It felt like nothing had changed between us, in the sense that everything felt comfortable, but the way that I never wanted to let him go told me that actually a lot had changed.
“My apartment is only about ten minutes away,” Stetson said after dragging my luggage into the truck bed and pulling himself into the driver’s seat.
“Your apartment?” I asked. “I got a hotel room for the night.” Although, now that I knew he expected me to stay with him, I wished I hadn’t.
“Oh. I just figured you were going to stay with me. I would sleep on the couch of course,” he admitted. “You didn’t think I’d invite you to my show and then expect you to pay for your own hotel, did you?”
I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I had points from my credit card, so it was basically free.”
“Yeah. Of course. Whatever you’re most comfortable with. Uh, where’s the hotel?” he asked.
“Down near Broadway,” I said.
He flicked his wrist up until his expensive gold watch displayed the time for him. “Shit.”
“What?” My heart started a low thud through my ears as I worried what he was going to say next.
“Do you need to go there before the concert?”
“Um”—I motioned my hand up and down my body—“yes. I will absolutely not be wearing leggings, a sports bra, and a cropped fuzzy jacket to your concert.” It didn’t matter if it was ten degrees or a hundred and ten degrees, if I was flying, I was wearing a warm jacket.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
There it was. His smart-ass mouth that I’d grown to enjoy.
I knew I said things felt comfortable, and they did, but Stetson had seemed a little off—quieter and more reserved, not his usual unbothered self—until that glimpse.
“I won’t have time to take you all the way downtown to Broadway before I need to be at the show, not with rush hour traffic. We can go back to my place, and I’ll have someone take you to the hotel, does that work?”
“Yeah, of course.” I didn’t want to be a nuisance, and I sure as hell didn’t want to make him late to his own concert.
“Great, because we’re already here,” he said, pulling into the parking garage of a very tall building, shifting the truck into park.
“You good?” I asked. Stetson was always making sure I was okay, and the entire drive he had one hand white knuckled over the steering wheel and the other playing a constant beat against his denim-covered thigh.
His hand stayed put on the gear shift. “Preshow jitters. They never go away no matter how many times I get on stage.”
Duh. The show. Of course he was nervous.
“Understandably so. I can’t even imagine the pressure you feel every time you walk out there,” I said, resting my hand on top ofhis without thinking and giving it a gentle squeeze. “But you’re gonna be great. You could do this show in your sleep.”
“This one feels a little different for some reason.” His eyes drifted from the floorboard to me.
A rush of heat spread like wildfire across my cheeks.
“There’s Michael,” he said.
“Michael?” I asked.
Stetson lifted his arm, motioning to a tall man dressed in all black standing at what appeared to be an apartment entrance.
“Who’s he?”
“That’s my head of security. He’s been with me since I started in this business,” Stetson replied.
Security.
That seemed so official, so serious. But then again, I was sitting next toStetson Walkerand we’d crossed into Nashville city limits, which meant all bets were off, so a security detail made sense.
