Love Struck (Miss Match #2) (11 page)

The bus turned into the parking lot of the hotel then, throwing Lacy against his side. His body tingled and sparked from the contact, leaving him warmer than he’d been just a second before.

She giggled. “Whoops. Sorry.”

Were giggles supposed to be so adorable? He couldn’t remember ever thinking so before, but there was no denying that Lacy’s giggle was downright captivating.

“I’m happy to break your fall anytime you need it.” God, he was an idiot with his words sometimes. He blamed it on her giggle. And the heat she’d ignited from her touch. And thoughts of her sultry little nip. He was sure it was those things that led him to say, “I could stick around after the show if you want help working it.”

The part of him that worried about missing LoveCoda online regretted his offer, but his pragmatic side reminded him he was interested in Lacy’s music too. Really interested. Besides, it wasn’t good to focus all his attention on just one person—just friends or not.

Though maybe it had been too forward from an artist’s point of view. Or even just a woman’s point of view. So he added, “You know, if you want to.”

She considered. “Yeah, I might take you up on that. Thanks again, Eli.” She flashed him that gorgeous smile of hers.

It was a good thing they were unloading soon. Eli didn’t know how much longer he could sit next to the pretty-smelling songstress without his thoughts straying inappropriately. Another minute and he’d talk himself out of why inappropriate thoughts were so bad anyway.

*   *   *

Lacy brushed her hair off her face and sighed as her eyes followed Jax out of the green room and down the corridor until he was out of sight. He was so damn good-looking. How had she gotten so lucky to be on tour with such eye candy? Between Jax and Eli her hormones were on constant overdrive. And both were such great musicians. She’d been too nervous to sneak out and watch any of their sets—afraid of confronting the audience after her own performance—but she remembered the show she’d seen before the tour. She’d love to talk to them about their music, find out their inspirations, discover who wrote what. But the only time it seemed appropriate was after their shows and she was too focused then on getting back to her room to talk to Folx.

The situation shouldn’t bother her, and it didn’t really. It was a comfortable routine, and she’d grown even closer to Folx online. She’d even felt the stirrings of a lyric or two after their conversations. Nothing that turned into anything, but it was a start.

Yet, even with their relationship going as well as it was, she found she was eager to connect with someone in person. Wanted to talk in an environment that didn’t prevent secrets from being shared. Wanted to be able to read the subtext from a person’s expression that she couldn’t get from text on a screen. Wanted someone to exchange glances with, like the ones she occasionally exchanged with Eli. It was probably why she’d been picturing Eli recently whenever she thought about Folx. Which was a little weird on the surface but likely explained with some psychobabble term like “transference” or “substitution.” Or plain old “wishful thinking.”

She sighed again and absentmindedly reached for the staff pad she’d left on the green room table. She jolted as her fingers touched, not her pad, but other fingers. Lacy turned to find Eli had been reaching at the same time.

“Sorry,” he said, his hand lingering on hers. “I was going to pass it to you. It looked like you were getting ready to leave and I thought you might have forgotten it.”

“Oh. Thank you. I guess I wasn’t really paying attention.” Warmth shot up her arm from his simple touch. It was … nice.

But it also made her feel weird, like she shouldn’t be touching him. Whether it was because of Folx or because of a lingering responsibility to Lance, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t really been with a man since Lance. Well, there had been the rugby player from Australia that she’d made out with for two hours after a show a couple of months back. Honestly, she’d done it because she wanted to prove to herself that her feminine interests hadn’t dried up like her lyrics. The encounter had been successful—she’d certainly been aroused, so to say, but she hadn’t felt the shock of electricity like she did now at the touch of Eli’s skin against hers. So what did this mean?

It was too big of a question to answer right there. She drew her hand away from his and decided to think about it more, later. Or not at all, if that worked out better.

“So. Is that what you were working on earlier?” Eli folded his arms across his chest, and Lacy wondered if he’d felt cold from the absence of her touch as she felt from the absence of his.

Which was ridiculous. Of course he didn’t feel that. She was being crazy.

