Page 60 of August Lane
“I’m not writing about Terry.”
He laughed. “No one’s asking you to. Start with emotion.” His face grew serious. “When’s the last time someone broke your heart?”
“You really want to know?”
She could swear he was about to say no, but then he swallowed hard and nodded. August crossed her legs, making herself comfortable. “Too bad. I’m not giving that story to anybody.”
He looked relieved. “All right, then. What will you give me?”
“One-night stands,” she said. “Adventures in stress fucking.”
He rubbed his hands over his jeans again. The room was chilly from the air conditioner, so the heat wasn’t causing him to sweat. “I don’t know if—” He frowned. “What’s stress fucking?”
“Rough. Sweaty. All bodies, no kissing.”
“No kissing?”
He seemed annoyed by the thought. August stared at his mouth and decided it was a stupid rule to keep. His lips looked big and soft, a nice contrast to the roughness of his beard. Or it could be the opposite—hard, hungry kisses with pillow-soft hair against her cheek. “No one polices that sort of thing,” she said. “Feel free to improvise.”
Her voice was husky enough to make the joke an invitation. Luke’s body seemed to tense and slack simultaneously. “Good to know,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, that’s my love life. Probably too smutty for Jojo’s wholesome homecoming.”
“I wouldn’t call that a love life.”
“Okay, sex life. Either way, no one’s come close to breaking my heart. They’d have to get to know me first.” She bobbed her leg and played with her hair to prove how little she cared. “I don’t make it easy.”
“Maybe they weren’t paying attention.”
“Or they were focused on the wrong things. Like marriage and babies.”
“You don’t want to get married? Have a baby?”
Sirens were screeching in her head, warning her not to answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted, because warning bells were wasted on her. Might as well put up a sign that said come hither. “I come with so much baggage. Who’d want to take all that on?”
“When you love someone, it’s worth it.”
They weren’t talking about her hypothetical boyfriend anymore. “Love shouldn’t be hard.”
“If it’s easy, how do you know it’s real?”
Four days later, August had written and rejected twenty song titles for reasons she struggled to articulate. Her muse kept saying, no, this is wrong. You don’t care about what you’re writing. Come back when you do.
At first she thought it was nerves, but during their last failed cowriting session, when she spent five minutes watching Luke’s fingers dance over his guitar, she realized he was the problem. Specifically, what happened when she forgot to hate him. Letting go of her anger made her defenseless against what replaced it.
She genuinely liked him. Luke was thoughtful and generous in ways she could never anticipate. Besides the work he’d done outside the house, he’d taken on other small projects, like fixing broken chairs in the dining room and removing stains from the hardwood. He’d also cleaned the cloudy glass in Birdie’s family photographs, a collection of frames that covered an entire wall. One day she arrived to discover that he’d pulled out a sewing machine and started mending the ancient living room drapes.
“You sew?” She tried to imagine Luke’s large frame hunched over the yellow Singer.
“Yeah,” he’d answered, with a tone that asked,Don’t you?“It’s a good hobby. Saves money and keeps my hands busy.” He flexed his fingers, and the simple motion wreaked havoc on her insides.
That was her second problem. In addition to lapping up his sweetgestures like a delirious cat, she couldn’t stop picturing those fingers “keeping busy” between her legs. It was her own fault. She’d poked a very horny bear with that stress-fucking nonsense. It had felt too much like tutoring him again, only this time on how to self-medicate with dirty sex. That was one ofherfavorite hobbies, stacking orgasms with a big, beautiful man who could toss her around like a sack of potatoes. Luke was a people pleaser who showed affection through acts of service. He probably wouldn’t question what she wanted. He’d merely ask when, where, and how hard.
Unresolved sexual tension had an obvious solution. But that was dangerous thinking with Luke. He could see through her defenses. Enthrall her with a melody. When she arrived for their fourth session, determined to stay on task, the sight of him stirring a pot of greens while wearing a paisley apron crumbled her resolve like it was tissue paper.
“You’recookingnow?” Meat was roasting in the oven. Yeast rolls were being kept warm by one of Birdie’s blue-and-white tea towels.
Luke wiped his hands and motioned for her to try one. “Surprised I’m a grown man who can feed himself?”
