Page 50 of Wingwoman
I knew that comment would get under his skin.
“You’re right. Poodles are obedient and smart. You’re more like…” I turned, making a show of looking him up and down. “A basset hound.”
I punctuated the statement with a quick nod, before crossing to the back corner where I noticed Josh’s tan jacket draped over the seat.
“Abasset hound? Those dumb, ugly dogs with the droopy ears?”
I took my seat across from him and shrugged. “Well… what doyousee yourself as?”
He snorted. “A German Shepherd. Strong. Smart. Badass.”
I rolled my eyes and sipped my coffee, getting suddenly serious. “Okay, Mr. Badass. We have bigger problems.” Pulling out my phone, I slid it across the table to where an article was posted this morning. The headline stated:Josh Gabriel’s New Mystery Womanand below it were several pictures of Josh and me out and about.
He glanced at the phone, then back up at me, blinking. “This is a problem?”
I nodded. “We need to find you your muse. And headlines like these aren’t helping. They’ve been constant since I was discharged from the hospital.”
He swatted the air, taking another sip of coffee. “That’s nothing. People are used to seeing me with a different woman every week. It’ll pass.”
I sighed. “Right. They’re used to seeing you withdifferentwomen. This article is pointing out, rightfully so, that you’ve been seen consistently with one woman. Namely me. That’s the difference.That’swhy they’re reporting this.”
And because you told a source that I was your fiancé.
Ever since it got out that Josh was visiting his fiancé in the hospital, the vultures had been circling… even more than usual.
They were dying to know who his mystery woman was and why she’d been in the emergency room. For the paparazzi, not knowing something was the absolute worst. It made the rumors more outrageous and rampant. Everything from Josh was already secretly married to him having a newborn baby he was hiding.
Josh’s mouth twitched, those steely blue eyes locking with mine. “Is that so bad?”
I blinked, my foggy thoughts dissipating.Was I saying my thoughts aloud again?“Excuse me?”
“Is it really so bad if they think you’re the one?”
“It is if you’re trying to find a muse.” I paused, glancing up at him. His dark five o’clock shadow scraped over his jaw and my fingers twitched with the urge to brush my thumb across his dimple. “Youaretrying, aren’t you, Josh?”
His hand fell loudly onto the table. “Yes, I’m fucking trying. None of these women are right. None of them inspire me to write any music. Literally, not a single note.”
I sighed deeply. “Do you think maybe you’re not giving them enough time? Maybe you need more than one date to let a muse, I don’t know… take root?”
“I didn’t need more than one date with you,” he said bluntly.
“We haven’thada date,” I snapped.
“Exactly my point.” He tossed a hand in the air before it landed softly against his denim-clad thigh. “You heard that one song,” he said. “You know being around you is inspiring me. Why are you fighting this?”
“That one song was a fluke,” I tried reasoning with him. I wasn’t a freaking muse. I could barely keep my own life from crumbling and yet he thought I was somehow going to be the glue to keep his together?
“Fluke, huh?” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small moleskine notebook, tossing it across the table at me. It landed with a soft thump.
I stared at it, somehow instinctively knowing exactly what was in there without cracking the spine.
“That notebook has half a dozen new song ideas. Lyrics, notes, bridges, choruses. None of them are fully cooked yet, but it’s the most inspiration I’ve had in years.”
“Josh—”
“And let’s not forget this.” From his breast pocket, he pulled out a small square napkin with scribbles all over it. This time, he handed it to me.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, avoiding glancing down at the napkin. I didn’t want to see it. I didn't want to acknowledge or read the words that might be there.
