by Max Henry
I finish my mouthful with a smile. “I think you just answered your own question, Toby Thomas.”
He grins. “I did, didn’t I?”
“It’s only wrong if you believe it is. Of all the personality types out there, you’re one of the ones better placed to know when enough is enough.”
“How do you mean?” He downs his lunch as though he can’t wait to be done with the distraction from our conversation.
I love the way it makes me feel heard, important. “Your intuitive side. You know when the balance is off because you feel it in your gut. You can’t pinpoint what exactly it is, but somewhere deep inside you, a little alarm bell reminds you it’s time to back off the gas for a while.”
He nods. I’m squarely the center of Toby’s attention, and I can’t help but marvel at the complete contrast from how we started. He brings us a glass of cold water each while I finish my last bites. The whole situation seems so surreal, like two kindred souls spending an afternoon doing what they love best: getting deep with a conversation.
I can’t help but feel this revives him as much as it does me.
“How do you find balance when your schedule doesn’t allow for it?” Toby asks, one elbow on the table where he slouches in his seat. “Sometimes our timelines mean we barely have time to shower, let alone think about having mental time out. I don’t see how I’m supposed to let intuition rule when I’m stuck in the rush.”
“You make a promise to yourself.” I have a sip of water to cleanse the palate. “All busy times in our lives come to an end. The trick is to reward yourself when it does.”
“What if you can’t make it until then?”
I relax against the back of the chair. “Are we talking about Rey again?”
His stare is seriously unnerving in its intensity. “How can I go and give him a pep talk when I have no idea what to say?” His nostrils flare, head tipped back as he glares at the ceiling. “If I’m going to be any use to my brother, I need to rediscover my love for music as well.” He drops his chin; intense blue eyes fixed on mine as he states, “And you’re the one to help me do that.”
I search his gaze, mouth agape. “How? How do you know that?”
He leans in the slightest bit. I feel his proximity everywhere. “Because when I look at you, you make me want to play.”
“Music?” My word is a mere whisper.
Gaze hooded, he runs the side of his finger beneath my chin. “In every sense of the word.”
Wow.
“Two months in the studio.” He leans back, settling both feet flat on the floor. Still, a mere few inches separate us. “Technology is great, but don’t you think face-to-face feels so much better?”
“What are we talking about here, Toby?” My cheeks flame and I resist the urge to push my seat back so I can breathe.
“You’re right, Jeanie.” He peruses my mouth before resuming eye contact. “We do get along well.”
“Don’t fall for the first one you see,” I warn. He said he doesn’t do this kind of thing—talk to people about himself. Perhaps his feelings are mistaken?
“You’re not the first one, Jeanie.” Toby rises abruptly, collecting our empty dishes. “There have been plenty of women who professed their desire to be my soulmate, to keep me company on the road, as though four in a fucking bus isn’t cramped enough.”
I chuckle softly at the visual.
He smirks. “I guess my intuition has served me well when it came to passing judgment over those I meet. I haven’t been burned as many times as my bandmates, but I also don’t get as much physical connection as they do.”
I choke on the sip of water that was halfway down my throat. “Jesus. Skip straight to the meat of the touring life, why don’t you?”
“It’s not as much of the lifestyle as people want to make out.” He ditches the dishes for later. “The bands who spend their time partying hard eventually all reach the same crossroad: burn out and become another once was or experience a hard-as-fuck come to Jesus moment and knuckle down while they essentially start over from the bottom up.”
“Sounds like fun,” I quip, swirling what’s left of my water in the glass. “When was the last time you took a day off just to do something fun?”
Toby resumes his seat beside me, frowning as though he doesn’t follow.
“In the time we’ve spent together, I’ve heard you laugh—actually laugh—once.” I set the drink down and lean my head on a hand. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to learn to relax a little more.”
“I had something I’d do to let off steam, but it’s been a while.” He stares at his hand while he taps the table gently. “Maybe years.” Toby snaps from the thought spiral with a rush of energy. “Things got busy when we signed with Bauer. I mean, we all knew shit was about to real and fast, but it was like a goddamn snowball gaining momentum. Before any of us had time to take a breath, we were two albums deep and a world tour on the calendar.”
“Did you lose yourself in the hype?” I ask.
“Mostly.” He relaxes a little. “Time passed in the blink of an eye, which had its ups and downs. It was good because nothing seemed like a drag. But, fuck, we missed so many family events, milestones.”
“You regret it?”
He meets my eye. “Not for a goddamn second.”
His passion for the job is something to be admired. He says that the life can be hard, that they run themselves into the ground, to a dangerous level in some cases—prime example Rey. But he’s made it clear over and over that he’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
That music is where his heart feels at home.
I take a hasty gulp of water when the foggy feeling that had warmed my chest this past half hour slips into focus. I’ve got it bad for him—real bad. Somewhere along the way, I figured that my transient ideal life would mean I lived a lonely life. I saw what kind of woman our mother needed to be to weather the hardships that came with Dad being away so often while on assignment. Those kinds of loves are hard to find and even rarer to make work long term.
