by SF Benson
JJ places a hand on top of hers. “Don’t. You didn’t know.”
Call me stupid, but is it that obvious there’s something between JJ and me? What do I say? Maybe it’s best to leave it alone.
She winks at me. “I won’t hold it against you. How can I help?”
Thank the Siren.
Wait! Are you allowed to thank her as a human?
“Colton needs—”
“I need a job,” I interject, pulling my attention back. I’m still capable of speaking for myself.
“Ever work in a bar?” she asks.
“No, but I’m a quick learner.” I lean my forearms on the table. “I’m willing to do whatever you have a need for.”
“You could assist me. I had to fire my last assistant.” Marjorie stands. “Let me grab the coffee. I’ll be right back.”
She walks away, her blonde ponytail swishing side to side. Turning to JJ, I ask, “What’s a bar assistant do?”
“Whatever the bartenders need. Keep the bar stocked with alcohol, clean glasses, ice. You’ll clean up tables. Help with orders when Marjorie can’t do it. Barbacks also get a portion of the bartender’s tips. It’s an honest living, and the pay can be decent.”
The job would fulfill one of Grandfather’s requirements. Marjorie could ask me to mop floors, and I’d do it. No job is too small if it affords me an opportunity to stay in JJ’s world.
Marjorie returns with three plain white mugs and a pot of coffee. “So, Colton—”
“Colt,” I correct.
JJ side-glances at me and sends a grin in my direction. An unspoken understanding passes between us—only he calls me Colton—and I can’t peel my gaze off him. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with the desire to touch JJ. The same longing reflects in his eyes. Damn.
“Can you two knock it off? Jeez!”
Marjorie’s words grab my attention. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
She answers with a soft laugh as she pours coffee in the last mug. “Boy, you two have it bad. The only question I have is does the job interest you, Colt? You can start tonight if it does.”
“Yes, I’m interested,” I answer eagerly.
A bright smile settles on Marjorie’s rosy face. “I’ll get you a couple of T-shirts later, but let me show you the apartment upstairs. I like to offer it as part of the benefits.”
“He won’t need it,” JJ cuts in.
My eyebrows shoot up. “It won’t hurt to look.”
Looking at the available apartment might not hurt, but the heated expression on JJ’s face might end me if I take the space.
Marjorie opens the door to a darkened apartment. A musty odor strikes my nose. She rushes over to a window and throws it open.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t been up here in a while,” she apologizes and turns on an overhead light.
Her words, however, do nothing to blunt the silent assault from JJ. He swats at the air and storms across the room.
To be honest, it’s not a bad space. Not too shabby as far as older apartments go. The furniture is a little dated and dusty, but it’s in one piece. We’re standing in a decent-sized living room—much larger than the one I’m sharing with JJ. I walk behind him into an eat-in kitchen with ugly green appliances dating back to the seventies. They’re not stainless-steel, but as long as everything works I’m good with them. JJ faces me with a glassy stare before pushing past me.
I try to ignore his expression and continue checking out the apartment. A narrow hall is past the front door. Following it, I find a small bathroom with white-and-black tile. A tight bedroom is at the end of the hall. Actually, the room isn’t that tiny. It might be the queen-sized bed hogging up the space. Not a major problem. I can work with it.
“What do you think, JJ?” Trying my best to seem excited about the prospect, I flash a toothy grin. Maybe if he sees I’m happy with the place, we can reach a mutual agreement.
JJ swings around with a stiff posture. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.” Can’t he see that I need his friendship right now? Friends support each other’s choices as long as they’re not dangerous. Right? “Tell me what’s wrong with it.”
JJ rubs his finger along the wall leaving behind a clear spot in the dust. “This place isn’t you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re not going to start the rich-kid shit again?”
He arches an eyebrow.
Ignoring the silent jab, I say, “It’s quiet and comfortable. Two things I need.”
“It won’t be so quiet later this evening,” he points out.
Marjorie enters the bedroom. “JJ, it’s not so bad. I used to live here, or have you forgotten?”
My head jerks back. Exactly how well do they know each other? “Really? Why did you move?”
“I found a nicer place. When I lived here, my father didn’t charge me rent. Technically, the apartment still belongs to me, so I can do whatever I want with it. If you take it, I won’t charge you anything. Call it a job perk.”
“JJ?” My heart pounds.
Why does his opinion matter so much to me?
“No.” His jaw clenches.
I sag against the wall, not caring about how much dust and grime may or may not be there. “Marjorie, let me think about it. I’ll get back to you.”
