Page 21 of August Lane
“Of course he did. They all do. That’s how you survive this business, with some power broker’s limp dick in your hand.
” Her voice softened. “These guys are gross, but they also gatekeep the one hundred. You’re not a kid anymore, Luke.
Grow up before they stop wanting to fuck you. That’s when your career is over.”
Luke didn’t have sex with that DJ. But he’d slept with enough women who ultimately helped his career to make the line between liking someone and using them blurry enough to hate the person he saw in the mirror.
“She was shady from the jump, but I pretended not to notice because money was coming in. Or I thought it was. Seven years later, I woke up one day and realized I didn’t have an ATM card.
Like, if I wanted to walk up to a bank and get cash, I wouldn’t be able to.
” He looked at August. “When I finally found someone willing to show me financial statements, I learned I was broke. Nothing was there, just piles of debt from running around, pretending to be a baller.”
He cleared his throat, summoning more courage to admit the part he’d never forgive himself for.
“I don’t own the masters of my music. The royalties I get barely cover rent.
I do the bar circuit, yard work, whatever I can find.
That’s the money I used to come down here.
” He didn’t add that he’d also arrived early because he couldn’t wait eight more weeks to face her after a decade of hiding.
August gazed at the floor, deep in thought.
He liked these silent moments, when she was too distracted to notice him staring.
He could study her. Get reacquainted with his favorite parts.
A faint indention on her chin made Luke accuse her of having a dimple once, something she’d flat-out rejected.
“Don’t you dare call me cute,” she’d responded.
August cupped her chin, and the divot disappeared. She looked resolute, like she’d settled on something and was deciding how to break it to him. “You’re not sleeping in that truck.”
Luke sighed. “I won’t let you pay for—”
“I’m not paying for anything. If I could afford a hotel, you think I’d be here?”
Luke looked around. Her place was small, similar to the sterile studio he rented in Memphis, but with an extra door, which meant it probably had a real bedroom. There were unopened U-Haul boxes in one corner. The move must be recent.
“Are you offering your couch?” The sagging cushions would wreck his back, but so would the truck cab.
August straightened. “No. I can’t—” Her eyes swept over him. “You’d take up too much room.”
He wasn’t sure if she meant physically or something else. But he didn’t hate how she looked at him. Like a mountain he’d dared her to climb.
“I don’t know many people in town. Not well enough to be a house-guest.” He went down a mental list and came up with a bunch of teenage faces that probably didn’t live in Arcadia anymore. “Is Silas still around? I could crash at Delta Blue for a few days.”
“You can stay at Birdie’s,” August said. “The house is empty. There’s no one around for miles.” She twisted her hands in her skirt again. “No one will know you’re there.”
“I can’t do that,” Luke said, but struggled to articulate why. It was a feeling. A lack of worth. “The cost of keeping the lights on alone—”
“Jojo pays for it. If she bothers to look at a utility bill, she’ll assume it is me.”
Luke wanted to ask why she and Jojo weren’t speaking, but it felt too invasive. Despite their current softer mood, they still weren’t close. Far from it. “Why do you live here?”
August scanned the room. “I know it’s a waste of money. But I needed a break from that house.” She rubbed her face, scrubbing away the melancholy. “A lot of family members have died there. Might want to sage it before you move in.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“The walls are too thin to play music here. It’s perfect.”
“Sounds like being out there is hard for you. I don’t want to put you through that.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. Fine, as in mind your business. There was no hint of awareness that she wasn’t following her own advice. “Besides, if you owe me, maybe you won’t disappear again.”
Luke realized how his protests sounded to her. He’d literally slept with a foot near the gas pedal last night. “All right. I’ll stay there if that’s what you want.”
“It is.” She looked him up and down. “You should take a shower first.”
Luke lifted the neck of his T-shirt and sniffed. He smelled like outside and sweat. Nothing horrible, but nothing to brag about, either. “Did my best with limited resources.”
“Like a public restroom sink?” Guilt must have shown on his face because she burst out laughing.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Luke stood and eyed the identical doors on his right. August cut him off.
“Stop. Don’t move.” She slipped through a door and positioned it to obscure what was happening inside. Drawers opened and closed. The shower curtain rustled.
“I don’t care about your bathroom secrets,” he shouted, trying to ensure she heard him over her chaotic cleaning. “We all got soap scum and squeeze toothpaste from the middle.”
August jerked the door open and brandished a black silicone stick with a large bulb on the top. “This is a back massager.”
Luke eyed the thick black column. “Is it?”
“ Yes. There isn’t enough room to store it in that tiny vanity.”
“Ah. So this is a preemptive explanation.” Luke reached for it, and she moved it behind her back.
“What are you doing?”
“I like a massage in the shower, too.”
She bit back a smile and said, “Get your own.” She returned to her task. He listened to her movements and the mundane sound was comforting. It gave him hope. Made him feel like they could be okay.