by Fiona Cole
“What?” I mock gasped. “I’m shocked.”
“Oh, fuck you,” she said, bumping her shoulder into mine.
“So? Are you going to show your face?”
“I don’t know yet. But I am trying to merge the three moneymakers into one. Sell my art on my platform. Keep traveling and posting. I’m focusing on that first.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Speaking of a plan, let’s get started.”
We browsed around from piece to piece. She started most of the stories, but I quickly caught on. At one point, she even picked a strong midwestern accent that had me choking back laughter. A very hip-looking couple gave us an alarmed side-eye which caused her to break character and laugh.
“I think they’re on to us,” I whispered.
“Nah, I bet they’re just eavesdropping to get any secret details.”
“I’m sure,” I deadpanned.
When we ran into them again around one of the many freestanding walls, her voice grew louder. I fought not to laugh and focused on playing along, but the nasally voice with the absurd facts she made up had me on the edge of cracking up. Honestly, I could have done this all day. The easy comradery and play banter flowed without anything inhibiting it. Being goofy came natural together, and right then, we needed to find natural.
“My friend, Tina, made this one,” she said loudly, pointing at the very clearly ancient Greek statue of a naked man holding a bat.
I almost jumped out of my skin at the sharp decibel, unsure of when this turned into shouting. I slowly turned my head to look at her with wide, concerned eyes. She gave an almost nod to the couple closing in and winked.
“You know. Tina,” she continued. “She’s the one with seven kids and two husbands. She uses one house to be a wife and another one to be an artist.”
Fuck, it. I guessed we were doing this. It was then I remembered how willing I’d been to follow Nova where she led me—even if it was a little crazy.
“Ohhh, that Tina,” I agreed just as loud as her.
The couple inched closer. “She said this was a representation of Ope. You know what all us Midwesterners say when they do something on accident.”
“That makes sense. The way he’s leaned back.” I nodded before taking a turn at our act and faced another painting, using a matching accent. “You know Hank painted this one last week. Can’t believe he did it while sleepwalking.”
She snorted but held it together. “You know, Hank. He’s famous for that. He even painted a room in the White House.”
We moved from painting to painting, rounding walls, coming up with more outrageous stories than the last. We lost our hip couple but picked up a few more along the way. However, when we neared the front, a guard pinned us with a glare before making purposeful strides in our direction.
Switching back to a casual whisper, like we were the picture of innocence, we speed-walked our way through the various structures, trying to lose the guard. We rounded a corner, and I saw a private alcove to lay low in. Not thinking about it, I linked my hand with hers, electricity and want reverberating through me at the contact when my calloused fingers grazed her smooth skin. Apparently, I caught her off guard because when I tugged her with me, she stumbled, and I barely turned around to catch her.
Right. Against. My chest.
Her palms landed against me, flexing into the material. I looked down at her mass of red hair and forced myself to remain still while her eyes traveled up my chest, my neck, and finally landed on my lips. All I wanted to do was flip us around, pin her to this wall, and take her up on the offer coloring her eyes. I almost did when her tongue peeked out to slide across her lips. But then her gaze met mine, and with a blink, she masked the fire and backed away.
I reluctantly let go of the grip I had on her hips and cleared my throat. “Sorry, I found a hiding place.”
“Good call.”
Taking a deep breath, I looked around the wall just to keep from looking at her. “I think the coast is clear.”
“We should probably get going. We don’t want to push our luck.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Thanks for this. It was fun, but also it was good to look at the art and analyze the emotions with our stories.”
“Good. I had no idea if it would work. I’m totally winging it.”
I tossed my head back and laughed. Nova always looked so unassuming but held more depth and ability than almost anyone I knew.
I loved it.
If I was honest, I loved a lot about her.
Even after all these years.
Always.
Sixteen
Parker
Two days later, and we were back on the road again. We’d managed to write a whole verse and chorus. It wasn’t much, but mainly because time held us back over our inability to create together.
It wasn’t great, but it was a move in the right direction.
Which was why, when Nova had me pick a movie I’d never seen and demanded time at the back of the bus, I didn’t question it. I grabbed popcorn and shoved down all the crazy, hopeful ideas that said she was inviting me back there to spend time alone together—to rekindle what we lost.
In a way, she was. Just not the love and caring I wanted. Instead, she was trying to rekindle our writing mojo. But thirty minutes in and it kind of felt like the same thing, because if we were honest, our writing mojo came from a lot of our emotional connection, and it was that emotional connection that had us pushing the limits of right and wrong.
“Parker,” she cried just before a popcorn kernel hit my head. “You have to take this seriously.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to take deep, calming breaths to get myself under control.
“I’m trying, but your British accent is horrible.”
“It’s the best,” she argued, throwing another popcorn kernel my way. This time I caught it with my mouth.
Her idea had us watching a movie neither of us had watched before on mute while we made up our own script for them. It took a while to get going, but once we did, I fed off her as much as she fed off me. Until she broke out the accent, and I died laughing.
