My eyes are made into a pendulum by his fingertip, back and forth over his lips along with it, hypnotized.
Then: “No.”
His finger stops. “No?”
“Not a good idea.” I don’t even have my mind made up. I don’t know why I’m pushing him away, other than it’s difficult to look into his dazzling eyes. “I hope I was able to clear up my whole … hating on Chase Holt thing. But you can stop wondering about it now, and … just move on with your life. And with Chase’s show schedule, which you’re clearly following. Groupie for life.”
I’m out of the chair and behind the counter already, stashing away the First Aid under a low cabinet. When I stand back up,I’m startled to find him at the counter, his lips parted, eyes sparkling. “Now I’m wonderin’ somethin’ else,” he says. “Who are you? And why can’t I see you again?”
I seriously can’t look into his eyes.That’show dazzling. “That isn’t a Band-Aids-in-an-ice-cream-shop conversation.”
“Then how about coffee? You know a good spot here?”
This guy won’t give up. “Is there something wrong with you?” I finally ask, daring to look into the infinity of his beautiful gaze. “Does someone keep you in a cage between these concerts you go to? Are you starved for human connection or something?”
His eyes are slightly less dazzling suddenly.
He closes his mouth, then drops his gaze to the counter. After a breath, he shrugs. “Actually …” He lifts his eyes back to mine. “I think you hit the nail on the head.”
I stare back at him. “Which head …?”
“Both. I’m in a cage … and … need human connection.” After he notices I don’t answer, he leans in closer. “Coffee. That’s all. Say the name, the time, I’m there.” He gives it a thought. “As long as it’s not too crowded. Not a big fan of places with lots of people.”
“Coming from someone chasing concerts across Texas.”
“Those aren’t crowds. They’re family. So? … Coffee? I want to know more about you. Maybe for starters … why you find this cute and adorable town to be like quicksand.”
There are many things he’s said already.
That last phrase knocks the damned breath out of me.
He was listening. To everything I said in that hallway.
Perhaps that, above all else, is the sexiest fucking thing I have ever known in my life.
Is he really trapped in a cage, too? Traveling across Texas as he is, chasing Chase Holt on his tour, seems pretty damned freeto me. Starved for human connection? Is that what he hopes to seek every time he goes to a show? Is Chase doing that for him?
Chase sure did that for me the other night.
Just a single song in my ears … and I was no longer alone.
“I can’t,” I say again. “Sorry. Bad timing. Life. Things.” I’m not able to produce a reason. Perhaps there’s just too many and I can’t pick one. “It was nice to meet you. Again. But maybe we shouldn’t meet again-again. I’m sorry about your face.”
He takes my hand.
My eyes go wide as he snatches a pen off the counter—where’d that come from?—bites off the cap, and literallywriteson myhand. “I’m gonna be around,” he tells me, the cap caught between his teeth. “Like you helpfully pointed out, tour’s in the area. Next ten shows. I’m gonna be back here in Spruce a few more times. Maybe every day off.” He finishes writing, recaps the pen, and releases my hand. “If you change your mind.”
I peer at my hand, blinking.
Then I look up at him. “Austin?”
He smiles. “Yep. It’s what my friends call me. My real friends.” He reconsiders. “When I used to have real friends. Now it’s … hard to say what’s real or not. Today’s been a lot like a dream. Never saw it coming. Or you.” He steps back from the counter, still gazing at me in that way he’s so annoyingly good at. “Coffee. I suddenly love it. Favorite thing. Maybe it’s yours, too.”
“Timothy,” I catch myself saying.
He stops, lifting his eyebrows.
Why did I give him my name if I’m not gonna see him again? And why did I give himthatname? “TJ,” I correct myself. Then I wonder why I corrected myself. “Or Timothy. TJ or Timothy. You can call me … whichever.”