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Five
Hail
DidIexpecttowant to kiss him?
No.
But the desire was definitely there as I sat across from him in that cafe. Shockingly, more than a few times.
It’s unavoidable, I guess. My attraction to Z is chemical. Visceral at the very center of my beating heart. Which is wading into foreign territory for me because I’ve never been into dudes. And I’m definitely not one to sign up for complicated relationships after what my ex put me through.
What Iwasexpecting was the ability to exercise more self-control. The guy’s obviously a runner. Pushes away any and all attention. If I’m going to win him over long enough to figure out if we vibe musically, I need to be more careful with my wandering eyes and hands.
With Z’s quiet instruction, I pull into a tiny driveway between two old stone houses just outside of the city, one of which looks like it’s survived at least a century. Maybe a couple of wars. Spiderweb cracks run through the mortar between dark rocks along its surface, and there’s an overgrown garden in the back that looks jungle feral.
The cool thing about Europe is even when a place hasn’t been well cared for, it still holds some kind of charm. History is soaked into the very foundation of these homes.
Z hesitates in the driveway after climbing out of the car. He runs a hand nervously up and down his long neck. My brain sticks on the idea of sinking my fingers into his lush, dark hair. I fiddle with the car keys instead, spinning them around my finger and catching them in my palm.
“Um, thanks for the ride. And for… the offer,” he murmurs. “But you don’t need to hang around. My set is the same tonight.”
Warmth bleeds into my smile. “I don’t mind. Cool if I chill?”
Alright. I’m acting crazy. Should I call Liam to drag me back to the festival and tie me down in the bus? I know he has bondage rope. Caught him with it when I drunkenly opened the connecting door between our hotel rooms to ask for a bottle of water late one night. Didn’t question him or the naked female face down, ass up in his bed.
Though I did look at Liam in a new light the next morning. Not even a Texas-shaped waffle could ward off that awkward breakfast.
Z frowns. “Don’t you… have better things to do?”
Oh no.I grip the keys tight in my palm.He’s too fucking cute.The inward curve of his shoulders and the subtle bite of his full bottom lip and his mess of curls. He was designed to be my downfall. He is a test sent here by god. Do I give into temptation?
Play it cool. Don’t mess this up.
“I can’t think of a single thing I’d rather do than spend time with you,” I reply foolishly.
His frown deepens, but he gives a little nod and leads me down the overgrown path between his house and a tall wooden privacy fence.
I can’t deny it. I’m practically frothing at the mouth to peek into his life. To delve inside his creative mind. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Probably just Liam or Sondra wondering where I ran off to.
I’m entitled to some privacy, damn it.
Z opens the front door, and my overactive heart begins to wither. While the landlord had enough decency to give the interior a fresh coat of off-white paint, really, it’s just a mask for the layers of dirt and wear. Pretty sure there’s a hole in one wall that was duct taped and painted.
Landlord’s special, am I right?
I suppose if you keep your hands off the walls, it’s a cozy enough space, even with the lack of furniture. There’s a boxy gray couch situated against the wall opposite from a small mounted TV. Shoved in a tiny room better served as a closet, I spot a messy desk, two guitars, and a radiator. The kitchen at the back of the house is nothing more than a galley ending in glass doors to the backyard. Down a short hallway, I glimpse a small bathroom and a bedroom with a mattress on the floor. Unlike the rest of the house, which is nearly untouched, Z’s bedroom is a tornado of tangled bedsheets and bunched up clothes.
He rushes over to shut the bedroom door. “Kind of a mess,” he admits, pink staining his lovely cheekbones.
For once, I can’t force a smile. “How long have you lived here?”
I don’t know what I expected. More artwork and color and life, maybe? Some rowdy roommates, possibly students enrolled in a graduate music program that balance out Z’s quiet nature like Malek, Griff, and I do with Liam? Shit, maybe even a cat he pretends to hate but actually cuddles with in bed at night?
His home is depressingly vacant, the silence nearly deafening.
Sucking in a breath, Z hurries over to the kitchen. He shoves a handful of prescription bottles into the cabinet above the stove, and my chest tightens into painful little knots.
I barged in here. Dragged him onto the tour bus, and then to that cafe. Invited myself to his home and to his performance this evening. Forced an offer upon him to see if we fit musically. And, if I’m being honest, maybe in other ways, too.
