AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It seemed like fate that I had a giant fucking house that was too quiet, and she needed a place to stay.
I’d even felt a thrill of excitement when she didn’t recognize me at the café. That rarely happens now, even though we perform in stage costumes and makeup. The barista had complimented my music and asked for my signature, but I don’t think the American was paying the least bit of attention to us.
Fuck, I didn’t even get her name.
Now it’s ten o’clock at night. My house is depressingly quiet, and I’m rattling through the rooms.
If the media could see me now. See? Rock stars aren’t all sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.
Erm. Well, notallof the time.
I’m staring out into the back patio when the phone rings. The number’s unknown, and I don’t usually answer those, but I’ve been obsessing over the woman from the café today, and so I press the green button. “Hallo?”
I’m hit with a very surreal moment where my own voice is blaring on the other side of the call. I’m singing backup, and I hear Ram’s drumming, too, and the wail of June’s bass.
I also hear someone grumbling, and then a door slams shut, and the music quiets.
“Chris?” comes a tentative voice, feminine and American, with a hint of an accent that I think is Southern.
“Hey,” I say gruffly.
“Did I wake you?”
I nearly snort but rein in my amusement. “No.”
There’s a beat of silence. “My neighbors like to play loud, terrible punk rock music, apparently.”
The irony settles in deep, and I try to keep my voice neutral. “Are you going to take me up on my offer, then?”
Another beat of a pause. “Just for a few days. Until I figure something else out.”
“Where are you?” I ask. “I’ll come pick you up.”
She rattles off an address as I type it into my phone. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I tell her and hang up.
Half an hour later, I park in front of a small cottage. The party next door is in full swing—not one of my songs this time, thankfully—and I pull my hat farther down my head.
She must have been watching for me because the door opens, the lights inside go out, and she struggles down the walkway with two large rolling bags.
I hop out of the car and come around to help her. She hesitates when she sees me and peers at my face. “Chris?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I don’t want to explain that I’m hoping not to be recognized. I take one handle from her and roll the suitcase out and lift it into the boot. I grab the second one and load it up, too, while she climbs into the car.
I get in the driver’s seat and glance over, expecting her to be sitting in the passenger side, but she’s not there.
She’s in the backseat.
Like I’m a hired driver.
When I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror, I keep my face as stern as possible to not laugh, and she glances away quickly.
The drive is quiet until the houses start to thin, and she breaks the silence.
“I sent my friends your ID and photo.”
“Good.”
“Do you even know my name?” she asks.
