Page 13

“Yeah, I will. I’m good. You good?”

“Better than good.”

He tells me to take it easy, even though I probably won’t, and I hang up. Then, like I’m in a daze, I go to the bedroom to find my notebook and pen. The floppy cardboard cover is plain brown, nothing on it. Inside, there are no lines, just pale yellow paper. I flip through the empty pages.

I haven’t written anything yet.

I was kind of hoping I could write my own shit in here.

Shoving it in my back pocket with my only ballpoint pen, I leave the gatehouse. The first thing I see as I round the house for the front driveway is Sabrina. I stumble slightly, halting.

I’ve never been a player, but I fell into my fair share of one night stands over the last decade. Nothing I’m ashamed of—I always left them happy—but I agreed with Jamie when he said don’t try dating anyone while on a break. My last relationship, a significant one, left me reeling and a little numb when it ended. The last thing I need while I’m in this state is that feeling all over again.

The problem is…she’s beautiful.

My type, from her head to her feet. Last night, I saw it, but today, it really sinks in. She’s in jean shorts that show a shadow of her lightly rounded ass, her lean thighs, her calves that run to her brown leather cowboy boots. Her shirt is a little bit big. I noticed she likes baggy shirts, but it drapes over her breasts in a way that highlights them. Her hair is pulled up on her head, wispy bangs and bits falling over her neck. My eyes linger on her lopsided freckles. I wonder how much younger she is. Maybe ten years?

That’s not that many.

Am I a stereotype? I hope not. She’s the first younger woman I’ve been interested in.

“Are you coming?”

I jump out of my skin. A few yards away is Serena, hand on her hip, popping her gum. She’s brash, more Jamie’s type than mine. Not that I’m looking at anyone but Sabrina right now.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, following her to the driveway.

Bill comes out, and I stand back to watch as he tries to get up in the truck. It’s pretty tall, and it takes a couple tries, but he makes it into the passenger side. Sabrina hovers hard around his elbow. It’s clear she’s worried about him, and I wonder if they had a scare like a fall or something recently.

I head to the back, but Bill leans across.

“You want to drive?” he calls.

I pause, looking at Sabrina, who nods. “You can if you like. I can give you directions.”

Both sisters get in the back, and the doors slam, so I have no other choice but to slide into the driver’s seat. Bill hits the button, and the engine starts. Fast Car starts playing, and I freeze, unable to breathe for a second. Without meaning to, I’m back in my studio in Nashville, my first guitar in hand, picking through this song. It was my go-to for years whenever anyone asked me to play something. My mom used to play it on the porch when I was little, and I could sing it in my sleep.

“You good?”

Sabrina leans in. I nod, reaching for my seatbelt.

“Yeah, sorry. Just haven’t been in a truck for a while.” I cringe, knowing I drove a truck here, but nobody contradicts me. Carefully, I guide the truck out to the end of the drive.

“Alright, where are we headed?” I ask.

“Go left,” Serena says.

“Right is faster,” Bill interjects.

Sabrina shifts between the seats, leaning over the console and punching an address into the large screen on the dash. Her arm brushes mine, warm skin on skin.

My scalp prickles.

Uh-oh. I’m going to do something I regret again.

“Thanks,” I say.

She pats my arm once and then sinks into the back row. For the next few miles, while Bill and Serena chat, Sabrina adding a few words here and there, I think about nothing but the way my skin glows where she touched it.