury his face there and breathe her in.

He stepped back, in case his willpower failed. "Come on. Get dressed. The night is wasting."

"I'm tired, Grif," she repeated as though he were a child. "I was on my feet all day, and I just want to stay in bed and read."

It was on the tip of his tongue to invite himself between the sheets with her, but he bit his tongue and then played the guilt card. "Aren't you supposed to be helping me compose? Going out will help me."

She glared at him.

"The sooner I get it together, the sooner I'll be out of your hair," he pointed out, even though the thought didn't sit well with him.

"Fine." She shoved the covers aside.

And then he knew: shorts. Little frilly pink shorts that showed off her legs.

He stared at them, trying not to think about sliding his hands up her skin. In his mind they were smooth and soft and would wrap around his waist enthusiastically.

"Get out so I can get dressed," she said grumpily as she rooted on a chair through clothing piled on a chair in the corner.

"Want me to help?" he asked, not really kidding.

She threw a shirt at his head.

Catching it, he saluted and left the room, closing the door behind him. When it was shut tight, he lifted the shirt and inhaled. It smelled like her. It smelled delicious.

"Does she know?"

Startled, he looked up to find the curious gaze of Nicole's roommate on him.

Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, Susan nodded at the shirt. "Does she know you have a crush on her?"

It wasn't a crush. He didn't know what it was—lust or love, nostalgia or forever—but whatever it was, it was stronger than a crush. "No."

"Don't tell her."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

She gestured him closer, waiting to whisper, "Nicole flits from thing to thing. Men are no different. She loses interest in them faster than she grows tired of her fancy underwear."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know." Susan smiled wide. "I just like you. I'd have thought you'd be a big phony, but I think you might be good for her. She's one in a million. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I think so," he said even though he wasn't sure.

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "Good," she said, patting his chest. "Have fun tonight."

She retreated into her room.

Nicole's door opened. She looked hot in tight jeans, dark red boots, and a sweater. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she'd put on a little lipstick—not that it covered the surly downturn on her mouth.

"You look eager," he joked. He tipped his head toward the door. "Come on. I promise it'll be fun."

She slipped into her jacket, grumbling under her breath. Then she said, "Did I hear you and Susan talking?"

"Yeah." He grabbed a cap and his coat before escorting her out of the apartment. "She's a nice girl."

"Where's your car?" Nicole asked when she saw the town car waiting at the curb.

"Parked." He opened the door for her and gave the driver the club's name. "I thought it'd be better, in case we decided to drink."

"Responsible of you. Where are we going?"

"A little club. A friend of mine is playing there tonight."

"You have friends?" she asked as she slid into the car.

"Trey's not picky."

Nicole curled onto the back seat, looking around with wide eyes. "I've never been in a limo."

"It's just a town car."

"In my world, it's a limo." She ran a hand over the leather seats. "You must be used to this though."

He shook his head. "We travel in a bus most of the time. It's a luxury bus, but nothing is luxurious when you have six unshaven guys around you twenty-four/seven."

She faced him. "And when you're home?"

"My parents' house?"

"Is that what you consider home?"

"It's more home than my apartment in L.A." He smiled ruefully. "I'm at my apartment so rarely that I have a hard time finding the bottle opener."

Nicole frowned at him. "That's sad."

"It's certainly pathetic." It wore on him, especially since he'd become less than enchanted with music.

They arrived at the club. He got out and held his hand out for Nic.

She stared at it too long before she put her palm in his. Her grip felt hesitant and he hated that, so he held her hand firm and sure. When she looked at him askance, he said, "The neighborhood is sketchy. I'm protecting you."

She rolled her eyes. "It's the Tenderloin, not Libya. I think I'll be fine."

"Is holding my hand so awkward?" he asked as they walked into the bar.

"Yes." She faced him, but she didn't withdraw her hand. "Are you saying it's not?"

"It's different." He held their entwined hands between them, looking down at her fingers wrapped in his. Yes, it felt strange, but new-strange rather than bad-strange. It was like trying on a pair of new boots—they felt a little stiff but you knew they'd be your favorite pair soon. "But you have to admit that it feels nice."

"I don't have to admit anything."

He grinned. "You're in a mood. Come on. I know what'll help."

He dragged her to an empty bar stool and seated her on top. He pulled his cap lower over his forehead and caught the bartender's attention. He ordered two beers and then impulsively requested two shots of whiskey as well.

