My Cone and Only Page 16

  “They’re too personal to share with anyone.”

  I pressed my cheek against his back. “Even me?”

  He laid one of his hands over mine on his stomach. “Most of them are about you.”

  My heart jumped as I remembered the lines I’d read. I think she was the one. Maybe she could have saved me if I’d let her.

  I’d assumed he was referring to some woman from his past. Not me. It had never even entered my head that those words had been about me.

  I tightened my arms around him, squeezing hard enough to make him cough before I dragged him around to face me. His eyes tried to avoid mine, but I took his face in my hands and made him look me in the eye. “You’ve been writing songs about me?”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Maybe.” He was so bashful about it I couldn’t stand it.

  “Wyatt…” This fresh glimpse inside his head made my breath catch. I didn’t have words adequate to the emotions tumbling around inside me, so I kissed him instead, pouring my whole heart into it and hoping he’d be able to feel what I meant.

  He relaxed into me, the tension gradually bleeding out of him as I pressed kisses along his jaw and down his throat. His arms tightened around me, and he dropped his forehead heavily against mine.

  I felt the weight of his vulnerability in the way he leaned into me and the fierceness of his grip. His desperate, aching need to be accepted and loved despite a lifetime of pretending the opposite. My lungs constricted with the responsibility of it. The need to protect him and support him. To give him what he’d been afraid to ask for.

  “Will you play them for me?” I felt him stiffen again, but I held him tight so he’d know I wasn’t going anywhere. Telling him without words that he could trust me with this.

  He heaved a breath and nodded. “Sure. Sometime.”

  “I’d love that.” I kissed his temple, then his cheek, then his lips. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  His fingers tightened in my hair as his mouth covered mine in a tender, grateful kiss. Just as I started to give myself up to it, he pulled back and let go of me. “I’ve gotta flip the sausage.”

  Right. There was food cooking on the stove. I couldn’t just jump his bones this second. Damn. While Wyatt tended the sausage patties, I went to give the grits a stir.

  “The next time I go back to my place…” He paused to toss a glance at me, and the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “Maybe I’ll get my guitar and bring it over here.”

  My heart somersaulted in my chest like I’d just won the lottery. “Yeah?”

  He shrugged like it was no big deal, even though we both knew it was the exact opposite. “Maybe.”

  17

  Wyatt

  I didn’t end up making it back over to my place until Monday morning after Andie left for work.

  The two of us spent most of the day Sunday prepping the exterior siding for painting. Andie did the power washing while I finished scraping and sanding the last of the peeling paint away. We made a good team, and with her help the work went quickly. By the time evening came around, we’d finished all the spackling and final sanding, and had everything ready for me to start applying the primer today.

  I’d spent the night with Andie again last night, which meant I’d been wearing the same work clothes for two days now. Fortunately, neither of us had been doing a whole lot of clothes wearing when we weren’t outside working. Still, by Monday morning, I was in desperate need of clean clothes, so I stopped off at my apartment on the way back from picking up the paint for the siding. While I was there, I threw some toiletries and a few extra changes of clothes into a bag.

  If things kept going as well as they had been, I figured I might be spending a lot more nights at Andie’s. At least I sure hoped so.

  On my way out the door, I grabbed my guitar as promised.

  In all the time I’d been trying to work up the courage to play my music for someone else, I’d never imagined the first time would be for the woman I’d written most of the songs about.

  But now she knew.

  She’d seen the damn notebook weeks ago. I remembered exactly what song I’d been working on that day too. What page had been lying open. What lyrics she’d read.

  Fuck.

  When I got back to Andie’s house, I took my guitar case inside and set it on the kitchen table. Then I headed back outside and got started on that primer coat.

  By the end of the day, I was tired and sweaty, but I had two sides of the house fully primed. Andie got home right as I was putting away the last of my tools. She parked in the garage next to my truck, and I stole a kiss before following her into the house.

  Her eyes focused on my guitar as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. “Are you going to play for me tonight?”

  “Later, maybe. I’m starving.” I took the takeout bag out of her hand, peeking inside as I carried it to the counter. She’d stopped at Rita’s for tacos on her way home. Hell yeah.

  While I washed my hands, she grabbed us two beers out of the fridge and started unpacking the tacos. “Two pastor for me, and four barbacoa for you.”

  “Queso?” I asked hopefully.

  “Of course.” She plopped a paper bag of fresh tortilla chips on the counter, along with a Styrofoam cup full of melted cheese mixed with diced tomatoes, onions, and jalapeños.

  I beamed adoring eyes at her as I pried the lid off. “You always did know the way to my heart.”

  She arched a teasing eyebrow. “Hot cheese?”

  “Exactly.” I dunked a chip in the chili con queso and shoved it in my mouth with an exaggerated sigh of happiness.

  We ate our dinner standing at the counter as we caught each other up on our respective days. Mostly I listened to her talk as I wolfed down my four tacos in the time it took her to eat two. I loved listening to her talk. I’d happily listen to her read one of those software terms of service agreements just to hear the sound of her voice. But I especially liked the funny stories she told about her students and the wildlife up at the park.

