Foolish Games (28 page)

Digesting the surprising news of why he wasn’t grilling me with questions and mocking me with harsh laughter, I didn’t notice him pause at the door. This morning had scared him, too, but in a way I had not expected. 

“So, umm.” He looked back at me somewhat awkwardly. I could tell by the way he was acting and from past experience that he wasn’t used to confessing things like his feelings. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Well, I’ll be just right outside.” He gestured towards the hallway. “So…goodnight.” 

“Night,” I murmured.

Watching him walk out of the room, I slowly laid back on Hawkins’ bed while thinking about his confession. So he was worried for me? Kicking off my shoes, I decided to just sleep in my clothes on top of his comforter and turned on my side, tucking my hands under his pillow. There was a narrow stream of light coming in from the crack of the door. The faint pleasant scent of his cologne lingered in the room as Hawkins shuffled around outside. Although I should have been tired, especially after the kind of day I had, I had never felt more awake as I watched the lights go out in the next room. After another ten minutes, I could tell Hawkins wasn’t asleep either. That or he tossed and turned a lot in his sleep. My mind kept playing different scenarios that all led to Hawkins joining me in bed. How crazy was that? 

Why was I fighting this? I was eighteen. Tossing on my back while staring up at the ceiling, I imagined that Hawkins was doing the same thing. Little pricks of gleaming stars shined through the skylight. A soft sigh came through the other side of the door where Hawkins lay. The man did just confess that an existence without me would be devastating. Yet I was still lying there deciding what I should do. Sitting up, I decided it was now or never.  

I slid out of the bed before I could even give it a second thought and crossed the room for the door. My hand literally shook as I pulled the door open. Suddenly, I was wondering, what if he didn’t want to be with me? Horrified by that thought, I was frozen with fear. How come I didn’t think of that before I got out of bed?

“Are you okay, Joie?” Hawkins sat up.

Speechless, I just stood there.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice filled with concern as he stood up.

“I want,” I hesitated.

Oh, my god, I am an idiot! I hate me, I hate me!

“You want what?” he asked.

“To live a little,” I confessed in one breath.

His forehead knitted together before he muttered gruffly, “Okay?”

My stomach dropped as my knees went all bendy and weak. “You know,” I prompted him, “to
live
a little.”

“When you say live a little…do you mean sex?” I could hear the slight comical infliction in his tone.

“Yes,” I whimpered.

“But you’re not a groupie?” The amusement in his tone was perfectly clear this time.

“You know what, never mind,” I said, exasperated, and turned around to head back into his bedroom. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me down against him. 

“I don’t want our first time to be because you wanted to live
a
little
,” he whispered while cradling me against his body.

“The whole devastating thing,” I confessed, “had me sold.”

“I didn’t say it to get laid.” He soothingly brushed back my hair while his lips rested against the side of my shoulder.

“Are your hands shaking?” He went to pick up my hand, but I playfully slapped him away.

“I think I surprised myself,” I said in a small voice.

“Shocked, not surprised,” he said. “Because you looked shocked.” He softly chuckled.

“Shut up.” I laughed with him.

“I was really worried there for a second.” The humor in his voice was once again unmistakable. “I thought maybe The Grimm Reaper was back there with you, too.”

“Hysterical.” I smiled.

“Little did I know those were your bedroom eyes.” He tapped my nose.

Laying on my back, I looked up at him while laughing. It was so infectious that Hawkins started to laugh, too.

The laughter subsided while we continued to stare at each other. My hand instantly rose so I could let my fingertip trace over his soft, full lips. He watched me with those mesmerizing, tender eyes as I pulled my hand away. His eyes searched for mine when he leaned in to kiss me. Breaking away, I had to say it. I had to tell him. He looked down at me as his brow furrowed together in alarmed confusion. 

“I would have been devastated, too,” I murmured as his expression softened. “I would have.” He put a finger to my lips to silence me before he leaned in to kiss me again.    

When I woke up, I heard Hawkins humming happily to himself from the kitchen area. I was grateful for the gray curtain divider along the side of the bunk bed that Hawkins must have pulled across to let me sleep. Wrapped around me was a cool, white sheet that smelled just like him. It was sweet and musky. Forcing myself to sit up, I pushed the sheet off me. After running my hands through my hair to straighten out a serious case of bed head, I ran my finger along my front teeth. Boy, I was thankful for the privacy.

“Joie, you up?”

“Ah huh, yep.” Falling back into the pillow with exasperation, I buried my hands over my face. Wow, just when I thought he couldn’t see me looking any worse.

Pulling back the thick curtain, I gave myself a moment for my eyes to adjust. Then I stood up and flattened out my jeans before walking down the aisle towards him. His back was to me as he sat at the kitchen booth while singing softly to himself. The light from the nearby window washed over him. Papers, napkins, and Burger King paper bags with dark scribbling along them covered every surface of the table in front of him. Balled up pieces of paper were tossed carelessly to the ground below.

“Good…morning.” I peeked over his shoulder.

“Morning.” He smiled up at me. A sexy hint of a five o’clock shadow showed along his face making his blue eyes shimmer and rosy lips flush in contrast. His dark, careless hair jetted back from his forehead. It was the sexy morning look that very few people could pull off. He looked rugged…rugged and hot.

“There’s some orange juice and food in the fridge.” He thumbed over to it. “You can just help yourself.”

Free food? I swear I thought I heard angels singing in the distance when I opened the door and looked down at the packed fridge. I was starving. There was every kind of breakfast food— donuts, muffins, croissants, but I felt Hawkins watching me so I sadly grabbed up the large fruit tray. I put it on the only uncovered space near the fridge and leaned up against a nearby kitchen counter. Popping a small pineapple square into my mouth, I looked down at Hawkins. He had a sharpie and was writing a string of words on a napkin.

