Page 70 of Before Now

For kicks, I read his bullshit memo: Invoice 1229. I blink at it a few times before I laugh. Un-fucking-real. The motherfucker used my mom’s birthday.

Moments like this eradicate the twist in my gut over Andrew West’s hush money. They make me want to bleed him dry instead of only taking what I need to survive while focusing on music and school. Or snag a plane ticket to Europe, knowing he can’t get a tuition refund for the semester.

I finally pick out a melody I’ve tweaked a few dozen times already, working it some more until my phone lights up. The video shows a busy coffee shop, people buzzing, and a random bark of laughter. In the center of the shot, Remi’s fingers tap against the side of a white mug. A nod to one of the first videos I sent her.

Except now it links to another memory of when I watched her driving those fingers into her perfect pussy. Another two memories, after last night. I got a show from her point of view, looking down her body while she lay on her bed, legs splayed. No face but fucking hot all the same.

Seeing her come really had been a worse idea, the worst one I’ve had yet when it involves her. I thought she’d infiltrated before, but she proved me wrong. The more of her I get, the more I need. I’m starting to think that wouldn’t change even if she gave me all of her. And I’d be a smitten, little, shit-filled kitten if I said the idea of having all of her isn’t feeling like it would be my best one.

Glancing at my guitar in my lap, I half-smile and text her.

You want better background music?

A shattered image of the bottom half of a slutty fairy appears in response. I angle my chair more toward the table, and I answer, already setting my phone up. I lean it against the rectangular planter of succulents, so she’ll only see the middle of my guitar.

Her hand curls around her mug as I relax in the chair. “You’rethe better background music?”

“I am,” I tell her. I lazily strum the open strings a few times and then switch to something I started in Paris. It stayed in my head until we got here, and I practically sprinted to rent an acoustic.

When I hit the last note of what I have, I slide down the strings, causing them to squeak. The effect sounds right, how the song should end.

“I think I like you serenading me with your guitar,” she says softly—an admission.

“I think I like you,” I reply, but it’sknow. “Be warned, though. Once I add lyrics, you’ll be throwing your panties at me.”

“Hmm.” The shot dips, and she picks a backpack off the floor, offering a peek at the plaid skirt with a leading role in my jerk-off fantasies—sharing the spotlight since Halloween. “You think you can seduce me with songs now?”

“Are you asking me to prove I can?”

She shows me the world in front of her as she leaves the coffee shop. Across the street is a town square with trees and benches. “Weren’t you supposed to be writing me one, by the way?”

I smile at her bratty tone. “Maybe this is your song. I just haven’t told you yet.”

She crosses to the square and passes shrubs, bare until spring. “Tell me the lyrics, then.”

My hand adjusts on the neck, and I play the first few notes again while staring at the notebook beside my phone. I’ve filled pages these past weeks, a common theme developing in the lyrics. Words I’ve never used before like darlin’ and maroon. Lines about my hands and her body and her devastating siren call.

“Nah, baby. Not until I sing it for you.” I look back to the screen. “This is a switch-up. Where are you taking me on our tour?”

She laughs as she passes a sign stabbed in the ground for the Ashfield PTA bake sale. “I’m about to show you the best my town has to offer.” She swings to a dead-for-winter flower bed with equal parts faded mulch and cigarette butts.

“I really appreciate how the artist incorporated that plastic cup into the neutral color palette.”

“A masterpiece, truly,” she deadpans. Then she swipes the cup and tosses it in a trash can. “I’m going to the house. I only have so much tolerance for this uniform and need it off.”

Despite an easy opening to suggest she strip for me, my eyebrows draw together. Maybe I’m more sensitive to it because of Chase being a dick, but I ask, “Not your house? Not home?”

“It’s my stepdad’s house. I live there, for a little while longer anyway, but it’s definitely not mine.” She proceeds to pierce me straight through my goddamn heart, adding, “My dad was my home. I lost it when I lost him.”

I huff a breath. The fucking timing. The universe must be bored, playing matchmaker with broken pieces, and ours just aligned.

“I don’t have a home either.”

She’s quiet for a second. “Will you tell me why sometime?”

“Yeah.” My lips tilt up, and I start strumming again. “You showed me yours, so…”

“Can I tell you something?” she asks, more light to her. I hum in response, and she wanders to a tree, spinning when she reaches it, giving a different view of the scenery. “I got approved to graduate early. I finish school in December at the end of the semester.”

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