Page 56 of Your Rhythm
“Is this my cue to leave?” I ask.
Her downcast eyes and silent shrug tell me the answer is yes.
I didn’t expect to be sleeping over; she may have given into the inevitable tonight, but she’s still Kay Fischer. If there’s a way to keep wedging distance between us, I know she’ll find it. I hope she knows I’ll keep trying to push that same distance away.
“I want to see you again,” I tell her.
I’ve already got my boxers on, and I reach for my shirt on the floor.
“I’ll be at the Kingston show.”
“Before then. In Montreal. Kingston isn’t for another three weeks, and besides, I want to see you somewhere that isn’t a hotel room.”
“Matt...” she begins.
“Kay,” I interrupt, “we’re past the point where you can use professionalism as an excuse.” I gesture down at my lack of pants. “Long past it. All I’m asking is that you give this a try. It’s not a contract. You can walk away.”
She breathes in, gaze fixed on the awful paisley comforter.
“The thing is, Matt, if I could walk away from this I already would have done it.” She gestures to her also pants-less state. “Clearly this is more complicated than that.”
“I don’t think it is. You like me and I like you. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”
“It isn’t that simple. You’re my source. My job—”
“Is your job, Kay. It’s not the only part of who you are. It doesn’t determine your entire life.”
“It does, though!” She jumps up off the bed. “I know all the guys in the band call me ‘the snake,’ and you know what, Matt? They’re fucking right. I’m a journalist. You’re a musician. You shouldn’t trust me like this.”
“Well I do, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”
She lets out a groan of frustration and looks like she’s about to hit me or kiss me.
“Look,” I continue, hoping for the latter, “I get it, Kay. It’s your job to push people. It’s your job to read between the lines and get people to say what they don’t want to say. I’m trying to tell you that with me, you don’t have to. We’ve both got a lot hanging on your article, so if you want details, if you want all the answers, you’ve got them. Photographic evidence that Cole used to have an afro? It’s yours.”
She cracks a smile at that one.
“I’m serious. It was so big it didn’t even fit in his grad photo.”
“You really are, aren’t you?” she asks. “Serious? About trying this?”
She gestures between us.
“Yeah. I am.”
“You know we can’t actually like,dateright now, right? With my article—”
“Like I said, Kay, not a contract. I just want to spend time with you. We can be as low-key and secretive about it as you like.”
She snorts. “Right. Secretive. Judging by the way your band mates act around me, you haven’t been sosecretivewith them.”
I shrug. “There was no shutting them down after the sock on the door thing.”
“I still can’t believe you put asock,” she complains. “We didn’t even have sex.”
“Maybe not.” My voice gets lower. “But I did think about it a lot that night.”
I watch as she bites her lip.