She glared with pursed lips, and the movie was forgotten. I forced myself to keep my eyes on the screen and not her, but now that I’d taken her in, there was no looking away. Her red hair defied gravity in the way it balanced on her head in a mass of tangles. She lay stretched out on one side of the U-shaped couch, her long legs bare beneath gray sweat shorts. All that lean muscle on full display. Creamy skin with almost imperceptible freckles that you had to know where to look to see them. I’d made it a point to map each and every one when we were teens.
My phone buzzed beside me, and I begrudgingly pulled my gaze away from her to find a message from Sonia.
Sonia: I’m in Charlotte. Do you want to have dinner when you get here? It would be good promo for your show tonight.
And leave Nova? I didn’t think so.
As if on cue, Aspen’s voice cut through my thoughts from years of always drilling me. You should do it for the job. Sales, sales, sales and promo, promo, promo. But right now, the job didn’t matter. Even sitting here trying to build a rapport to write music with Nova didn’t matter. It was the relaxing and just…being that mattered. I eyed Nova and smiled because maybe having her around was what it took to remind me that I could still be me—just me—and that was okay.
Me: Not this time. Thanks for the offer.
Sonia: You sure? Does Aspen agree?
Me: She’s not the one that matters. I do.
With that, I pushed my phone aside, irritated that these two women seemed like they were conspiring to corner me. It pissed me off.
“Who’s that?” Nova asked.
“No one important.” I decided to be vague over lying because I didn’t want to say Sonia’s name when we were having a good time.
“Not your mom?” she asked.
I flinched at the mention of my mom. “Why would you say that?”
/>
“You just usually get that line between your brows when you hear from her. It’s grown deeper over the years.”
“I’ll be sure to botox it,” I joked.
She laughed but quickly sobered. “Does she still message you a lot?”
“Not really. Just when she wants to brag about her other family.”
“Do they come to your shows at all?”
“God, no,” I laughed. “Although, I did leave some tickets for my younger stepbrother, but they were never claimed. He said Mom wouldn’t let him come.”
“What a bitch,” she hissed.
“That about sums it up.”
“So, if it wasn’t your mom, who else puts that line there?”
I quickly weighed the pros and cons of lying, and the cons outweighed the two-second reprieve it’d buy me. So, with a deep breath, I answered honestly. “Sonia.”
“Oh,” she said, looking deep into the bucket of popcorn like it held the answers to life. “What did she want?”
“Asked me to go to dinner.”
“Are you going?”
“No. I’m doing this with you.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure Aspen would want you to go. You know, for promotions.”
She hadn’t looked up from the popcorn, but she held her body tight like my answer mattered more than just an affirmation. Because how many times had I hurt her when I chose the job over her or when I thought it wasn’t a big deal when I chose my job over her.
“I’m sure Aspen would want me to go, but I’m not going to.” Finally, she looked up, her eyes softening when they met mine. “I’m exactly where I want to be—here with you.”
I forced myself to stay quiet after that when all I wanted to do was tell her how much she meant to me and how important she was, but my words had been rendered useless by previous actions. So, I let my decision do the talking for me. I let it sink in.
She studied my face until finally, the smallest of smiles tipped her lips. “Good.”
“Besides, I’d hate to miss another awesome accent.”
“Oh, shut up,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“I miss having fun with you,” I admitted.
She waved it off. “You have the guys to keep you entertained.”
“True, but they’re not quite you.”
“Well, there’s also all the women you’ve been with over the years. Didn’t seem to miss much then,” she muttered.
She winced as soon as the words left her mouth, and I let it slide. We were doing a lot better about starting fresh, but we weren’t great. Too much lingered between us. Too much tension and resentment. And sometimes, if I looked close enough—too much love to be hidden. Instead, it got masked by the random snarky slipups we both made. Thankfully, we came to the unspoken agreement to let those slide. But they were still there as a reminder that what we were doing was nothing more than a veneer. Even so, I’d take it.
“What’s the tattoo on your leg?” I asked, changing the subject.
She looked down to where her shorts rose up to expose close to her hip before tugging them back down.
“Oh, come on. You can’t not tell me,” I cajoled.
She bit her lip and studied me before finally releasing it with a sigh. I was grateful for the small space between us because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from soothing the rosy, plump flesh.
“Fine,” she huffed, hiking her shorts back up. “It’s a DNA breaking up into music notes.”
I sat upright and hunched over, resting my elbows on my knees to get as close as possible while still keeping space. Fuck, her skin was tempting. The pale flesh completely unblemished beyond a few faint freckles and the elegant DNA strand with flowers woven throughout.
“Are those…” I squinted, laughing when I saw it. “Puzzle pieces?”
“I said I love puzzles, okay?” she defended.
“I love it. It’s totally you. Now show me some more.”
“Well, you have to show me some, too. Fair is fair.”
