Page 46 of Taming His Rockstar

Chapter 22

Iget out of my car and trudge up my driveway. I just spent the last two days in one of the most grueling recording sessions ever. I’m tired as hell and just looking forward to crawling into bed. I’m almost at the door when I hear my phone buzz in my jacket. I reach for it and see Jake’s face on the screen. I consider ignoring it, but the recording session has taken close to three days, and apart from a quick chat with him the night before, I haven’t spoken to him. I miss him. So much I forget that I’m not looking my best and slide the green bar to the right.

“Hey,” he says, grinning at me. “You done recording?”

“Yeah,” I reply, holding the phone as I fumble in my pocket for my keys. “What are you doing?”

“Painting,” he says, moving his phone so I can see the canvas behind him. Then he brings it back to his face. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m tired as hell, and I smell like two days of sweat. Yeah, I don’t look good at all.”

He smiles. “Do you want me to come over?”

I immediately perk up at his question. A few seconds ago, I wasn’t sure I could make it to my door without falling over. Now, I’m considering having him over. I mean, it would have to be quick. Until I wake up, and then we can take our time. But I definitely want him to come. Then I remember I don’t look my best and sigh.

“I don’t know . . .”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he simply says. “You don’t look too good.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I’ll be fine. As sexy as you are and as much as I want to, I don’t think I can muster the energy to sleep with you tonight.”

“Fifteen minutes, Katie,” he just replies.

I stare at the screen of my phone. Then I retrieve my keys from my pocket, telling myself there is no way he’ll come. I already told him we’re not sleeping together tonight. Inside the house, I realize I’m much hungrier than I thought I was, and my hunger is stopping me from sleeping. I’m staring at the sorry state of the content of my fridge when I hear a knock at the door and wonder who’s there. I’m more than shocked when I see Jake’s form through the glass panel.

“You came?” I ask when I open the door.

“And I brought gifts,” he replies, lifting the box of pizza in one hand and the takeout bag in the other. He walks in, and I close the door behind him.

“God, you’re a lifesaver.” I reach eagerly for the box, surprised when he pulls it away. “What?”

“How about we go and sit down before you start grabbing at food?”

“Sorry, I’m just so hungry.”

He leads me to the kitchen and gets plates and napkins. I watch hungrily as he sets them on the table, telling myself that he’ll be done with his ceremony soon enough and I can pounce on the food.

“So, how was it?” he asks, pushing a plate bearing a slice of piping hot pizza toward me. “Careful,” he adds when I reach for it too eagerly.

I nod and take a bite of the food, blowing with my mouth to cool it down. “How was what?”

“Your session.” He reaches into his takeout bag and brings out a bottle of wine. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be there when a song is being made. Imagine what it would be like to be in the room when Paige and Plant wrote ‘Stairway to Heaven’.”

Considering I just spent the last three days dealing with an anal-retentive producer, an immature sound engineer, and songwriters who have as much as ingenuity as a chicken, I’m not as starry-eyed as him.

“It’s all bullshit,” I mutter as I reach for my second slice of pizza.

He smiles and pushes my glass of wine to me. “You need a bath and more than a few hours of sleep.”

“Sorry,” I apologize sheepishly.

“Nah, I know how cynical artists can be about their art.”

I suddenly remember that he left his work to be with me. There’s even a smudge of paint on the bridge of his nose. And I haven’t even been polite to ask him about it.

“Oh god, I forgot to ask about your painting. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s just a painting,” he replies offhandedly. “It’ll keep until I have the time for it. And unlike you, the only anal-retentive thing I have to deal with is my brush.”

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