Part of me assumed he and Dallas were taking turns making sure I got back in time, but Afton’s words had stirred an infectious hope inside of me. Maybe Gavin would one day want me badly enough to risk it. To risk Dallas’s anger, the band’s future, and our friendship.
I have to admit, it is an awfully big risk. The thought of risking those things, especially the possibility of having my brother’s trust, the band, and Gavin’s friendship all ripped away at once, was like standing over the gaping mouth of an endless chasm. Full of vipers.
“Thanks for dinner,” I tell Afton as I open the door to my room. “Sorry I’m lame. I didn’t realize how tired I was.”
“You’re the furthest thing from lame,” he says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“And thanks again for the ride today. You really saved my ass.”
Afton leans over, blatantly checking out my ass. “Oh well, thank goodness. It’s a great ass,” he tells me with a playful wink.
“Glad to have your approval.” I reach my hand out to shake his and he lifts and kisses it, which makes me snort out a laugh. “Farewell, Mr. Tate. It was simply lovely to make your acquaintance. Best of luck in your future musical endeavors.” I use my best British accent because this moment is so overly clichéd I can’t imagine not using it.
“Same to you, Miss Lark. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday. Should the stars happen to align once again.”
In that moment, when we’re both using faking British accents and he’s smiling so warmly at me, I sort of understand how Gavin can sleep with faceless randoms.
It’s lonely on the road—lonelier now that I’m rooming alone, and the idea of comfort, even empty comfort that probably won’t last long, is tempting. I could invite him in, let him press his lips to mine, tug at the waistband of his jeans and we’d probably get a great deal of simple pleasure and easy gratification from a night in bed together.
Except I can still see Gavin’s tormented expression as I left, and I know exactly how many drumsticks he broke tonight. Five. Five drumsticks. The most I’d ever seen him break in one session. It’s not exactly like we’re playing heavy metal here.
So maybe he doesn’t want me enough to grab on to me and jump into the abyss, but knowing I’m hurting him somehow by associating with Afton is enough to make me not want to.
“Perhaps,” I say softly. “Good night, Afton.”
“Good night, Dixie Lark,” he says, accepting his dismissal and walking away like the gentleman that he is.
Once I’m in my room, I lean again the closed door.
Oz beckons me and I wonder if the people in the rooms beside me would complain if I played for a while.
It’s too late to call Papa and I’m kicking myself. I always call him after every show to let him know how it went. But I know he’ll be in bed at this hour so I sit with my fiddle and try to get down usable lyrics to an unfinished song I’ve been working on, until I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.
I trust your minion reported back that I was tucked safely in almost a full hour before curfew last night,” I say to Dallas the next morning in the hotel lobby.
“My what?” His brow wrinkles and his eyes land on Gavin making his way toward us looking like he just tumbled out of bed.
“Never mind,” I say under my breath.
A heavy-eyed Gavin reaches us and in a husky voice that makes me instantly lust-drunk, bids us good morning.
“Morning,” I say, tilting my head in an attempt to get him to meet my eyes.
“Where’d you run off to last night?” Dallas asks him. “Catch up with that redhead after all?”
Trying to mask my masochistic curiosity and the scowl that contorts my face at my brother’s words, I turn away from both of them before Gavin answers.
It’s better if I don’t know. Even if he hooked up with Ginger, and even if I’d known he was going to, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Afton is a nice guy and I can’t imagine ever being the type of person who could revenge-screw someone. So I swallow my hurt feelings and make my way outside into the harsh sunlight.
Squinting, I shield my eyes and spot the van parked in the lot.