What if I’m making a huge mistake? But what if I’m not?
Guess I’ll see.
19
Thedriverpullsintothe driveway of a hotel. When the driver passes the passenger drop-off area and keeps driving along the road that winds behind the hotel, I get lightheaded as my heart lodges in my throat. Where are we going?
Out the window are little houses. I squint to read the plaques in front of them. The house with ivy covering most of its cream-colored face with a fire engine red door is called The Garden Private Casitas.
Damn, Sully is staying in one of these casitas? I’ve heard how nice they are. Like little homes but with the luxury of being in a fine hotel. Could he be in one alone or is the entire band with him?
Anxiety bubbles within me as we stop in front of the casitas known as The Star. The building is red brick with a light blue door and flower boxes under the windows with pretty little purple blossoms inside. The path toward the front door is cobblestone steps cutting through the greenest grass I’ve ever seen in California.
“Thank you,” I tell the driver and slip out of the car. As he drives away, my panic surges. What am I doing? My legs stiffen as I make my way to the entrance. For a moment, I pause, glancing at the small patio and swing bench between two arched windows.
After taking several deep breaths, I knock on the door, and its rough wood scrapes my knuckles. It swings open, and Sully greets me with a smirk, wearing a tight white shirt and low-hanging jeans. “Welcome.” He flashes my ring on his pinkie and beckons me inside with his other hand. His blue eyes hold a glint of mischief. As soon as I step inside, freshly brewed coffee fills my nose.
“What do you think of my place?” He opens his arms wide, walking toward the open-space kitchen area.
“It’s nice.” I place my purse on top of the brown leather couch. “Are you staying here alone?” I peek down the dark hallway with closed doors.
“Yeah. The rest of the band is crashing in a house in Beverly Hills, but I wanted more personal space.” He grabs two mugs from the cabinet and sets them on the shiny black marble counter. “You want coffee?”
“Sounds good.” I watch him pour the coffee and grab the creamer and milk from the fridge, my ring catching a glint from the fluorescent overhead whenever it hits the right angle, shining on his pinkie like it belongs there.
“I don’t know how you like it.” He places a spoon next to my mug as he drinks his black.
“When are you planning on giving me my ring back?” I pour milk into my mug and stir it with the spoon. “And why did you steal it in the first place?”
He taps the ring’s silver band against the side of his green mug. “Steal is such a strong word. I wouldn’t go that far.” He downs the rest of his coffee and pours himself more.
“What would you call it then?” I watch him over the rim of my cup.
He pulls a blue and white checkered dish towel off a square object, revealing a package of blueberry muffins underneath as if it’s a magic trick to change the subject. “You want a muffin?” He rips off the sticker and opens the container. They smell amazing and almost distract me enough from my ring, but not quite.
“You’re avoiding my question.” I place my coffee next to the muffin he gave me on a paper towel.
Sully bites into his muffin, and crumbs tumble from his mouth all over his shirt. He mutters something in German.
“You should know I don’t like mind games.” I break a small piece of muffin off the top and squish it between my fingers. “Especially when it involves my stuff. I’m an only child and—”
“Eat first.” He licks his fingers and brushes them on his shirt.
Why am I getting a fifty shades vibe from him?
I remove the wrapper and inspect the muffin.
“Do you think I poisoned you?” he asks, voice soft and eyes cast down. He sounds offended.
“What should I think? You take my ring while I’m sleeping then have the world’s quietest driver drop me off at your little casita. The first thing you give me is coffee and muffins. It’s all a little suspicious.”
Sully plucks the ring off his pinkie and takes my hand, placing the ring in my palm. “I meant it as a joke. Guess it wasn’t funny.”
I slip the ring onto its rightful finger and spin it. “I’m not into pranks or being teased.” A terrible memory of my uncle always teasing me thesummer I stayed with my cousin floats to mind. If I said I was bored, he’d reply, “Hi, bored, nice to meet you.” He’d steal my library books and hide them in places, usually too high for me to reach, and forget, and then I wouldn’t have enough time to finish the book before it was due. He once hip-checked me, and I tripped on the sidewalk, scraping my knee. My cousin chuckled. She liked it when her father wasn’t on her back for once.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I lock those memories into the box they came from and bury them deep inside my mind.
Sully pouts, sulking into his muffin, taking tiny bites.