“What’s this?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He tossed down the sharpie and then strummed his black Gibson before smiling up at me.

“Okay, you’re smiling, so that’s a good thing?” I asked, popping another pineapple square in my mouth.

“A very good thing,” he assured me and began to sing, “Josephine…”

Suddenly my face burned. Judging by his big ole grin it was just the reaction he was hoping for.

“No, you’re doing this all wrong,” I said, trying to take the focus off of me.

“Why?” He tilted his head to look up at me with a worried expression.

“This sitting thing while singing.” I shook my head. “It’s all wrong, without the strut.” Taking my turn to enjoy the way my words affected him. The slight flush of embarrassment across
his
face was barely visible, but still counted.

“What is this strut you’re always talking about?” He knitted his eyebrows together while taking a sip of his coffee. “Here.” He handed me his Gibson. “Show me.” He leaned back with his arms on either side of the booth and gave me his undivided attention. He arched an eyebrow while causally waiting for me to show him. This was my first bit of stage fright, which would have been bad enough if it wasn’t for the fact that Hawkins also seemed to know it. Knew it and thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.” He licked his lips before a devious smile crossed his face. “Feel
liberated
.”

“Doesn’t this guitar cost over a thousand dollars?” I heard a tremor in my voice.

“Yeah, sure,” he called my bluff. “I’ve got tons of them.” He smiled up at me. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, letting me know that an excuse wasn’t going to help me now.

“Fine.” Grabbing the damn thing out of his hands and swinging it over my shoulder, I was in full strut mode as I walked up and down the aisle while Hawkins laughed.

“I am the shit.” I nodded. “Bow down.” Meanwhile, I pretended to go to town on the guitar while Hawkins snickered. Dropping to my knees, I did the best guitar impression in my arsenal. Then I bit my lip for dramatic purposes while bobbing my head up and down. “That’s how it’s done, son.” I got up and swung the strap off my shoulder then passed the Gibson back to him.

“So you think that I should refrain from such dramatics?” he mused.

“Hell no,” I said. “I look forward to that strut every night.”

Apparently, the comment caught him off guard as he sat there staring at me. The cold glare I knew all too well, but not this smoldering, suggestive look he was giving me now. His eyes flickered back to the table in front of him. “You know,” he said quietly while folding the corner of a napkin. “You’re the first one to ever tell me that,” he confessed. “You’re the first to tell me
a lot
of things.”

Suddenly, I felt ashamed.

“I respect it,” he quickly added while looking up at me intently. “There’s no bullshit with you. It’s probably half the reason I became attracted.”

“Oh.” I felt my heart flutter. “And the other half?”

“You really have to ask?” he inquired earnestly with a slight comical inflection in his tone.

I didn’t have an answer for him so he continued, “Oh, okay, wow,” he exhaled loudly. “I started liking you,” his brow furrowed together, “about twenty-seven days ago.

“And,” he pointed, “you’re completely oblivious to all of it.” His eyes lit up as we watched each other for a few silent seconds.

“Oh.” I smiled.

“I’m not even going to ask you what you felt.” He smiled down at the table. “Anger, outrage,” he listed, “disgust.”

“No,” I interrupted him.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Not disgust,” I corrected him to which he laughed. It was deep and hearty and slowly becoming my most favorite sound.

“I’ll have to remember, that,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

“So what happens if I do start to like you?” I proposed. “I’ll just have the no bullshit thing going for me?”

“No, you’ll have me.” He looked up at me intently. “Now eat, I don’t want you to starve.”

But instead of eating, I saw his BlackBerry on the table and grabbed it up on a whim.

“What’s your password for your twitter account?”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously.

“It’s not like you can’t change the password after I’m done.” I rolled my eyes.

“What are you going to do?” he asked hesitatingly.

“Have the last laugh with your record company.” I waggled my eyebrows deviously.

“I may have changed it to,” he cleared his throat, “Jack & Coke.”

“Nice.” I smiled.

“What are you going to write?” he asked curiously.

“Ohh, just what you should have written weeks ago,” I said lightly. “Lizzie,” I typed, “is beautiful,
devastatingly
beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” He snorted. “It makes me sound like a chick. How about sexy? Or has a nice rack?”

The side comment earned him a dirty look.

“I’m only kidding.” He laughed. “I just had to see your face.”

“Who,” I typed, “also has a nice rack.” I flashed him a smile.

“Nice,” he added approvingly. “So when do I get to write for your blog?”

“What do you mean?” My throat tightened.

“What’s your password? You know.” He gestured.

“Oh, I just thought…” I drifted off because I knew exactly what he meant.

“Just thought what?” He flashed his sexy sneer. “That you would tweet for me?”

“Yes.”

“What, are you scared that I might write something inappropriate or not be able to mimic your lovely writing style?” His eyes lit up.

“Hey, you said no jabs at my writing,” I reminded him.

“I just called it
lovely
,” he mused. “Now give me the password.”

“No, it’s just,” I hesitated.

“Just tell me,” he insisted in such a way that I knew he wouldn’t back down.

“Maybe I could type it in for you?”

“Where’s the faith?” he asked me. “You can just change it later,” he added mockingly.

“JoshuaThayer96,” I exhaled while feeling my stomach sink.

He just blinked at me for a couple seconds before he said, “My first name?”

“Yes.”

“And you hated me at the time you choose it?” He tilted his head to look up at me quizzically.