Page 11 of Just One Night
His black boxers are sculpted to his ass and muscular thighs, and I unashamedly check him out as he walks to the door. He pauses and looks at me over his shoulder, smirking.
“I could feel your eyes on me,” he says, laughing. “I’m not a piece of meat, you know.” I snap my eyes to his.
“You’re not?” I say, grinning. He just shakes his head as he leaves the room, a broad smile on his face.
I sit up, crossing my legs as I look around the room. I’m finally able to take it all in, now that I’m not distracted. There are guitars hanging on the wall above his desk. Clothes are scattered around on the floor by the closet, and his desk is covered in notebooks, loose papers, pens, pencils. On the floor beside the bed, there’s a notebook with a pen in it. I really shouldn’t snoop, but I’m too nosy to leave it alone. Grabbing it, I flip it open and skim the pages.
It’s full of poems. Every single page is full of his scratchy, little letters. Some lines have been scratched out, new ones written haphazardly beside them. There are little doodles all over the pages, but on some, there are full-blown masterpieces.
He’s talented. Really fucking talented.
The door opens and I freeze, busted.
“Sorry,” I say quickly and slam the book closed, dropping it back to the floor. “I was—um. Sorry.” He’s carrying a blanket, his eyes wide as he flicks them between me and his discarded journal. “I didn’t read anything. I mostly looked at the drawings. You’re really good.”
He shakes himself slightly and his face glows red. “Thanks,” he says awkwardly as he walks toward me, the blanket clutched tightly in his hand. “I, um, put this in the dryer for a few minutes to warm up.” He hands it to me and I sigh at the warmth as wrap it around myself, hiding my naked body.
“What did you think?” He asks as he sits beside me.
“Your drawings are really good,” I say and he eyes me skeptically.
“You really didn’t read anything?”
“Maybe a few lines,” I say shyly. He laughs and scoots closer, leaning into me.
“Well?”
“I think you’re really talented, Reid. The little bit I read was beautiful,” I say truthfully. Reaching out of the blanket, I put my hand on his forearm, stroking my thumb back and forth. “I think you could make something of yourself if you wanted to pursue poetry or art.”
“They’re songs,” he says quietly. “Not that I’m all that great at singing, but I like to write and come up with melodies for them.”
“Will you sing one for me?” I murmur and he drops his eyes to my hand.
“No,” he says. “Maybe one day, but… No.” My heart dips, but I understand. It takes trust and vulnerability to show someone something you’ve written, or to sing for them, and we don’t have that. We won’t ever have that.
“That’s okay,” I say and squeeze his arm. “But I’m sure you’re just being hard on yourself. I bet you sound amazing.” He laughs breathlessly.
“You’d be the only one to think that,” he says as he pushes to his feet. “Come on, I made grilled cheese.” He offers me his hand and I don’t hesitate to I take it.
7
REID
Maybe I should feel more embarrassed about her finding my song book, but I don’t. She looked at me like I was special, like she truly believed I’m talented.
It’s not that I haven’t heard that before—Bash has heard me singing in the shower or my room our entire lives. He and Ma always said I should go to L.A. to try to make it. But I don’t want that life. The touring, the fans, the nonstop work. That’s not me.
I just want to write what I want and play what I want. When money gets involved, things get messy.
Heather has been talking non-stop since we sat on the couch to eat. But I don’t mind. I’ve been watching her and listening to her rant about her finals coming up. I could do this every day. It feels natural. It feels right, to be sitting here together, laughing, and having dinner.
But I have to remind myself for the millionth time, it’s just one night. In the morning, she’ll leave and we’ll go our separate ways. She’s made it clear that she’s committed to this being a one-time-only thing.
“When can I take this thing out?” She whines as she wiggles around. Honestly, I’d forgotten about the plug. I feel a little bad, but she doesn’t look uncomfortable or like she’s in pain. Her eyesare still hooded, so I think it’s turning her on more than she wants to admit.
“When I say so,” I say smugly and grin when she rolls her eyes. Standing, I grab her plate and frown. She only ate the grapes and two bites of the sandwich. “Did you not like it? I can make you something else.”
“Not hungry,” she says, shaking her head. She stares at the plate a beat longer, then drops her eyes. There’s something more there, but I’m not going to push.