But seated here with this guy who talks to my goddamn soul about a passion for not only music but everything it encapsulates… Shit, he’s my perfect damn match. Well, in every way except one.
Even if, by some miracle, he felt the same way, the nature of our chosen careers would throw up more problems than solutions. All he wants is to be left alone to create and entertain. And all I want to do is expose his darkest corners for the whole world to see.
However it ends, one of us will be hurt. Intentional or not.
The vulture and the prey.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Toby
“Willow Tree” – Twin Wild
She fell quiet after we ate. Something I said? I don’t know. But the conversation was stunted during the hour before we needed to leave to make her flight. Awkward. As though she didn’t know what she wanted to talk about when the gossip she desired remained off-limits.
All I could think about was how cool it would be to have here all the time. That was before I realized I’d still want the time to myself when I felt the urge to play, to compose. It’s why I stand to the side while she checks in, ensuring she makes her flight okay.
A relationship with a woman would be on my terms. A solid reason to stay on my own if ever I heard one.
“All done.” Jeanie walks over to where I wait, folding her boarding pass in half and pocketing it. “I might see if I can hunt down a coffee while I wait.”
“Sure.”
She sticks both hands in the back pocket of her jeans, elbows slung to the side while she peers up at me.
She wants me to leave.
“You sure you got everything?”
“I only brought the one bag, Toby.” She wraps one hand around the straps. “Thanks for the ride.”
She loved it; I know it. She chewed my ear off the whole way here, wanting to know the details of the upgrades and begging for stories of the times I’ve taken my truck off-road
. I used to do it a lot until Emery trashed my previous ride, drunk, and Kris almost ruined his right hand. I don’t go out so much these days.
“I guess this is it until we cross paths again, huh?”
“When do you have to be at the studio?” Her brow furrows the slightest bit.
“Two weeks. But I’ll head up there next week to settle in before we get locked indoors.”
She nods, glancing up at the flight board. “Well, I better grab that drink if I want to make it to the gate on time.”
“Yeah.”
She doesn’t move. It’s as though she wants me to say something. But what? I don’t know what the fuck she wants. I know what I want, but that’s completely fucked up, not to mention inappropriate for an airport terminal.
Emery made enough headlines with his drunken spectacle a month ago. There’s no reason to try and one-up the guy.
Jeanie huffs, her shoulders drooped. “Take it easy, okay?” She ducks her chin and sidesteps to get around me.
It’s in that fickle second that I realize what it is she wanted: an admission. She told me repeatedly on the ride here that she appreciated the invite. That she enjoyed our conversation, and she wished it could have been longer. She gave me all the goddamn openings in the world to reciprocate, and I did fucking nothing.
I reach out, snagging her jersey as she passes by, and tug her to a stop. Full lips part on a gasp, gaze roving from my clenched fist up to my stoic face as I stare straight ahead at a couple who hug before walking up to the check-in desk hand-in-hand.
The answer is spelled out all around me, yet I choose to stay blind to the clues.
“I want you to come back.” I shift my gaze to her, twisting my head to the side. “I liked having you here, and it meant a fuckload having somebody care enough to ask about me.”
She turns to face me, coaxing me to do the same. “I think more people care to ask about you than you realize.” She shies, averting her gaze briefly. “It looked more to me like you felt comfortable enough to open up for a change.”
Maybe I did, but all I needed was that person to give me an opening. Nobody had until her. Nobody uttered a simple, “How are you feeling?” until this little vulture barraged her way into my life.
“Send me a message when you know what’s happening with your job.” I relax my fisted hand and slide it up to her shoulder, tangling my fingers in the ends of her hair. “If I can help, I will.” A pointless thing to say when what I did is most likely the catalyst for what happened.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She straightens her spine, head tilting when the first call for her flight comes across the PA system.
“You missed your coffee.”
Her shoulders rise with her deep breath. “I guess there’s always one on board.”
“Yuck.”
A soft laugh. A better sound to remember after she’s gone. “Yeah. I’ll wait until I get off at the other end.”
Like a flower given care, she’s opened up slowly since we left my place. Whatever I said, whatever crossed her mind at lunch, it seems to slip away. I fleetingly wonder if this will be the last time we see each other.
I don’t want to live the rest of my life, wondering. “Let me make it up to you before you go.” Wondering how she tastes.
Her inhale is sharp, eyes wide, when I pull her close by the fabric of her jersey. I wrap my other hand around the side of her neck, cupping the fine line of her jaw between my forefinger and thumb. Her lips are supple, her submission instant.
She did want this.
But who wanted it more? Who wanted it first? I swallow her breathy sigh, nip at her bottom lip, and caress the top with my pout. There’s no urgency to the connection, no hesitation. I love that she has the confidence to return what I give and to add what she needs. Jeanie’s fingers splay across my chest, her kiss deepening when she rises on her toes to level our mouths better. I relish in her, savor every second that her lips beg, and give thanks all at once. She fulfills my curiosity while leaving me burdened with a thousand new questions when she pulls away. Breathless. Beautifully flushed.
