Page 33 of Hard Rock Deceit

He smirked. "I could probably use my psychic powers and guess, but it's more fun if youtellme."

I took in a breath to steady myself. I gripped the dresser behind me, leaning against it forsupport.

"I'm Cassie Blake. I'm a photographer. My favorite color is purple. My favorite foods are a toss up between pasta and sushi." I had to think hard about the book question, going silent for long moments, before giving up with a shrug. "I have too many favorite books to name one, but I like Urban Fantasy. I also like cats more than dogs. My family has a cat named Fluffy. She's white with blue eyes and deaf. She still lives with my parents but she'sgettingold."

"My family never had a cat," August said. "My mom was allergic. I always thought it'd be nice to have one now that I'm an adult, but I'm on the road too much to take care of ananimal."

"You could get some fish," I said with a small smile. "I always wanted a fish tank full of colorfulexoticfish."

"I thought you liked sushi. Don't you feel bad about eating thosepoorfish?"

I made a face. "Thanks. Now I'm going to feel guilty every time I walk into a Japaneserestaurant."

We shared alaugh.

"What about your favorite movie?" I asked, getting intothegame.

"I'm not really a movie person. I mostly choose movies to watch based on their dramatic, epicscores."

"I get that. My favorite is The Sound of Music, mostly because of thesongs,too."

"Why did you choose photography and notmusic?"

"It's raw," I said simply. "It's real. Tangible. A photo captures a moment in time that will never be repeated. If you don't record it, it's gone forever. I like the idea of making those moments real. Making them lastforever."

I realized I'd started talking faster and faster, gesturing with my hands. I never talked like this about my work. I'd never really expressed why I liked photography to anyone else. I felt like maybe August wouldunderstand.

"I get that," he said. "Wanting to capture a moment, a feeling. I feel that way about my music." He paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Was it hard for you, leaving home to go to college?" he askedeventually.

Now that the conversation had moved to a serious place, I supposed he was going to start to asking more intimate questions. I was okay with that. I wanted him to know more about me, wanted to tell him something about myself before heguessed.

"It was, at first. I always got along with my parents. I only got in trouble a few times when I got caught breaking into buildings or trespassing and the cops brought me home." I knew better than to ask about his parents. They had died before he was old enough to consider leaving home. "What about you? Was moving out of your uncle's home and living on yourownhard?"

"Not really. I was always working, or traveling, ortouring."

"I can't imagine being on the road for halfmylife."

"Is there anything in particular you don't like about touring?" he asked. "Anything we might be able tochange?"

"Just the car sickness," I said. "And there's nothing you can do about that. It's getting better though. And you? What do you hate abouttouring?"

"Nothing," he said immediately. "The only thing better than being tour on is being in the recording studio." He stood from the bed and came to stand next to me again. I met his eyes, warm and kind. "I'm going to ask you one more question. And I want you to answerhonestly."

I nodded, suddenlynervous.

"Was last night too much for you?" heasked.

My mind flooded with images of the night before. The sight of August half-naked. The taste of his skin. His lips so closetomine.

"Can't you tell by reading my mind?" I asked, not ready toanswer.

"Not this time. This time I want you to tell me. Was it too much?" he repeatedpatiently.

"No," I whispered. "It wasn'ttoomuch."

"I never want you to feel like I'm pushing you too hard. I know this is all newtoyou."

"It is," I admitted. "But… Ilikeit."