Page 62 of Reverb

“You’ll do fine.” Brit smiled. “I’m rooting for you, Stone. If you get stuck, you have my number.”

* * *

Sienna was sitting on her new sofa—a secondhand special—typing on her laptop. Coming from her old bedroom, she didn’t own a lot of stuff, so she’d unpacked quickly, though there were still some unopened boxes pushed against the wall. She smiled as I came through the door. She’d already given me my own copy of her key, and I’d given her a copy of mine.

I gave her a look. “What are you wearing?”

She glanced down at herself. “A T-shirt.”

“A T-shirt and nothing else,” I pointed out. The tee came to mid-thigh and her legs and feet were bare. I had to make myself stop staring as I unlaced my boots.

“I have underwear on,” Sienna said, which didn’t help. “I’m comfortable. It’s the middle of the night.”

I grunted. “You said you were up.”

“I was up. I am up.” She put her laptop on the table and took off her glasses to rub her eyes. “I’m awake.”

I sat next to her on the sofa. “If you need to sleep, you should sleep. Don’t wait up for me. You know the band usually goes late.”

“I was working,” she said. “The article is almost done. Do you want to read it?”

I did not want to know what Sienna wrote about me. “No. Never. Do I romance you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Romance,” I said. “I’m supposed to do it. I don’t think I do it. Do I?”

She frowned. “Who says you need to romance me?”

“Brit.”

“You told Brit about us?”

“I told the whole band about us.” When I saw the surprise on her face, I said, “Come on, Sienna. They already knew. It was just getting stupid, pretending this isn’t happening.”

“True, but still.” She put one foot on my thigh, rubbing her arch against the denim. “That seems rather official.”

I lost my words for a moment, because her foot was turning me on. There were times when she completely flustered me, usually with some kind of affection. I wasn’t used to it. What did it mean when she rubbed her foot on me? Sex? Friendship? Nothing at all? I’d think I had a handle on things, and then Sienna would hook her knee over my leg or stroke her hand down my forearm, and I’d be confused all over again.

“You didn’t answer the question,” I said.

“About whether you romance me?” She seemed amused. “Like flowers or something? I don’t want flowers, honestly. That just seems awkward.”

Brit had said that about flowers. “Then we should go out to dinner.”

“After this story is turned in, sure.”

“I should say nice things,” I said. “I’m bad at that. You know how I am.”

“Yes, I do.” She was still rubbing her foot on me. “I’ve told you, Stone. I like the way you talk.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’ll do something.” Brit had said to come up with something Sienna would really like, but I had no idea what that was. I would have to think.

My gaze snagged on the table. “What the hell is that?” I asked.

Sienna followed where I was looking. There was a notebook on the table, sitting open next to her laptop. On one page, handwritten across the top, were the words Neal is hot.

“Oh,” Sienna said. “Ignore that.”

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