“Great.” She presses a bronze key with a tag into my hand. “Lock up behind you. Let me know your decision when you come in tonight. I’ll see you at five thirty.”
As soon as the door closes behind Marjorie, JJ speaks up. “You don’t need this place. I told you, you can stay with me for as long as you like.”
Sitting down on the bare mattress, I say, “I haven’t forgotten, but eventually, I’m going to need my own apartment.”
JJ sits beside me. “No, you won’t. I’m not kicking you out. Return the key to Marjorie. I’m ready to go home.”
Home.
A simple word with so much depth. My version is in a sleepy little town up north with humans and supernaturals breathing the same air. Without my own address, I’m doomed to return to that hamlet and my father’s brand of harassment.
I glance at JJ, and he fixes me with a piercing, intense look. This beautiful man will never understand my dilemma. His world is all straight lines and angles. Simple. Full of light and hope. Mine, however, consists of curves and snarls leading into scary, dark places. Places he shouldn’t know about and will never comprehend.
I grasp JJ’s hand. Fulfilling Grandfather’s conditions is a necessity if my home will include JJ. Having a job and moving into this apartment takes care of two of the agreement’s terms. Getting JJ to understand why I need this place is important if he’ll satisfy the final requirement.
“JJ, I can’t stay in the city if I don’t have my own place. I need it even if I never sleep here.”
His fingers intertwine with mine. “This is about the arrangement with your Grandfather?”
“Yes.” A truth I can share. “I have to show self-sufficiency before he’ll argue my case with my father. I need a place to live and a job.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You know I would never put you out.”
“I know.”
Not yet anyway.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jeremiah
I have no choice but to accept Colton’s explanation. I’d love to know more about his family’s drama, but then again, it might be more than I care to know. He has secrets, and I have mine. No way to start a relationship, but it’s all we have.
Hiding my feelings and background from Colton is possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but telling him the truth comes with risk. Although there are days when I can’t handle the veracity of my own story, I doubt Colton—despite my suspicions—could bear the weight of it.
Give him the opportunity.
“If this is what you need to do, you have my support,” I tell him, wishing I believed my words.
“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking for.”
�
��That’s all?” I lift our entwined hands. Colton’s kidding himself if all he wants is a little acceptance. The look on his face this morning hinted at something we both want. “You sure?”
Colton’s dark eyes sparkle as a genuine smile lights up his face. It’s an expression I’d pay any amount of money to see. Always. “We’ll see.”
“Let’s go home.” For the first time, I’m seeing my apartment as more than a place to lay my head.
Grabbing a couple of water bottles from the fridge, I head to the living room where Colton is lightly strumming on my guitar. The bluesy riff he’s playing needs the right lyrics. Words that speak to a new love after tragedy. It’s a song I believe Colton would have no problem penning. He’s such a natural when it comes to music. My father blessed me with the ability to play, but Colton is gifted. Does he even realize how profoundly talented he is?
“JJ, did you notice that the apartment over the bar has more room than this place?”
“I suppose.” Handing him a bottle, I sit down at the keyboard. “But it doesn’t have the amenities.”
Colton shakes his head and stops playing the guitar.
“What?”
“Who cares about frills? You need space to create. We could use the space.”
Wow. He said we. I like the sound of that, but when did this become a we situation?
Putting the bottle on the floor, I flex my fingers before playing the intro for the song I’ve been working on. Something’s missing from it. I don’t know if it’s the lyrics or the melody, but it’s not working for me.
When I slam the keys, Colton looks at me. He points out, “It’s not the song.”
“Huh?” I grab a pencil ready to change a few notes. “What is it then?”
“It’s the keyboard. Synthesized music doesn’t have a soul. The lyrics and melody are good, but it’s hollow.” He sets the guitar next to him. “You need a real piano to breathe life into the song.”
Spreading my hands, I say, “Have you noticed my lack of space? Besides, pianos cost money I don’t have.”
“That’s why we need the other place. It’s big enough to house a piano. We should consider moving.”
“We?” I twist the cap off the bottle and take a swig.
“Yes.”
“You honestly want to find a place together?” Disbelief and a little shock slip into my voice. “The two of us?”
His dark eyes twinkle as he speaks. “Why not? You said you weren’t putting me out. Wouldn’t you like a chance to figure this out between us?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean finding a new address.” I drop my pencil. Of course, I want to know where we’re leading. My longing for a real relationship scares me at times.
“I’m not talking about anything fancy.” Colton leans forward and places a hand on his knees. “The apartment above the bar would work for now.”
Reality does a gut check. My breath hitches a little. “What if this is purely physical?”
