Page 59 of Worth the Fight

Was last night a one-off moment for him?

Am I the new Mallory to him? Stop in when I come in from out of town for a no-strings-attached lay?

I’m more than aware that Grady Malone does not do strings-attached. Or rather that’s what the locals have said the few times I’ve gone into town. Even though I’ve tried to keep to myself, curiosity goes a long way in a small town. Innocent introductions in the grocery store or post office turn into subtle probing about what I’m doing in Sunnyville and why I’m living with Grady Malone. The Grady Malone who used to be wild but now is tame and most definitely doesn’t stick with one woman for more than a few dates. Where does that leave me other than in the middle of an awkward situation I never should have gotten myself into?

My God. I’m sitting here thinking that last night meant something when I’m sure it was nothing more than a sudden urge on both our parts to release the tension having Jett around has created.

Didn’t I say yes to him knowing that was the situation? Didn’t I agree to sex because getting involved with someone is the last thing I need right now?

All I can do is laugh at myself though because while I may have convinced myself I could separate sex and emotion last night, is it too soon to admit to myself that I might be developing teeny, tiny feelings for him?

I’m sure those feelings were helped along when he unexpectedly opened up to me this morning and let me in a little. When he dropped his playful demeanor and was honest with me about the fire.

And then he shut me out and hasn’t said another word since. Shouldn’t his total indifference be my clue that he thinks sleeping together was a mistake?

Did I make an error in judgment as well?

Stop staring.

Stop thinking.

Start writing.

There’s a big difference between one night of sex and emotions. The two can be separated.

I can separate them.

Then why do I keep trying to make myself believe that?

There’s an odd ache in my chest when I look at him one last time before moving from the window.

I have at least two months here before I return to Los Angeles. Not for a recording session but to go back home for good. If last night was a mistake, that’s a long time to avoid someone when you’re sharing the same space. If it wasn’t, that’s a super long time to keep emotions and sex in separate corners.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DYLAN

“C’mon, Jett.”

“Don’t you want to know about my time in Napa?” he asks as he points to the case of wine he set on the counter. I’m pretty sure he thinks booze will earn him brownie points with me. I don’t think he realizes we’re sitting in a house surrounded by grape vineyards, so wine is in abundance around here.

And I’m certain he has no clue what I’d really like to do with the bottles is empty their contents in his lap to prove to him that a case of wine isn’t going to win me back.

Doesn’t he get that nothing will?

“Not really.”

“Well, at least let me take you to dinner?”

“No, I⁠—”

“Let’s get out of this house and go out and have a nice meal. Alone. We can bring the wine with us and⁠—”

“Jett, I just want to get this song finished.” The one he started writing about winning the love of your life back. The one that is currently grating on every one of my last nerves because now it all makes sense. His roundabout way to tell me how he feels in the lyrics he wrote followed by the promise of a dinner that I can presume will be romantic.

“And I just want you back.”

I grit my teeth as I look at him across the family room and glare. “Just play the damn chords again.”