I’m three verses and a chorus into the most promising song I’ve written in nearly a year when I hear her stirring in the bed.
Something profoundly fucked-up is happening here and now, and I’ve decided to ignore it while I still can. But I suspect that after tonight, the inevitable truth will come out whether I want it to or not.
Robyn is more than an old friend, more than an old flame.
She’s the one who blows me away and brings me back down only to turn me inside out and send me into a free fall all over again.
She’s my muse.
I can’t give her what she deserves—the full-time boyfriend, the promise of a picture-perfect life—not without giving up my dreams. While I once contemplated this back when she ended things between us, I’ve seen what kind of man I become without music and it isn’t pretty.
When my sister went to college in Houston and the band took a breather, I worked in construction for a while—did some roofing with a local contractor. The work was mind-numbing and backbreaking. Night after night I was too tired or too sore to play my guitar. My hands ached and stung with the wrong kinds of callouses. I told myself I’d play a few gigs on my own, but I didn’t. I lost the music. I lost myself.
Basically it fucking sucked.
But now the fact that living my dream without Robyn in it would be just as pathetic is staring me in the face and I don’t know how to avoid it.
“You’re writing,” she says softly, barely even loud enough for me to hear.
I scrawl the last lyric, knowing I’ll add one more verse later, after I’ve been inside her again, before I look up.
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”
She’s standing at the edge of the bed with the white sheet wrapped around her and it’s like a goddess fell from the heavens and landed in my hotel room.
“Can I hear it?”
“It’s not ready yet. Soon, though. Are you traveling with us to Kansas City tomorrow?”
It’s my roundabout way of asking her when I’ll see her again. Call me a coward, but asking her outright feels like crossing a line I shouldn’t. Even after everything that happened tonight.
“Nope,” she says with a shrug. “I have to attend an event in Los Angeles. So you’re free of me for a few days. I’ll be working both shows weekend after next in the Carolinas, though. And New Orleans and Nashville.”
“Ah. Well, I guess I’ll try not to inhale too much grease while you’re away.”
She’s coming closer so I set my guitar aside.
“You do that.” The words fall from her lips as her eyes flicker to my recently exposed appendage. When she looks up our gazes slam into each other with the force of two Mack trucks behind them.
I need more of her tonight. I don’t know how she’s going to feel about this. Hell, I don’t know how I’m going to feel about this. But right now I know that I need more. Neither of us is leaving this room until we are physically unable to seek out any more pleasure from the other.
“Drop the sheet, baby,” I command gently. “I need to see you. All of you.”
She does so, offering her body up like a sacrifice.
I stare openly, memorizing every inch, every angle and curve in case this is the last time she’s laid bare to me this way.
“Dallas, I want—” Her chest rises with an intake of breath I feel like she pulled straight from my lungs.
“Take it.” I reach for her, resting my forehead on her stomach and closing my eyes when I make contact with her bare skin. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
I’m completely still when she lifts my chin and straddles my lap.
There’s nothing between us, no layer of protection. It’s reckless. Risky and pretty damn stupid. But the need to feel her without a barrier is greater than my need for safety or common sense.
She watches me, her eyes seeking permission and telling me that she trusts me. Begging me to be careful with her.