“Then we deal with it. Personally, I’m not into labels.” Colton shrugs. “Besides, I don’t plan on staying over the bar forever. What we need is a brownstone with a big window in the living room. We’ll put a baby grand in front of it. I can picture you sitting on the stool. Can’t you see yourself on a cold winter’s night? Fireplace burning? Snow falling?”
That’s a picture I’d give anything to witness as long as Colton is with me.
“But a baby grand?” I tilt my head and resist the urge to laugh. “I guess you’re planning to rake in a lot as a barback.”
“Anything’s possible if we want it bad enough.”
There’s that word again. Question is, do I want it bad enough? What am I willing to do for a man I’ve only known a short time? A man who has me yearning for him like an alcoholic eyeing a bottle of Jack.
Colton takes a drink from the bottle. “Right now, let’s work on the song.”
It’s not what I want at this moment, but it’s the safest thing. For both of us. “What are you thinking?”
“How about this?” Colton picks up the guitar and strums a few chords of the opening melody. It’s nothing like what I wrote. Instead, it has a more classical feel. “Now play the chorus, but don’t sing it.”
I do, and we play together. Harmonizing rhythms and giving depth to what I’ve already written. His version and mine intertwine and create a new melody. It’s stronger. It now has a body and a semblance of soul. We end the collaboration with Colton repeating the opening as the keyboard fades out. He rests his hand against the guitar and gives me a wide-eyed expression.
“What do you think?”
“It’s hot.” Understatement. Before, I figured Colton was a talented dancer. His abilities are so broad and much deeper than I gave him credit for. “What made you think of the classical intro?”
“No idea. It just came to me.” He plays the opening again. It’s even better than the first time.
“You’re very talented. Where did you study music?” Anyone who plays the classics the way Colton does has to be trained.
“I took lessons as a kid on a variety of instruments, but I never stuck with one long. Honestly, music has always been easy for me. I didn’t need lessons.”
“You expect me to believe that?” I rub my brow. He sounds like a fucking genius. Is that possible? Maybe that’s what I’ve been picking up on. He’s a gifted musician, and it makes him special on a deeper level than solely a regular human. “No one plays an instrument with your skill and isn’t trained.”
Colton twists his mouth like he’s trying to hide a canary. “Move over.”
“What?”
“Let me show you what I can do.” He takes the seat I vacated. “Listen.”
Colton’s fingers glide over the keys, and a recognizable melody begins—one of Chopin’s “Nocturnes”. Music I haven’t heard in a long time. “You know your classics. So?”
“My favorites are Mozart and Beethoven. Occasionally, I’ll play Chopin and Liszt.” Colton closes his eyes, and his head moves along with the tune.
Each melody, representing each composer, segues smoothly into another. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a person mix tunes like that. There’s so much passion in Colton’s playing. The keyboard doesn’t do it justice, but it’s not completely about the instrument. Colton hums along and becomes part of the music, and the humming becomes words. It doesn’t matter what he’s singing though. His voice is beautiful. The emotions churning through it touch me. Overwhelm me. Mesmerize me until I’m so caught up that I don’t hear him speaking.
Colton taps my arm. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah— I did.” My gaze lifts to his. Every fiber I possess yearns for me to kiss this man. Fear, however, keeps my lips sealed. I’ve pushed too hard, too soon before. The last thing I want is to get hurt again. Colton continues playing. He’s back to that gloomy ass Mozart tune. “Is that your favorite?”
“Yes.” There’s a gleam in his eyes. “It speaks to me. Louder than other melodies.”
“Could you stop?” The only thing it says to me is death.
His hands still on the keys. “What’s wrong?”
Standing, I go to the sofa, needing to put a little distance between us. “It’s depressing.”
“One man’s depression is just another man’s outlook on life.”
“Huh?”
Colton sits beside me. “Can a person be sad and not depressed?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Different outlooks on life. One man feels doomed and defeated. The other only feels sad for the moment. He puts it behind him and moves on. That’s the “Moonlight Sonata”. There are those who hear depression. Others hear sadness.”
Staring at this intense man, I wonder how he became so deep. There are so many layers to him, and I want to peel back each and every one. “Why do you like it?”
He sighs. “Depends on why I’m playing it. Sometimes it’s the only way to express the pain I’m feeling. At others, I’m sad. Playing it n
ow? It marks a passage of time. A period where I didn’t like who I was. Thankfully, I don’t feel like that person anymore, not when I’m with you.”
Shit!
I hope to hell I don’t regret this, but how can I not react to those words? Facing Colton, I cup his handsome face, and my lips brush his. Incredibly soft for a man.