Nicole raised her brows as the bartender slipped the shots across the counter. "I'm not partying hard tonight," she said as she lifted it.

"One shot, to warm us up." He lifted his glass.

She touched it to his and tossed it back, grimacing and taking a sip of her beer. "We've never had drinks together, much less shots."

"That's not true." He set the glass down. "Remember the time we raided your parents' liquor cabinet?"

"Of all the liquor, we picked Chartreuse because of the neon green color." She laughed. "I still think Chartreuse is disgusting. Why did my parents even stock it?"

He loved the sound of her laughter. He'd sample it into a song, only he wanted it all to himself. "It was a blessing that we hated the taste. Think of the hangover it'd have caused."

"The band is good." She turned around so her back was to the bar and beat her hand against her thigh in rhythm to the music. "The lead isn't bad. His voice isn't as good as yours, but he can play the guitar."

"You think my voice is good?"

She made a face at him. "Don't fish. You know I've always believed in you and your talent."

He wanted to take her hand again. He wanted to confess everything that was filling his heart right in that moment. He wanted to tell her he'd been a fool to leave her for so long, and that her absence had left a big gaping hole in his world.

"A good friend of mine is in the audience tonight," a voice cut over the music. "Maybe he'll come up and play with us?"

Grif looked up to see Trey looking at him questioningly.

Nicole nudged him. "Go. It's what we're here for."

No, tonight was about being with Nicole. But the way she looked at him, like she wanted him so desperately to sing, got to him. He nodded, taking his cap off and running a hand over his hair.

There was a collective shocked gasp from the crowd, and then Trey announced, "Give it up for Griffin Chase."

A rousing round of applause filled the room, but he only saw Nicole's pleased smile. He kissed her cheek, unable to help it, and then joined the band on stage, accepting the guitar Trey handed him.

He took the instrument respectfully, giving it the due it deserved. He slipped the strap over his head, took a moment to tune it, and then smiled at the audience.

They smiled back, excited and eager.

Something in his chest shifted. He truly did love seeing the happiness in the faces when they listened to him.

Then he looked at Nicole.

She sat on the edge of her seat, her beautiful eyes wide and full of belief in him. She smiled and nodded in encouragement.

He returned his attention to the crowd, his fingers strumming idly, getting the feel of the guitar. "I wrote this song for my best friend a long time ago," he said, launching into Lost.

The band took a second and then jumped in, playing along expertly. He sang the words directly to Nicole, seeing the shock in her eyes. The song ended, and they launched right into the Beatles, followed by the Rolling Stones.

He winked at Trey and lifted the guitar strap over his head. Trey leaned into the microphone and said, "Griffin Chase, everybody."

The applause was loud. Waving his thanks, Grif headed back to Nicole. The band began singing their next song as he made his way through the crowd. He paused to acknowledge fans, but he only had eyes for her.

When he finally reached her, he held out his hand. "Dance with me."

For a second, he didn't think she was going to accept his invitation, but then she put her hand in his and slid off the stool. He led her to the dance floor and whirled her into his arms.

She nestled into him, raising her mouth to whisper in his ear. "Were you serious? You wrote that song for me?"

He touched the corner of her mouth, trying hard to resist kissing her. "It was my first big hit. I was playing with some band that broke up years ago, and I was homesick, and I missed you. The song came to me in a wave. You've always been my inspiration, Nicole."

They swayed slowly to the music. At first, she didn't say anything, but then she said, "You still have the arrowhead."

"I never take it off."

Her lips pursed into a frown. "You don't have to say things like that just to score points."

"I'm not." He gazed into her eyes so she could see the truth in his.

She rested her head against his shoulder. "We can't do this."

"Why not?"

"You're going to leave."

"I'm here with you now. Besides, won't it be better that way? You don't like to be trapped by any one thing. This is good for both of us. You don't have to worry about me wanting more."

"And you?"

He got to love her, even if it was for entirely too short. He pulled her close, so there was no question that he was aroused. "What do you think?"

She gazed at him. He slowed down their dance, pulling her flush against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, shimmying sexily against him.

He ran his hand up her side, resting just below the swell of her breasts. His grip tightened of its own volition.

She licked her lips, lifting her face. It was the most natural thing in the world to lower his mouth to hers and kiss her.