  Today there’d been a sighting of something called a tarantula hawk, which was not, as I’d first thought, a hawk that ate tarantulas.

  “It’s a wasp that hunts tarantulas,” Andie said, her eyes shining with excitement. “They can get up to three inches long, and their sting is considered one of the most painful in the world!”

  I held up my fingers three inches apart, trying to imagine encountering a wasp that big. “And you’re…excited that you might run into one of these nightmare creatures up at the park?”

  “Hell yes.” She grinned and took a drink of her beer. “They say the pain from their sting is so instantaneously excruciating and debilitating that the best advice is to lie down on the ground and scream.”

  I’d just drenched a tortilla chip in queso, and I paused with it halfway to my mouth to blink at her. “That’s the official advice? Like for wildlife experts and whatnot?”

  Nodding, she stole the chip out of my hand and shoved it in her mouth. I shook my head at her, smiling as I got myself another chip.

  “Lying down keeps you from running off and hurting yourself,” she explained. “The pain is so bad that it causes loss of physical coordination, which makes it more likely you’ll run into a tree or fall off a cliff or something. And the screaming allegedly helps take your mind off the pain. But the sting doesn’t cause any lasting tissue damage, so the pain is only temporary. The best thing you can do is try not to hurt yourself while you wait it out.”

  “Huh,” I said, not liking the image of Andie up there in the woods alone, lying on the ground screaming in pain. I knew she wanted to see one of those wasps for herself, but I dearly hoped she never did.

  “I’ve always been curious how I’d do up against that kind of pain,” she added, not making me feel the least bit better.

  I frowned at her, thinking about her daredevil streak and how often it had gotten her hurt when we were kids. “Andie—”

  “Not that I want to get st
ung,” she clarified off my look. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take any stupid risks in the field. I just wonder about it is all. I’ll bet I could take it.” She grinned at me as she dipped another chip in the queso. On the way to her mouth, a little bit of cheese landed on the button band of her polo, right next to the V of skin showing below her collarbone.

  “You’ve got a little something—” I pointed at her chest, feeling a stir of desire as my gaze flitted over the swell of her breasts. “Right there.”

  Hunger and fatigue meant I’d mostly been keeping my hands to myself since she got home. But now that my energy had been restored by the magical healing powers of barbacoa tacos and queso, I was feeling more like myself again.

  AKA horny as fuck.

  Frowning at her chest, Andie lifted a hand to wipe the errant queso away, but I stepped forward and caught her wrist to stop her. Bending my head, I slipped my fingers inside her collar and licked the cheese off her shirt.

  Her momentary surprise shifted into an amused exhale. “Really, Wyatt?”

  Still holding her wrist captive, I tugged another button open and nuzzled my face inside her shirt to kiss her exposed breastbone. When I sucked at the delicate skin hard enough to give her a hickey, she twisted out of my grasp, laughing as she shoved me away.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, tossing a saucy look over her shoulder on her way out of the kitchen. “You can stay here with the hot cheese if you two want to be alone.”

  Yeah, no.

  No way in hell was I letting Andie take that shower without me.

  I followed her upstairs and we dragged each other’s clothes off. As soon as we stepped into the shower, I pushed her up against the tile and lowered my mouth to hers. She squirmed when she hit the cold wall, and I pressed my weight into her so I could feel her body writhing against mine.

  After a whole day spent apart, the need to touch her burned in me like a fever. I grabbed a handful of soap and lathered it over her gorgeous body, exploring every curve and inch of slick skin. She returned the favor with equal care and attention, then I got her off with my fingers while I whispered filthy things in her ear. I made her come a second time with the massage setting on her handheld showerhead, her head falling back on my shoulder as my fingers spread her apart to let the water jets drive her over the edge. After that, she paid me back by forcing me up against the cold tile wall and pulling me off until I broke apart, groaning her name.

  When we were both spent and satisfied, we got out and toweled each other off. I stepped into a pair of clean shorts while Andie pulled on a tank top and a matching pair of cotton pajama shorts that exposed the bottom curve of her ass and had my dick already twitching back to life.

  “I need a drink after all that.” Shooting me a sly smile, she took me by the arm and led me back down to the kitchen.

  Once we each had a fresh beer in our hands, Andie directed a pointed look at my guitar case. “It’s time.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “I want you to play me one of the songs you wrote.”

  My stomach tightened with nerves, but I knew it was no use putting it off anymore. There was never going to be a better time to do it than now.

  I took a long drink of beer before I hoisted my guitar case off the table. Andie followed me as I carried it into the living room and settled on the couch. She sat in the armchair across from me while I tuned my guitar. When I’d finished, I glanced up at her, and she gave me an encouraging smile.

  I wasn’t as anxious about this as I’d expected to be. Maybe because I’d already done something much scarier. I’d exposed my biggest secret when I told Andie how I felt about her. And instead of something bad happening, something wonderful had.

  I strummed a chord idly as I debated which song to play first. The most obvious answer was the one she’d already gotten a peek at. I might not have chosen it otherwise—I’d written a lot of pain and longing into that song—but since she’d already seen the lyrics, it wasn’t like it would come as a surprise.

