He rubs one eye with the heel of his hand before raking his fingers through his hair, inhaling a slow breath. “I can handle whatever you need, Lu. When classes start back, you can apply for a work-study job like Sam has, or I can talk to my mom. She might have an opening for something you’d like.”
He’d take care of me without thinking twice. Truth be told, he’d do it for any of us, but I can’t let him. The status of our relationship has shifted enough this weekend without addingSugar Daddyto his title.
“I know you’d snap your fingers and fix everything, but I can’t shift gears that fast. I’m looking for another job.”
His jaw tightens, and a bit of helplessness creeps over his expression, but I try to reassure him I’ll be okay. “Jace inspected every inch of this property when I got home, and Nathan works nights through Thursday. He won’t wake up early enough to bother me. He might be off work Friday, but Annie and the guys could come eat while I’m working, and by then my hot CEO rock-star boss man will be on his way home to me.” I grin, silently begging him not to worry.
His lips twitch before his smirk comes out to play. “All right, Punk. My terms are that someone comes with you anytime you step foot outside, your door stays locked at all times, and I get to kiss you as much as I want when I get home.”
“Deal.” I smile lazily at him from my nest of pillows as he lies back onto his hotel bed.
His body relaxes, and the brief tension fades. “Check under your pillow before you fall asleep.”
We’re both tired, so we don’t stay on the phone long, but curiosity fuels me enough to look before I turn off the lights.
I retrieve my favorite rock-star romance from beneath the sea of pillows and turn pages until I see Jude’s personal annotations with my tropical-colored sticky notes. Nothing fancy, just a few words in his quirky left-leaning scrawl, like “relatable” when the sparks fly at the main characters’ meet-cute and “I prefer peaches” where the scent of tea tree oil is mentioned.
Skimming pages, I giggle out loud as the purple, pink, and teal notes escalate with his commentary. “He wrote her a songafter meeting her once?!” “How can I compete with this?” “JUST KISS ALREADY!”
Jude’s sticky-note musings make me smile until my face hurts and I can barely hold my bleary eyes open. He must’ve written these notes Friday night when we talked on the phone.
Before Nashville.
In my bed.
The notes grow sweeter and more personal starting around page twenty-eight.
“I know how he feels.”
“I’m done holding back.”
“Can we just kiss already?”
Some girls get “Good Morning, Beautiful” texts.
Not me. I get good-morning songs.
Songs.
I don’t know what to do with this much attention, and he’s not even here.
Jude has sent me a video every morning this week. My favoriteby farhas been his shirtless, steamy bathroom mirror rendition of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Wet hair, chest glistening, and Lucy’s kaleidoscope eyes dripping diamonds are on full, gloriously sexy display as he strums and sings softly for my gentle morning wake up call.
That ninety-second video has been replayed an embarrassing number of times, and is now securely backed up to my phone, a laptop, and two thumb drives.
Sweet and sassy texts appear throughout the day, and he calls every night.
I may be slightly obsessed, and it terrifies me.
Sam and Jace have been merciless with their teasing, spontaneously bursting into sappy love songs anytime I look at my phone while we share the leftovers I’ve brought home.
Annie finally rejoined us last night, and I’ve lived on a steady diet of “told ya so” ever since she tornadoed back through our front door with Jace trailing behind carrying her purple travel bag and latte.
She knows exactly how much power she has over him. And the way poor Mr. Stark avoids my smirk tells mehe knowsI know she knows.
He looks after me out of familial duty, but he does her bidding like a spiritual calling.
The book under my pillow was merely the beginning of a trail of notes and tiny illustrations I’ve found all over my room, bathroom, and kitchen this week. The weirdo plays guitar, shoots a basketball, and throws right-handed. It’s only when we eat together or I see his handwriting that I remember he’s a lefty. And he’s left his mark everywhere.
