AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did it work, keeping you out of trouble?”
“No.” He grinned, and so did Bronte.
“Well, clearly, it did something for you.” She pointedly gazed down at the instrument, his left palm affectionately cradling the body of it. “You fell in love with it.”
Chris floated his dark stare around the room, focusing on some faraway point. Then he shrugged, tapping his thumb on the bottom curve of the guitar. “It’s always kept me company when I was lonely or needed a friend.”
In all their exchanges, Bronte realized he had never told her what he actually did for a living. “So, when you’re not playing guitar, what are you doing? You said you’re in the entertainment industry, but what does that mean? What’s your job that you’re able to take this time off?”
Chris shot his attention to her, the whites of his eyes huge, but as he opened his mouth, a knock sounded on the front door. Her mom barged into the house. “Hello, hello, hello.”
Chris stood and set the guitar against the wall. “Hey, Pattie.”
“I brought this over for you.” She handed him a pumpkin roll, which he accepted with a hug. She waved Luke over. “Come on, time to go back to Grammy and Grampy’s.”
“Is everybody back?” Bronte asked.
“Yeah.” Her mother put an arm around Luke as Bronte stood slowly, a bit disappointed in having to leave when they were just beginning their conversation. “But why don’t you stay here for a while?” Her mom waved her hand. “You and Chris can hang out. The kids are all wound up over there anyway.”
Bronte didn’t miss the look her mom threw Chris, unmistakably urging him on.
“Yeah, Bronte, you’re welcome to stay,” he said. “If you’d like.”
Her mom beamed in satisfaction as if she’d planned the whole thing. “Great. Enjoy the pumpkin roll, kids!”
* * *
When the frontdoor closed behind Pattie and Luke, Chris tamped down the goofy grin crawling across his face. He had Bronte all to himself.
He’d thought about what he’d do if ever given the chance. Maybe too often. Like when he was supposed to be reading scripts or one of the books he borrowed from Steven. He’d planned out what he’d say and how he’d act, if he ever got the chance. He considered it all for the moment when they were finally alone.
Here it was.
And all he could do was gape at her. Like a dope.
After a while, she yanked him back to reality with, “So…”
“So…” He held up the pumpkin roll. “Your mother’s really starting to spoil me.”
“You seem to be adjusting to it fine.” She smiled but dropped her gaze, her fingers tugging at her purple costume.
“Do you want something to change into? Don’t get me wrong, you look good, but you don’t have to be Prince all night. I’ve got sweats you can wear if you want.”
He led her upstairs to his bedroom and riffled through some drawers.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said, referring to the mess.
“I don’t have much, but what you see is pretty much all of it. How’s this?” He held up some clothes.
She blushed as she took them from him, and he was desperate to know what she was thinking to cause the pink in her cheeks. She always seemed so sure of herself, but he liked that he could make her stumble a bit, make her nervous. Because she sure as fuck made him lose his mind. Especially standing in the middle of his bedroom, with those huge eyes of hers. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was mentally undressing him with those eyes.
He had to get out of there before he did something stupid, and he almost sprinted out of the room, mumbling about the pumpkin roll.
Downstairs, Chris opened a kitchen cabinet and tried not to think about Bronte in his bedroom. He tried not to imagine what her body looked like. All pale skin, maybe a few freckles here and there, her long arms sliding his shirt over her head. The curve of her collarbone, small breasts, her slim waist. He went half hard beneath his denim, and wouldn’t that be awkward to explain? So, he forced himself to focus on cutting up their dessert and definitely not on Bronte’s stomach, legs, or ass.
He settled into the couch and found a scary movie to watch on television as he dug into the pumpkin roll.
“They’re a bit big.” Bronte’s voice startled him, and he turned over his shoulder to see the gray sweatpants cinched tight at her waist where she tucked in the front of his Reservoir Dogs T-shirt, the rest hanging loose off her slight body. “What are you watching?”
