Page 27 of Dedicated
“She pissed?” he asked, without looking over at me.
“She’s hurt, I think, and thinks this whole stunt is dumb, but she’s… fuck, she’s just a nice person, and I feel like an asshole.” I groaned. I’d failed to really consider how she would be affected, and now I felt like a dick for thinking she wouldn’t care at all.
“You should’ve just told her it was my fault.”
“Why? I agreed to go along with this.” Once the computer had hummed to life, I googled our name and clicked on the top result that read, “Just Like Us.”
“Because it is. That whole threesome. I egged you on.”
I took a long breath and dropped to the edge of the couch near Les, raking my hands through my hair. “Nah. It just happened. I could’ve said no. And you’re right. People do that shit all the time and it’s not a big deal, yeah?” I sounded like I was trying to convince myself, which I absolutely was.
“But you never would’ve done it left to your own devices.” Les grabbed the neck of his guitar and straightened, resting it against the side of the couch as he angled into the cushions so he could see me. It seemed like he was settling in for a long come-to-Jesus and I wasn’t in the mood for a come-to-Jesus, or for revisiting that night with Ella. It had already happened. It was done. Now I just had to ride the wave as best I could.
I glanced back at the screen where the page displayed an array of celebrities doing ordinary things, like picking up laundry or, in our case, grocery shopping. Les turned his attention to the screen at the same time I did, swearing softly, “They didn’t even show the best part. Dipshits.”
It was true. That scorching kiss I’d planted on Les against the side of the car? Nowhere to be found. What was shown instead was the awkward first attempt captured at the moment where I was ducking Les’s advance to plant my more chaste version on his cheek. My eyes were wide open, my lips puckered, and I looked like a squirrel who’d suddenly realized he was caught in the middle lane during rush hour. Les, meanwhile, looked great, every ounce the affectionate lover, complete with a hint of a goofy, adoring smile. Fantastic.
“Why didn’t they post the other one?”
Les edged closer to the screen, squinting at it. “Maybe she couldn’t see it.” He pointed. “We were on the other side. Maybe she couldn’t get over there before you had to pull away or risk exploding from the sheer eroticism of my kiss.”
I turned to look at him, giving him a slow blink. “That’s what you think happened, huh?”
He grinned and shrugged. “More or less.”
“Les, your mouth is basically a Dollar Store. Lots of traffic for shit that falls apart in a week.” Except I actually liked the Dollar Store because their prices on paper goods near where I lived were unbeatable. And I’d liked Les’s kiss, too. A lot.
“That’s so oddly specific and nonsensical, it doesn’t even hurt my feelings.” He smirked at me and picked up his guitar again. “That photographer missed out. Now—” He played a few bars of something that must have been new. “You want to see what you’ve got for this or you want to kiss me some more? I’m open to either.”
I rolled my eyes and closed the laptop.
An hour later,I’d migrated to the floor and Les had taken over the whole couch. He had his guitar lying lengthwise over the top of his body and plucked idly at the strings like he was playing a harp while I rewrote some of his lyrics into legible English and jotted down the chord patterns and progressions we’d assembled so far. After he hit the C string hard for the fifth time in a row, I was just about ready to throw something at him when he said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah? Does it hurt?”
He snorted. “Har har, Dadjoke. About us, I mean.” I twisted around to look at him. His profile was to me, and I couldn’t really read his expression, but he seemed awfully intent on his study of the foam-lined ceiling. “What we’re doing. I know I convinced you to go along with this thing, but I don’t want to do it if you’re not all in.”
“What’s that mean?” A cold spike worked its way through my stomach as I set down my pen.
“This last tour has been hell, Porter. Everything is different between us, and I can’t do another tour like that.” He slid off the side of the couch and leaned his back against it, dangling his hands between his bent knees. The gaze he fixed on me was cautious, but there was something else in it, too, that I couldn’t decode.
I prodded the inside of my cheek with the tip of my tongue, thinking. I didn’t disagree with him at all, but I was struggling to figure out why a twinge of anger ran through me. What I wanted to tell him was to stop fucking around so much, but he was just doing the same things he’d always done. I was the one who’d changed. So was it fair to suddenly hold him to these new expectations? And now there was the additional confusion of that kiss and the impression it had left on me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.
“Me either,” I agreed at last, feeling like that was a lame response. But it was the best I had at the moment.
Les wet his lips slowly, the arch of his brows telling me that, yep, he’d been dissatisfied with that succinct answer. “So we have options. We commit to this stupid scheme, sell the hell out of it, and write some good songs. Or we don’t and we still write some good songs and see where we land afterward. But either way, I want to feel like we’re on the same side again.”
He was looking at me so intently now it sent a shiver racing through me; the words he’d spoken danced around bigger-picture implications, and we both knew it.
I nodded, trying to ignore the erratic pounding of my heart and the panic inspired by the idea of losing him as a partner. “We’re already committed. I’m in. But I need something from you, too.”
He arched a brow again in question, and I had to resist the defensive urge to fold my arms over my chest.
“I don’t want to be picking you up off the floors and trying to put you back together again while we’re here.”
A muscle at his jaw twitched, but he nodded. “Deal.”
“Really?”