Page 22
That’s a touchy subject. I nod, running my hand over my face.
“Will you stay if I set the alarm for early before anyone else is up?” I ask.
She touches my face. “I’m not a Band-Aid for what hurts, Coen.”
“I know. I just don’t want you to go.”
The gears in her head turn. Finally, she nods. “Alright. Go get my phone from my pocket.”
I do, and I give her my charger. She sets the alarm, then disappears into the bathroom. When she comes out, she’s still naked. I should offer her my shirt, but I don’t want to cover up that masterpiece. I hold out my arm, and she comes over, climbing shyly into my lap. Her fingers graze my neck. She’s so close, I could kiss her beautiful mouth right now.
“I feel like you have a lot of stories behind those eyes,” she says.
Gently, I touch her throat, where a blue vein flickers. “So do you.”
“Not many.”
“Just because they’re different from mine doesn’t make them mean less. Isn’t that what folk music is all about? Writing about everyday life?”
“I guess so.”
“The heart of folk and country music is in the struggles of ordinary people.”
She’s quiet.
“I don’t mean ordinary in a bad way. It’s a compliment.”
She smiles again, nose scrunching. “I know what you meant. You’re pretty eloquent when you feel comfortable.”
I’m not, but I appreciate it.
“You’re easy to talk to,” I say.
We’re both real quiet for a long time. The window is open a crack, and the sounds of nighttime on the ranch seep through. I thought I would feel at home, then I didn’t, and now I’m wondering if that’s less about being exhausted and more about losing touch. I was a different man when I lived out here. Now, I worry if I look in the mirror, I won’t recognize myself.
I guess, I keep looking away.
“We should sleep,” she whispers. “If we’re getting up early.”
“Yeah.”
She slips down and snuggles up beneath the covers. I shift close and let her curl up against my chest, wrapping my arms around her body. It doesn’t feel like we met yesterday—I glance at the clock. The day before yesterday, actually. I can’t tell if that makes me a little pathetic, a little stereotypical.
There’s a lot I turn over in my brain most nights. But tonight, I don’t feel the ghosts of all my responsibilities hovering over me. It’s just two people, two heartbeats. I close my eyes and pretend my name isn’t Coen Taylor until I believe it and fall asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SABRINA
I wake before the alarm. Whenever I set one, my brain gets me up five minutes before it blares. Bolting up, I turn it off.
My heart pounds, but not from the alarm.
Oh God, I slept with him.
A thousand images bolt through my head. The way he looked up at me as he slid down my body and pushed his face between my thighs. This might have been a one-off, but I will never, ever forget that.
He clears his throat, making me jump.