  My fingers plucked at the strings as I cleared my throat. “I wrote this one a few weeks ago. It’s called ‘Bright as the Sun.’”

  I didn’t look at Andie as I started playing. The only way I could get through this was by hiding myself inside the music and shutting out everything else. My eyes fell closed as I sang the first verse. The words came out a little strained at first, but got smoother the farther into the song I got and the more I was able to lose myself in it. By the end, I’d almost fallen into a sort of trance. I had to shake myself out of it as I sang the last words.

  My awareness snapped back to where I was with a daunting jolt, and the silence that fell in the aftermath of the final chord sucked all the courage out of me. I stared down at my fingers where they hovered over the guitar strings, afraid to look at Andie and read her reaction.

  Over the nervous thumping of my heart, I heard her draw in a shaky breath. Curiosity won out over fear, and I lifted my eyes.

  The awed look on her face knocked me back. She wasn’t just pleased or impressed—although she sure seemed to be both those things. She was teary. Affected enough that she had to reach up and wipe her eyes.

  The woman who almost never cried had been moved to tears.

  By a song I’d written.

  Holy hell.

  When she blinked at me, I saw every emotion I’d poured into that song reflected in her eyes. It was as if she understood exactly what I’d been feeling when I wrote it. As if she’d felt it along with me as I performed the song.

  Wordlessly, she got to her feet and came over to sit on the couch next to me. She laid one hand on my shoulder and pressed the other against my cheek.

  As she gazed into my eyes, something sliced through me. A beam of pure, bright energy that burned away the last of my doubt and apprehension. I knew in that moment that Andie was seeing me—all of me—in a way I’d never felt seen before.

  The real wonder of it was that she liked what she saw.

  She tilted her head and pressed a trembling kiss to my mouth. “That was incredible.” Her voice cracked a little, and she cleared her throat as she drew back.

  A smile tugged at my lips. “So you didn’t hate it?” I might be a glutton for punishment, but I was even more of a glutton for praise. It made me want to lie on my back and roll around like a dog begging for belly rubs.

  “Are you kidding?” Her cheeks turned pink as excitement animated her features. “I’m so mad at you right now!”

  I stared at her in confusion. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been hiding all that talent from everyone!” I grinned as she punched me in the shoulder. “What are you doing playing other people’s music when you can write a song like that?”

  “Oh. Well.” I shrugged, tongue-tied with giddiness.

  “Will you play me another one?”

  I licked my lips at the prospect of earning more compliments. “Um, sure.”

  Andie scooted to the end of the couch, pulling her legs underneath her as she leaned against the armrest. Enthusiasm radiated off her in energizing waves.

  Raking my hair out of my face, I sat up a little, repositioning my guitar across my lap. I played another song that was more up-tempo than the last, even though it was about my family. This time I stole a few glances at Andie while I was singing. The rapt expression on her face bolstered my confidence, and after that song I volunteered to sing another. And another. The more I played, the more I relaxed, and the more natural it felt to be sharing this part of me with someone.

  When I’d sung six songs in total, I finally put my guitar back in its case. “That’s enough for tonight. You’ve probably got the gist by now.”

  As soon as the guitar was safely out of my hands, Andie launched herself at me, pushing me back on the couch as she covered my face with kisses. My hands sank into her hair, but I couldn’t stop smiling enough to kiss her properly. This loose feeling in my chest made me feel so light I could have floated off the couch if Andie hadn’
t been lying on top of me.

  Propping her head on her hand, she pressed the tip of her index finger to the St. Christopher medal around my neck. “How long have you been writing songs?”

  I tucked her hair behind her ear. “A year or two, maybe? I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Why have you been keeping it a secret?” She poked my chest in disapproval.

  My gaze skated away from hers. “I don’t know.”

  “You can do better than that.” She touched my jaw, drawing my eyes to her again. “Tell me.”

  Her soft, searching look acted like a tractor beam, pulling the truth out of me against my will. “I suppose I was afraid I wasn’t any good at it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you. I’ve never known you to be afraid of failure or embarrassment.”

  I shrugged, unable to offer an easy explanation. That was what I’d wanted everyone to think, but it wasn’t who I was. I’d only been pretending not to care all this time. You fail at enough things, and failure starts to feel like a part of who you are. It was easier not to put yourself out there and invite more failure. You learned not to try for anything that mattered, because then you couldn’t prove once again to everyone what a useless fuckup you were.

  “You’ve always said you didn’t have any interest in writing or performing your own music, and I believed you.” A crease sprouted across her brow. “I used to think I knew everything there was to know about you, but it feels like I didn’t really know you at all.”

  “You know me now.” My hand squeezed hers. “Better than anyone else ever has.”

  “When I saw that notebook in your apartment and realized what it was…” She hesitated, and my fingers twined with hers. “My first reaction after surprise was hurt—that you’d lied to me all this time, that you’d want to keep something like that from me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Guilt twisted in my belly. “I couldn’t tell you. Writing those songs was the only outlet I had for my feelings about you.”