My heart is beating way too fast as I slip into the room and quietly close the door behind me. Easton is already in bed, wearing a T-shirt, which is kind of a shame and kind of cute at the same time, because I know he’s trying to take the pressure off me.
He pulls back the covers, and I climb into bed with him. He pulls me close until my head is resting on his chest and his lips brush my temple. It’s warm under the covers, and his body against mine makes me feel calm. It feels familiar and new at the same time, and absolutely right.
As if it were meant to be this way, from the very beginning.
I look at him. There’s nothing I’d rather do.
“You don’t have to do the music video if you don’t want,” he says. “Maybe it’s a silly idea.”
“No, it’s not. I want to do it.” I swallow. “It feels nice to be a part of it.”
“I’m glad you want to be part of it,” he whispers. He kisses myforehead again, and I close my eyes for a moment. I haven’t felt this safe in months.
“I’m glad Colin doesn’t call me Text Girl anymore.”
Easton laughs softly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Me too. He’s been doing it long enough. At a certain point, it’s not funny anymore.”
“Do you think they really want me to be involved?”
“They wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. Not Jax, and definitely not Colin.”
“What about Beck? He didn’t really say anything about it.”
“Yeah, but he likes you. I think he just doesn’t want to pressure you. He’s a little more empathetic than Colin and Jax.”
“You don’t say,” I reply with a smile. But my smile fades quickly. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to do the choreography. Please don’t get your hopes up too high. I might be totally useless at it.”
“You won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. You know, Willow is a dancer, and even though I don’t know as much as either of you, I’ve learned enough from her to be able to tell if you’re good. And you are.”
“That doesn’t mean—” I start to say, but Easton cuts me off by pressing his lips firmly against mine.
“Don’t say it. Seriously. Have a little faith in yourself, Rayne. Please. And if you don’t like what comes out in the end, that’s okay. We’ll just forget about the video. But I’m sure it’ll be great. Your song turned out amazing.”
“Oursong.”
“Our song,” he confirms with a smile.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He turns slightly so we’re both lying on our sides, my head resting on his arm. He lifts one knee so I can slide my leg between his.
We’re so close, but it’s a completely different kind of closeness than this afternoon when my legs were wrapped around his hips. This feels more intimate. More real. His skin against mine, warm and soft.
“Have you thought about whether you’d want to write another song?” There’s a cautious tone in his voice I don’t recognize, but somehow it feels familiar anyway. It sounds so much like him.
“No,” I lie. I have. Not recently, but I used to. I told him I wanted to make music back when we were first messaging. He knows that, which is why he’s asking. But that was then, and this is now. It’s become much more complicated to make music. Even to think about it. “Yes,” I admit a second later, because he already knows the truth. He knows me.
He’s silent, waiting for me to continue. If I want to. He gives me time.
“I don’t know what I want,” I finally admit. “Writing that song with you felt... right. It felt good. But I’m not sure I can do it again.”
“You could try.”
“What if I fail?”
