Page 100 of Love Felt Like This

“Stop,” she says. “Like you’ve never done anything like that.”

But it’s not the deed I’m judging, and she knows that. It’s disdain over Beau, always getting whatever he wants, despite Beverly drawing the short straw. Why does every story about them turn out that way?

I watch her expression shift to a more painful one. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I won’t make her.

I change the subject. “So, you never told me about what you want to do,” I say. “The adventurous thing you’ve never done.”

“You’ve had enough adventures for the both of us.”

“I’ve left that lifestyle behind me,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on the bench seat. “Tours aren’t what they were years ago. Not for me, anyway.”

I was a different man in my twenties. I’m not proud of it. I’ve had flings backstage, in the bed of a truck, and in a pool with the tiled stairs grinding into my spine as a wild brunette rode me like a bronco.

Does Beverly think of me as that reckless musician I once was? That maybe I’m just as bad as Beau, getting women into trouble and leaving without consequences? Does she think that’s what happened with Robin?

Beverly blinks at me, chewing her bottom lip. I wonder if she can read my mind right now.

Instead, she smiles. “Wow, you’re so serious, Griffin.”

“I’m not always serious.”

“You’re even serious about this conversation.”

“Well, it’s a very serious conversation.”

“But you’re serious about everything,” she says. “That’s my point.”

I tongue my cheek and shrug. “Not everything.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, I’m living in a guesthouse with my secret daughter to make music for a children’s-show puppeteer while criminally behind on an album deadline.” Her lips curl in, holding back a laugh. “I’ve never been more unserious in my life.”

She smiles. “Fair enough.”

“So,” I continue. “Tell me something. Your secret adventure you want that nobody else knows.”

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“I never laugh.”

That only makes her stifle laughter.

“Seriously. Don’t,” she says.

“I would never.”

She sighs. “Skinny-dipping. I’ve always wanted to go skinny-dipping.”

My eyes widen, and I nod slowly. My mind is suddenly processing everything that entails: Beverly’s bare shoulders, the smooth skin across her arms, the way her collarbones glisten with droplets of water—

“You’re making fun of me,” she says, slouching.

“I’m not. But…” I shake the crude thoughts from my head. “That’s almost like a rite of passage as a teenager. Why haven’t you?”

“I was too busy. Or maybe not cool enough to be invited,” she adds with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Invited? Was this a common occurrence?”