“Done.” With that, I whipped my sweatshirt over my head, leaving me in just a tank. I couldn’t help but puff my chest up when her jaw dropped a little taking me in. I let her look her fill, knowing that as soon as I called her out, she’d stop, and I wanted to bask in her awe. Moving slowly to not startle her, I turned my arm to the back and pointed at the guitar pick with our band initials inside. “Your turn.”
She showed me a minimalist mountain range behind her elbow, and I showed her my compass.
She showed me her Viking symbol on the other elbow, and I showed her the lotus blended into the compass.
She showed me the outline of the world map on her ankle, and I showed her mine adorning the top of my feet.
Through it all, we kept it innocent and light. Telling stories about how we got each one and the regrets of the others. While mine were an ever-growing collage on my arms, hers were sporadic, and like little hidden treasures I wanted to find.
“What was your first one?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes and chewed her cheek, considering something. With a small shrug almost to herself, she turned her back to me and started pulling up her shirt.
Oh fuck.
I could keep my space from an ankle and an elbow, but the bare expanse of her back had me tipping over the edge, and I had to clench my fists to keep from smoothing both palms up her back and into her hair. Once the shirt reached her shoulders, she clutched it tight to her chest and looked over her shoulder. I didn’t know where I wanted to look first. Her back? Her tattoo? Or her stunning profile?
“It’s one of my favorite sayings,” she explained, pulling my attention to the tattoo.
The fine script was impossible to read, so I fell to my knees and inched closer. A clean line drawing of a phoenix sat between her shoulder blades, one of the lines of its tail extended down her into sharp cursive.
I am the storm.
If Nova could be put into a tattoo, this was it. This was her. It was perfect.
And I couldn’t not feel it on her.
Moving slowly, knowing I should pull back, but unable to stop, I reached for her. Her whole back tensed, but she didn’t pull back when my fingertip just grazed the tip of the bird. I followed the gentle swirls and down the tail. With each pass—each second—I connected with her, her breathing picked up. My lungs worked overtime, too, struggling to match my racing heart.
I stroked down the letters, feeling each dainty ridge of her spine, wondering how long I could drag this out. Wondering how far I could take this. When I reached the base, I held my finger there just above the edge of her shorts and soothed back and forth. With each pass, I added pressure and stretched a little further.
“Parker,” she whispered.
I added my other fingers, pushing up and in, centimeters from pressing my palm to her skin.
Then the door opened, and the guys piled in.
I jerked back to the couch, and Nova slammed her shirt back down. Oren blocked the door and looked over his shoulder at the other guys, missing the situation he just walked in on.
“We want to watch the movie, too. I love Jennifer Aniston,” he proclaimed.
They stumbled in and made themselves comfortable on the couch, completely ruining the moment. I don’t know what would have happened in that moment, but I felt the shift. I felt it in the way she kept watching me out of the corner of her eye, almost like she saw me differently and needed to study me.
Something shifted, and I planned to stick my foot in the door and burst it open.
Seventeen
Nova
“What if we played this?”
Ash braced his feet under his captain’s chair and rested his fingers along the neck of the bass, strumming the same chords we’d played so many times I’d lost track.
“The wind erodes, exposing fissures in this rock.”
I leaned forward, holding my breath, hoping that this time the words would come. He played the chord again with no words, and
still, I waited. Parker looked just as on edge as me from his place in the other captain’s chair next to Ash. We just needed a break. One small tip over the edge, and I knew we’d get it.
Statistically, after so many tries, we were bound to get something. Right?
“And…”
Come on. Come on.
Another chord, his brows furrowed in concentration like he could see the words but not make them out.
“And to be honest, right now, I’d rather be coming in my sock,” Oren screeched, belting his own lyrics from his spot on the floor.
“Bro,” Brogan grumbled, stretching his long legs out to kick Oren’s thigh.
“Fuuuuck.” Parker banged his head back against the seat.
“Like a frock or a dock or a cock,” Oren kept going. “Or anything else that rhymes with rock.”
“Fucking stop,” Brogan demanded, kicking him harder.
When Oren balled up and latched on to his foot, Brogan sat his guitar to the side, and I had to uncurl from my position on the long couch to stop the expensive equipment from tumbling to the floor.
It’d been almost a month on the bus together—minus a few nights when I flew home to see the girls while the guys did publicity.
In that time, despite the odds, we fell into a routine. I continued to come up with ideas to help us feed off each other. It helped, but only so much. We built a foundation of friendship, but it only served as a cover, loosely built over the fragile tension and lust we tried to ignore. It simmered like magma under the earth’s surface, waiting to erupt at any moment. Just like when he stroked my tattoo, we continued to find ourselves in situations that put pressure on my determination to hold off.
Anytime we got too close, I just managed to pull back and direct us toward the job.
Which was going pretty bad. In this time, we’d written all of two songs, and I didn’t even love them. Maybe the tension lingered a bit too much to find the natural rhythm we used to have. Whatever it was, I didn’t like it because the bottom line was that this was my job and my chance to build my businesses into one.