“That was… unexpected.” Her fingertips dot where my mouth was, gaze vacant.
“You better make your flight.” I bite my lip and back away before either one of us dives into round two.
“I’m sure they’d call my name before they closed the door.”
Thumbs slung in my pockets to keep me grounded, I chuckle. “Nah, babe. You better make your flight before I change my mind.”
Her smile is fucking infectious. She hides her grin behind the fall of her hair, skip-turning away to stride for the gate. I stay rooted to the spot, sure that she’ll give me one last look. My vulture doesn’t disappoint. Two steps before she vanishes around a corner, Jeanie turns, gaze locking onto mine. Only, this time she doesn’t shy away. Instead, her smile grows and morphs into laughter—pure joy. Absolute nirvana.
Everything that I feel for the first time in fucking years.
I want her back. She will come back. I don’t care how many flights I have to book or obligations I need to reschedule. This time, I will make time for myself.
I’ll make time for us.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jeanie
“House of Cards” – The Parlor Mob
Sleep was a fleeting friend last night. I repeatedly woke throughout the night, sometimes with the thought of Toby fresh on my mind, others with my job’s future. I don’t want to work for a morally corrupt boss. Yes, I did a stupid fucking thing writing that hate piece on Toby, but I wouldn’t have published it. I know better.
Being punished for the desire to set things right? That sucks.
“You with us today?”
I turn slowly to face Charles; one arm bent over the back of my seat. “Pardon?”
“You look as though you’re lost in thought.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I return to my monitor, the half-written how-to column staring back at me.
“When you do it for a solid half-hour, I think it might be.” Chucky rises from his seat, moving across to perch his taut ass on the edge of my desk. “What happened this weekend?”
“Why did something have to happen?” I narrow my gaze on the stupid words that don’t flow right.
“Get up to much?”
“Stuff.” I’ve missed a step. That’s why this seems wrong.
“Just stuff?”
“Yeah.” I shunt my mouse away with a growl and spin to face him. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” He lifts both hands and rises to his feet. “You’re the one who seems like they have issues.”
“Really? I get a passive-aggressive threat from Devon about my job,” I hiss under my breath, “and you want to know why I have issues?”
“Trying to be a friend.” He steps back to his cushy seat.
It’d never occurred to me before now that he gets a plush office chair made for long hours, whereas I have a fixed seat with a cushioned base that feels much like a slab of goddamn concrete.
“Well don’t.” I hop the legs of my chair around until I face his setup. “How did you get all the best stuff?”
“What do you mean?” The guy has the audacity to look confused as he scopes the area around him. “I don’t have the best stuff.”
“You monitor is, like, three times the size of mine.”
“I need it for the full-page layouts I work on.”
“And your chair is way better than mine.”
“Are you going somewhere with this, Jeanie?”
I stand and take a step to the side to look over his shoulder. “Your goddamn keyboard and mouse are wireless.”
“Are yours not?” Charles folds his arms, leaning back into the seat.
I make a quick loop of our office area, spying on everyone’s workstation as I go by. He still waits with folded arms when I re-enter our area. “Nobody else’s are.”
“Feel free to cut to the chase.” His tone has shifted.
Those bright eyes not quite so welcoming anymore.
“Curious why you get looked after so well. That’s all.”
“You’re still beating around the bush.”
“How many times did you blow Devon to get all this.”
“Excu—what the fuck?” Chucky’s eyes go wide.
I stand my ground, hands to hips, and one eyebrow raised while I wait for an answer. “I’m serious.”
“Seriously delusional.” He spins back to his waiting work. “Honestly, Jeanie. You’ve got to stop thinking the whole world is against you.”
“I have reason to, don’t you think?”
“Because you imagined Devon threatening your job?” He glances over his shoulder at my desk when my phone chimes a new message. “Some of us don’t get to fuck around on devices all day like you do. Maybe you’re the one who blows the boss.”
“Real fucking funny.” I swipe up my mobile, noting Kelly’s name. “Besides, it’s not fucking around when it’s work.”
“Is that work?’ He nods toward my hands as I open the thread.
“Yes.” Such a filthy liar. “Conversation’s over, Chuck.”
“Good chat,” he quips, hunching over his keyboard.
I stare at the back of his head before reading Kelly’s message, pondering if he gets paid more than I do as well. Guarantee it.
I’m disgusted it’s after noon and you haven’t told me how the visit went.
I snort a little, drawing Chucky’s eye. Flicking him a middle finger, I veer through the office to the ladies’ room, deciding it’s the best place to find solitude if I don’t want to appear as though I “fuck around”. Perched on the closed toilet, I wake the screen.
Maybe it’s gossip best shared in person?
Truthfully, I still process how I feel about it all. He had me enamored with him, angry at his assumptions and swooning for more when he kissed the hell out of me at the airport. I experienced what seems like nearly the full array of Toby’s emotions, and I still don’t know for sure how he feels about me. About us.
Consider me already at yours.
Bring dinner? I send back. There was no time left to pick up essentials after I got home.