She mirrored his posture—because she
did
feel cold—hugging her staff pad to her chest. “Yeah. I played through the chords you suggested earlier. It really does sound so much better. Now I’m trying to match the verses to the chorus. But when I added thirteens there it seemed like overkill. So I don’t know what I’m doing.” She was never this forward about her process. It was too personal, too
hers
.

Though, that wasn’t true. She’d been this forward with Folx.

But that had been online. There was certainly something different about discussing it in person. Especially with a guy who was part of a band that she admired so much. Especially with a guy as hot as Eli.

Strike that—his attractiveness had no bearing on whether she decided to talk more with Eli about her art or not. She wouldn’t let it. Hotness aside, sharing made her more vulnerable. It was scary, no doubt. But it also made it easier to brainstorm ideas. Made it easier to say try this, and then they could listen to it together, knowing they were hearing the same thing.

Maybe she should take Eli up on his earlier offer to help.

As if he were reading her mind, Eli raised an inviting brow and said, “If you’d like me to take a listen, I’m here.”

“Okay.” It was out of her mouth before she could second-guess it. “Like when? Now?” Why on earth had she said that? She had a date with Folx. It was just that she was so excited about the progress she’d made so far on her piece that she was eager to dive in. And, if she skipped her nightly shower, she could still work with Eli for half an hour and make it online in time.

Eli hesitated, though. Maybe he hadn’t really meant it when he offered. Then he said, “Uh, yeah. Now’s good.”

“Awesome. I’ll just grab my guitar.” Lacy went to her case, which was leaning against the sofa. Sammy had several times offered to pack it with the rest of her equipment, but no. Lucky was her baby. Lucky stayed with her.

Just as Lacy started to pull Lucky out, Lou bustled in. He seemed startled to see them there. “Hey kids,” he said. “It’s great that you want to stay up all night and keep the music alive. I’m all for it. Only you can’t do it here. Our contract says we have to clear the green room by eleven. There’s another band coming in after us.”

“Oh. Well.” Lacy looked to Eli for a suggestion. Part of her thought that maybe Lou’s pronouncement was a sign—a sign that she should forget the whole workshopping thing and get back to her room to wait for Folx like a good online girlfriend. Not that “girlfriend” was what she was. But.

Another part of her, the part that was itching for inspiration, was aching to still feel creatively relevant—that part of her wanted to continue transforming her song with Eli’s help.

Each half of her warred so equally, she left the decision up to Eli.

“We could move this to your hotel room, I suppose,” he said. “Or mine.”

“Yours.”

She ignored the butterflies spinning in her stomach at the idea of being alone with Eli and the fear that she was doing something she probably shouldn’t. Both fear and butterflies were good for inspiration, after all. The more the better.

They packed up and were headed out within five minutes.

Sometimes the venue they performed in wouldn’t be near the hotel, and the bus would take everyone there after the show. This time, the hotel was next door to the theater they’d played, and as Eli carried her guitar and his banjo across the parking lot—he really was a gentleman—Lacy didn’t wonder even once if going to his room was inappropriate because of Folx and all.

Okay, maybe once, but the thought was fleeting.

As they walked in the doors of the Marriott Express, she checked her phone to make sure that her sound was on, then put it in her pocket and promised herself she wouldn’t look at it again unless it notified her.

Chapter Ten

Two hours later, Lacy’s phone hadn’t done a thing, and she didn’t care in the least.

Spread out across the floor of Eli’s room, the two had completely reworked her song, plus they’d fiddled around with another one. Now she had two pieces to add to her set list. It was the next best thing to writing something new, and it made her feel a little more legit. Like she actually belonged in this songwriter biz after all.

It wasn’t long before they’d gotten hungry, so they’d ordered pizza from the Italian joint next door, which they paired with sodas from the hotel vending machine. Between the two of them, they downed forty-eight ounces of caffeinated sugar and a medium supreme hold the mushrooms.

Lacy took one more nibble of her slice before she threw the crust into the box and shut the lid. With an exaggerated sigh, she fell back against the leg of the loveseat, hands on her belly. “I’m so stuffed, I may need to be rolled out of here.”

Leaning against the bed across from her, Eli shrugged. “Or you could just stay.”

