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The minute the guitar is in his hands, Corrin lights up. He sighs, then sits forward on the couch, his legs spreading wide.
“Have a seat. I want you to get the full experience.”
I follow his command, my body dropping to the coffee table so I can be across from him. It’s weird being this close when we’re not doing the pretend dating thing. I still itch to touch him, to know that he’s as comforting as he was before.
The first part of the song begins slowly with a haunting melody that is nothing like Loveless’s reputation. I hold my tongue to see if he’ll change as he continues.
Emotion bleeds out around us with each note strummed and every word he sings. The song speaks of pining. It’s a wanting so strong, the writer can’t imagine life without a chance, without an opportunity to find out if he can have forever with his love.
It’s magnificent. The kind of song used in movie scores and graduation videos. The type people will remember long after it’s dropped from the top 100 of whatever chart it climbs.
“That was beautiful,” I tell him the minute his voice and the music fades. “You wrote that yesterday?”
He nods as he fiddles with the strings. His gaze is somewhere off to the side, the openness I usually find with him closed off now that he’s admitted to putting his heart out there.
“Well, whoever it is you feel that way about is lucky. That’s the type of love my mom longed to find. The kind Uncle Kelvin has now. I hope you get your chance.”
As his gaze swivels my way, I catch a hint of something in them. Something I can’t define, yet I feel it burn me to my core.
“I hope so too. Want to hear another melody I’m working on? This one isn’t finished yet.”
I don’t miss the distraction technique. It’s obvious he’s not planning on telling me who he wrote the song for. Hopefully, whoever it is doesn’t get discouraged by our fake dating ploy.
Maybe when this is said and done, he’ll be able to explain everything to them. Then the pair can live happily ever after.
My gut turns at the thought.
How strange. Why would thoughts of Corrin married and happy make me feel sick?
It’s something I don’t have time to analyze as he picks up with the next song. Instead of dwelling on myself, I focus on the man before me and his gift for music.
Chapter 9
Corrin
I almost blew it a few nights ago when I played Austen that song I wrote about him. He seemed so enthralled by the tune. Each note I strummed had his smile growing until he was bursting with joy.
And then he hinted at me finding my person. A person he obviously didn’t realize was him.
Since then, I’ve kept mostly to myself except for the two times we’ve ventured out as a couple. I’m using the excuse of needing to work on the album, despite Stryker telling me there's no rush. Old habits and all that, I guess. My label hasn’t stopped reaching out. Even Tennyson has mentioned more than once how relentless they’ve become.
My guess is that they’re aware of whatever is coming, and they want to save face. Not that it'll work anyway.
Today is different from the previous days, given that I’m going to have to face Austen head on. I RSVP’d to an event months ago for a charity event with the band. I’d put a plus one since I usually have someone to take. Now that Austen and I are all over the media due to our relationship, it only makes sense to take him.
Plus, it’s not like I want to take anyone else when I could have him by my side.
I go over my list of things needed for the evening one more time. Suits? Check. Haircut? Check. I made sure we both had appointments, though they were at different times since Austen’s been busy with work. Shoes, cufflinks, and cologne? Check, check, check.
With my plan in place, I do the only thing I can now that I’m dressed for the evening. I wait.
Austen swore he wouldn’t be long when he rushed in the door an hour ago. I took him at his word, hence why I’ve been pacing instead of sitting and risking damaging my suit.
Personally, I feel pretty good in this outfit, even if it’s not my usual style. Too much fabric covers me. It’s bad enough we’re still dealing with a winter chill in the air that’s forcing me to wear long sleeves, but now I’m forced to add a full fucking suit into the mix.
At least the tattoos on my hands are visible. It’s a great detractor when some uppity rich person tries too hard to befriend me. A well-timed rub of my jaw sends them running in the opposite direction.
I chuckle to myself as I make another turn across the living room. Except this time, I don’t finish my steps. This time, I freeze as Austen comes into view.
