Page 67 of The Deviation

“I couldn’t agree more.” I’m still smiling when something causes my gaze to slide to the right and I see him. Johnny. Watching me.

A keen sense of déjà vu washes over me. This is where it happened, one year ago, almost to the day. I’d been talking to Arthur that night, discussing the next day’s schedule, when the prickling sensation at the base of my neck told me I was being watched. My gaze had shifted, finding Johnny’s for the first time. It wasn’t every day the dark and brooding eyes of a gorgeous man locked on me with such intensity. Surprise had stolen the words out of my mouth mid-sentence. A flush of warmth crept up my neck and butterflies took flight in my belly. The memory of all I felt in that singular moment filters into the deeper, more complex, and occasionally breathtaking love I feel now.

With a few quiet words, I excuse myself from the ongoing conversation and walk towards him. He stays where he is, his gaze unwavering as I approach. I stop as close to his personal space as I should get in an environment teeming with industry eyes. I hate not being able to touch him.

“If I walk out of here,” I say quietly, “will you follow me?”

A slow, sensual smile curves his mouth. “I am your stalker,” he replies, taking a step too close. Even though I know I shouldn’t, even though it’s dangerous, I let him. “To the ends of the earth, Calum. I will hunt you down if I have to.”

Shivers race along my spine at his possessive tone. “Promise?”

He nods, before tilting his head. “If I fall too far behind, will you wait for me?”

Waiting assumes I trust him to show up. I don’t know how to do that, but I can try. “I will wait for you.”

His smile grows as he drops his gaze to my mouth. I lick my lips and he growls, one hand lifting to my chin. “Take me back to the house. I need to be kissing you.”

Yeah, we need to get out of here before we’re spotted by the wrong person. If my paranoia was bad last year, it’s worse now that I’m guilty.

I move to his side, my shoulder brushing against his. “I’ll meet you at the bus stop outside the entrance.” Thankfully, the house is only a few minutes’ walk from where we get off at the other end. I turn my head so I can speak directly into his ear. “The second we hit the bedroom your arse is mine.”

“Yes,” Johnny growls, his hand finding mine at his side.

“Give me a head start,” I tell him before walking away. My heart pounds with anticipation as I stride through the crowd. If this is wrong, so be it. I no longer care.

TWENTY-EIGHT

______

JOHNNY

The next morning, I wake earlier than expected. I’m toasty warm beneath a thick blanket and, when I stretch, the subtle soreness from last night’s lovemaking brings a smile to my face. Calum is sound asleep in his single bed on the other side of the room, a pillow tucked against his chest. We tried sleeping in the one bed, but it proved less than comfortable and there was no way we could move the furniture to push the two beds together without announcing our relationship to everyone in the house.

If he were beside me, I’d be content to snuggle in and enjoy his presence and warmth. As it is, I don’t want to wake him any earlier than necessary. Yesterday was a huge day for him and today will be no different.

Moving carefully, I dress in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt before grabbing my guitar, small practice amp and earbuds. The spacious living area is blessedly empty at this early hour. Not surprising considering we heard the others coming back from the festival at around one in the morning and it’s not yet six.

I make a quick cup of tea and set myself up on the couch, perching on the edge of the cushion with the tiny amp on the floor at my feet and my earbuds in place. I start with some basic warm-up exercises, keeping my fingers light on the strings.

I’m still running through my scales when Calum appears around the end of the large L-shaped couch. A cloud of sleepiness clings to his messy hair and rumpled clothes, and myfingers pause long enough to tug out my right earbud. “Good morning,” I say, smiling up at him.

Leaning over, he presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “’Morning.” He gestures to the now cold cup of half-drunk tea on the coffee table. “You want a fresh cuppa?”

“That would be great. Thanks.” I finish the last of my scales and am ready to move on to chord progressions, but my fingers hesitate over the strings. Calum glances up as he moves around the kitchen. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Chord progressions aren’t exactly fun to listen to.” I move to put the guitar down. “I can do them later.”

He frowns as he pours freshly boiled water into mugs. “Everyone will be up later. Besides, you have earbuds plugged in.”

“Yeah, but, even with them in you can still hear me.” The subtle vibrations of the strings themselves are soft enough not to wake the six other adults still sleeping in the surrounding bedrooms, but they’re not silent.

Calum pauses in the act of jiggling teabags to look at me. “What’s this about?”

I clear my throat, focusing on my still fingers. “Nothing. It’s just… I know hearing the same drills over and over again can be… tiresome.” Ellie had enjoyed listening to me practise when we were younger, but as the years progressed it started to get on her nerves. Eventually, I took to shutting myself up in our spare bedroom so she wouldn’t be forced to listen. It meant yet another hour we spent apart every day, but I’m a guitarist. Daily practice is part of the deal. After we split and I lived alone for the first time in my life, I discovered how freeing it is to play whenever I want. I still keep the amp volume low at home, so I don’t disturb the neighbours, but I’ve grown used to that freedom. The thought of going back to isolating myself for anhour every day is unpleasant. But I’ll do it if I have to. These are the compromises we make for the people we love.

“It’s not tiresome to me.” I look up at the roughness in Calum’s tone. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. Dropping the tea bags into the bin he brings the mugs over to the coffee table. “I find it soothing, actually.” He sits beside me on the couch, tucking his legs up under him. “I remember when Hannah was first learning to play. She would practise for hours on end, well into the night. I would leave my door open so I could fall asleep to the sound of her murdering her transitions.” The tender smile he wears is pure affection and the sight makes my heart clench. “It reminded me she was still with me. She was okay.” His gaze shifts to mine. “I get how hearing the same old scales and exercises could annoysome people,” the gentle emphasis tells me he knows who we’re talking about here, “but the sound of them makes me feel… safe, I guess. Does that make sense?”

I nod, my throat thick with emotion as I reach out to squeeze his hand.