Page 58 of One More Made Up Love Song
Did I just tell him about peeing? What am I doing? Have I forgotten how to talk to this man?
“Good to know,” he says through a smirk. “I got up to peetwice, but that’s my own fault since I drank coffee before bed. How about you, Carina?”
He’s teasing me—I know he’s teasing me—but I don’t care because this at least feels normal. Like the kind of stupid banter that has always been a part of our relationship.
“You don’t have to answer that,” I say to Carina. “Freddie’s just making fun of me.”
He grins. “You started it.”
“You guys sound like an old married couple,” Carina says. “But actually, I just heard Dad say the other day that peeing a lot in the middle of the night could be a sign of prostate trouble, so I’m just saying…you might should get that checked.”
“Oh my gosh, can we please stop talking about pee?” I say.
“I second that request,” Wayne says from the front seat.
Freddie chuckles, then leans his head back on the seat and closes his eyes.
I poke my sister in the ribs, hoping she knows it’s for themarried couplecomment, then occupy myself by tackling the morning’s long list of unanswered texts and emails. The first two messages are easy. One from Wren about her wardrobe budget for the second leg of the tour, and one from Freddie’s stage manager, Charlie, about needing Freddie’s approval on the stage setup for the Nashville show at the end of the break.
I look over the setup, then flag the message so I can show it to Freddie later. He’d be annoyed if I tried to make him work right now.
Before I can open a third, Freddie’s voice sounds close to my ear. “You know, you don’thaveto be working all the time.”
I tilt my head and look up at him. “Do you know how unmanageable my inbox would be if I didn’t?”
“Unmanageable as in…people will get responses in forty-eight hours instead of one?”
“I do not answer emails in…” My words trail off because the time stamp on the email I just opened reallywasless than an hour ago.
I sigh and turn off my phone. “Fine. But there could be something urgent in there. And now I’m missing it.”
“There isn’t,” Freddie says.
“There could be,” I fire back.
“Not urgent enough that you can’t enjoy a twenty-minute car ride without reading your emails.”
“They’reyouremails,” I grumble, and he smirks.
“Which only strengthens my point.” He lifts his arm and drapes it over my shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze. “Just relax.”
I lean into him, the action more reflexive than intentional, turning his quick shoulder squeeze into what feels more like a side hug. But then I don’t pull away. He lifts his arm, but when I don’t move, he drops it back down again, letting his hand rub up and down my back.
It all happens so suddenly, I don’t quite realize what I’m doing, not until his hand brushes down my opposite side, hitting a ticklish spot between my ribs and clueing me in to the fact that I’m basically snuggling with Freddie.
With my sister less than six inches away from me.
I shift away, and Freddie immediately moves his arm, giving me space, and I slide over so I’m practically in Carina’s lap.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I don’t know what I was…”
“No worries,” Freddie says casually. “I thought you might be practicing.”
“Right,” I say, grasping onto whatever thread he’s willing to give me. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I was doing.”
“Oh my gosh,” Carina mutters under her breath. “That is not?—”
I elbow her—easy since I’m sitting so close to her now—and clear my throat loudly enough to cover however she was going to finish her sentence.