She froze. What did that mean? Was it a come-on? Or was she misreading? Did she want it to be a come-on? Was she too full to be sexy? Maybe she
did
want it to be a come-on. Her stomach flipped at the idea. And not exactly an uncomfortable flip. More like a somersault—an easy roll that quietly set all her nerves on alert.

Before she had to think about it too long, Eli added, “We can talk a bit while the food settles.”

“Okay. Sure. I’m good with that.” Then not a come-on. She was almost disappointed. “Go ahead. Talk.”

He laughed as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well. Tell me about yourself.”

She practically rolled her eyes. Trite, wasn’t that? But she played along. “Like what?”

“Like anything. Come on, this is good. But nothing musical. Nothing work related.”

Nothing musical
. That took out pretty much her whole life. What did she have left after that? “Um, let’s see. I have a sister. Andy. She’s my best friend.”

Maybe this could be fun. It was exactly the opposite from talking to Folx. There, the only thing they could talk about was their art. It had been so long since she’d talked to anyone about the basics, after all. Maybe she was overdue.

“A sister.” Eli nodded. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere. Older or younger?”

“Older.” Lacy thought about her sibling and their roles for a moment. “But a lot of the time she acts younger.”

“In what way?” He was probably being polite, but he actually sounded like he was interested.

“She’s just … not very nurturing.” That probably wasn’t fair to Andy. Still, it was the truth.

Eli tilted his head. “Hmm. Do you expect that from her?”

“Not necessarily.” Lacy scooted back so she was sitting more upright. “But she wants to be nurturing. Our parents died when I was in high school, so I think she thinks she’s supposed to be a substitute parent. Only most of the time, it’s me doing the parenting.” They’d been that way as long as she could remember—Andy impulsive and indulgent, Lacy quiet and low-maintenance. It wasn’t fair that their parents’ deaths had forced Andy to try to fit a role she’d never been made for. A role Lacy had never expected her to take.

Hmm. Maybe she should tell that to her some time.

“Man, that sucks. Car accident?” Eli picked the meat off a slice of pizza, but kept his eyes on hers.

Lacy was used to the charity looks she got from mentioning her childhood heartache. She was also used to topic changes or avoidance tactics. Eli’s encouragement to say more along with his focused gaze—that was new. That threw her off guard.

She stumbled a bit over her next words. “Um. Cancer. Ovarian. Mom, anyway. Dad followed a year later with a heart attack.”

“God, that’s shitty. Really shitty.” He took a deep breath, as if taking in the magnitude of her pain. As if attempting to share it with her for the briefest of seconds. When he let it out, he shoved his hand through his hair and offered a kind expression blessedly empty of pity. “I’m sorry, Lacy. No wonder you write.”

“Gotta capture the pain, right?” She forced a laugh that did nothing to lessen the gravity of the conversation. Surprisingly, the depth of the topic didn’t bother her as much as she would have thought. But it did feel rather one-sided. “Your turn. Siblings?”

Eli shaped his hand to make a zero. “Nada.”

“You’re an only child?” This was unexpected. Most of the only children that Lacy had met were self-centered, obnoxious know-it-alls. Huge generalization, but it was quite often a shoe that fit.

“Lonely only. That’s me.” Eli elongated the vowel in
lonely
and
only
in a way that made him appear younger and probably worked to bleed the hearts of many a woman.

Lacy wouldn’t let him get away with that. She’d had real heartache—she wasn’t going to give him credit for a pretend one. She put on her best snark. “Ah, no wonder you write. No one else to talk to, huh?”

“Whatever. I had friends.” His smile faded. “And a dad. Who liked to hit.”

And she’d misjudged him again. “Not good. You win. Child abuse trumps dead parents.” Not that it was a contest. It was simply her way of saying she acknowledged his pain even though she couldn’t identify with it.

Eli shrugged. “It wasn’t abuse. It was ‘tough love.’ I honestly didn’t have it as rough as some kids. I simply found life was better if I stayed out of his way.”

Then he wasn’t seeking pity at all. He was just sharing. Lacy really needed to work on her communication skills. If she learned that she misread everyone as often as she had tonight, she might find she liked people better in general. How was it she was related to Miss-Intuition-Andy.