“No?”
I shake my head. “Nope, not by a long shot.”
He tells me about the inspiration for his songwriting and how his grandfather taught him to play the guitar as soon as he was old enough to hold one. His family sounds very down to earth, the kind of people I would love to meet. He even brought his favorite acoustic guitar and strums out a tune, watching his fingers work over the strings has me in total awe. The hum of his voice is like nothing I’ve ever experienced—it’s almost like we’re the only people that exist for a moment. And while I have heard some of his songs, nothing compares to having him here in my living room playing his guitar with just the flicker of the candles for lighting in the background.
Then we finally lay on the couch with popcorn and watch a movie. It’s nice, maybe even a little surreal being in his arms. When he first told me about being Rock, I didn’t really know what to think, but when I saw the look on his face and how earnest he was, I immediately understood. I’ve been a person people don’t connect with easily. I often joke that I’m better with animals than humans, and that part is a hundred percent true, but with Brett it’s like I’ve known him forever. He was onlytrying to protect his privacy, I couldn’t be mad at him for that. Especially after what he’s been through.
Of course, the girls have been blowing up my phone asking all kinds of questions I’m not ready to answer.
After two days of sneaking around, keeping a low profile, and Brett insisting he come to the stables to keep his sanity, the bubble finally burst.
When George texts me one night when we’re relaxing on the couch, I bolt upright.
George
Bails, don’t freak out, but the press found out where Brett is and they’re camped out front
“Shit!” I say, jumping up like someone burned me.
“What’s wrong?” Brett asks, looking utterly confused at my sudden outburst.
“The reporters, they’re here.”
“I thought everyone in town was gonna remain tight-lipped?” Brett says, rubbing his chin.
“Someone was bound to blab,” I sigh. “Everyone has their price. I’ll bet it was those little shits from the other side of town.”
“Whoever it was, the gig is up.”
I quickly text George back.
Me
Where are you now?
George
Just found Iz loitering around with your food. I’ll bring her up
“Iz and George are coming,” I say quickly. Isabelle said she’d bring dinner because, other than Brett ducking down in thetruck when I drive to work, we haven’t been out anywhere. “Izzy has food.”
Brett pulls me to him and looks down at me. “It’s gonna be okay. I don’t want to scare you with the reporters and stuff, they can be aggressive sometimes.”
I snort. “You think I’m gonna run away over a bunch of nosy newshounds?”
“Newshounds?” he laughs.
I wave a hand around, suddenly conscious of the curtains being open. We are some distance away from the main road, but who knows with cameras these days. I walk over and pull them closed, one by one. “Scribbler. Press jockey. Paps. Scoopster. Dirt digger, whatever you wanna call them.”
Brett doubles over with laughter. “That’s hilarious.”
“Oh, pipe down. I’m the one with the gun, remember?”
He raises both hands. “Yes, ma’m, you know I don’t wanna mess with you, in fact, you scare me a little.”
I shoot him a look as he walks over to me. “Me? Scary?”
“You’re kiddin’ right? You’d shoot a man at ten paces…withouta gun.”
