Page 24 of Rock & Roll Nights: The Lila and Rivers Edit
He shrugged. “I figured. Mind if I have a bite?”
“Little late to ask for permission, isn’t it?” My eyes flicked down to his mouth, which was currently savoring my blueberry pie, and the heat in my face spread rapidly to the rest of my body.
A man eating blueberry pie should not make you feel like you were about to burst into flames. Eating blueberry pie like it was the sexiest thing you’d ever tasted should be illegal.
Rivers’ mouth curled up like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and he leaned back, releasing me from the hold he’d had on me. “I can order my own if you like. Is there anyone even left in the kitchen?”
I gazed out over the hotel’s small café—empty at this hour—and nodded to the kitchen. “The chef’s still back there. He’s the one who brought me the pie.”
Rivers followed my gaze, then got up and strolled in that direction, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched like he didn’t expect to have any luck with his request. I tipped my head, wondering at that. He was walking like a kid who expected trouble—or one who was used to being told he didn’t belong here. But he was the biggest star on this tour. Someone who got whatever he wanted, and asked for everything.
So why did he look like a lost little boy in need of a friend?
He got to the kitchen before I could figure out what was bothering me, though, and moments later he was back with his own slice of pie. He cut the tip off and slid it onto my plate, then gave me a quick flash of a smile.
“To pay you back.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Right. I mean... I wasn’t worried about it.”
“But I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea. I’m not the kind of guy who eats someone else’s pie and doesn’t pay them back.”
That statement left me with a number of questions. I wondered if I was allowed to ask any of them. We hadn’t talked,not really, since that first night, when we’d told each other a bunch of secrets in what now felt like an incredibly childish game. Since then, we’d been too busy satisfying the terms of the deal we’d essentially signed in blood. Playing a couple in love for the cameras when they were around. Getting too close to each other and then refusing to look at one another afterwards.
Each of us playing our part, and for good reason.
A spot on the tour for him.
A contract for me.
It wasn’t exactly a situation rife with romance. It wasn’t even full of laughter or real connection. But maybe it was time to stop pouting about that, put my pride away, and actually try to build something. Hadn’t I just been thinking that he looked like a boy who needed a friend? Hadn’t I thought right from the start that he looked sad and that I’d try to fix him if I could?
Well, here I was. If I wanted to be his friend—maybe hear him in a way no one else ever had—this was my chance.
I picked up my fork and took another bite of his pie. When he raised an eyebrow, I shrugged. “You take a bite of my pie; I take a bite of yours. What are you doing down here, Rivers?”
He tipped his head at me. “I already gave you a payment piece, which means you’re already cheating. And I couldn’t sleep. I always have trouble when we’re on the road. I get so riled up for the shows themselves and then can’t settle back down. And by the time I realize I’m lonely and want someone to talk to, everyone else is in bed.”
Okay, I hadn’t been expecting so much honesty. But now that I was looking at him, I realized that the mask he usually wore—that cocky, uncaring expression he turned on the world—had fallen.
Leaving the lonely boy I’d seen that first night.
I reached out to take another bite of pie, but he blocked me with his fork.
“My turn,” he said. He reached for my pie, took a small bite, and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he watched me. When he spoke, it was a question. “Why areyoudown here, sitting in a mostly dark restaurant that I suspect the chef kept open just for you, with nothing but a guitar to keep you company?”
“Are we playing this game again?” I asked. “A question for a question? With blueberry pie this time?”
A soft shrug from Rivers. “Unless you’re going to run away.”
Unless I was going to run away.
Not likely.
Because I wasn’t sure Icouldrun from this guy. I didn’t know if I could get away from the magnetic hold he had over me. I also didn’t know if I wanted to—despite the fact that he’d spent most of the last three days acting like I was somehow dangerous.
“I’m not the one running,” I said, wondering if he’d see through that statement. “And I’m game if you are.”
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