“Tate?” I see the curiosity on Sam’s face and realize I missed my cue.
Shit.
“Sorry.” I shake it off. “Give me a minute to get my legs back under me.”
“Someone was definitely rode hard and put away wet!” Jonny laughs, a teasing glint in his eyes.
I ignore him because I don’t want to encourage that kind of talk but I need to focus or they’re going to make assumptions about why I’m distracted.
It’ll be a lot easier if they don’t bring up Summer anymore, but that’s probably too much to hope for since they loved her pies. And while the selfish part of me wishes they wouldn’t engage on social media, I’m not going to deny her the opportunity to hear them tell her how much they loved the pies.
“You doing okay?” Angus asks me as we finish sound check and walk toward our dressing room.
This is a small club, without many amenities for us, but at least we have a place to relax until the show. I might go get a drink an hour or so before we play. Tonight feels like the kind of night to get drunk.
“I’m fine, why?”
He chuckles. “Because you’re distracted as fuck. And don’t give me any bullshit about how I’m wrong or that you’re just tired or something.”
“I am tired,” I say. “I was up until like five this morning.”
That’s not entirely true.
We had sex three times while we were waiting for the pies to finish. Then we showered and slept for a while. I woke up around four with a raging hard-on, and Summer rolled over and rode me like a rodeo queen. We dozed again and woke up for the day at seven, which resulted in another quickie before I had to get ready to go.
“Yeah, I’m sure making love to a beautiful woman was a real hardship,” he says drolly.
“Yeah, yeah.” I grab a towel and rub it over my face.
“She got under your skin, huh?” He’s perched on the edge of a small couch, watching me.
Angus and I are close. Hell, he chose his stage name—Angus Jeffries—to match my actual surname. But it’s a little different now that he’s in a relationship with Ryleigh. We had a bit of a blow-up last year when we found out that he’s a billionaire, from a wealthy family, and not another broke musician like the rest of us. It took a little time to rebuild the trust but now that I’ve had time to think about things, I understand why he chose to keep that part of his life private. So we’re back on an even keel and it feels like I should tell him how I’m feeling.
I just don’t know that I’m ready to hear his opinion.
“A little,” I mutter, still wondering how much I want to open up.
“You want to talk?”
“Not really.” I lean against the wall. “It was just…nice. Being away from the chaos for a few days. Thinking about something other than music, although…” I tell him about my impromptu performance at the nursing home.
“Oh, that’s really cool,” he says. “So this wasn’t just sex. You were immersed in her life for a few days—it’s only human to be feeling a little bit of loss, like you walked away from something real. Something genuine.”
“You want the truth?” I ask finally.
“Of course.”
“I feel bad because she doesn’t have a lot of happiness in her life. She works and takes care of her mom. That’s it, for the most part. I got a glimpse of what it’s like for her and she lives in this old house that needs not just renovation, but stuff like the wood of the steps leading up to the front door is rotting. Her kitchen is so small I don’t even know if it could be renovated. Her washing machine is probably from the nineties. Maybe older. And yet she fought me when I paid for her groceries—and when we got to the nursing home, she initially told me to wait in the car. Like, she legit didn’t want anything from me, just to spend a little time with someone who made her feel good.”
“Sounds like you both got something you needed,” he says. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know.”
He smiles. “You caught feelings.”
“Jesus.” I run a hand through my hair.
“How did you leave things?”
