Wow, he really has grown up.
He’s smells like of a mixture of cigarettes, aftershave, and mint. It’s a surprisingly alluring smell, and it’s doing all kinds of funny things to me.
“It’s been what – eleven years?” he says, his voice quieter now.
“Twelve.” I swallow.
“Twelve. Christ, yeah, right.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You look different ... but the same – you know,” he shrugs.
“I know,” I smile. “You look different too.” I gesture to the tattoos on his arms.
He grins down at them, then back at me.
“But still the same.” I point my finger to the freckles on his nose.
Surprised by how much my fingers are itching to touch him, I draw my hand back.
He rubs his hand over his nose. “Yeah, no getting rid of them.”
“I always liked them.”
“Yeah, but you liked the Care Bears, Tru.”
I flush. I can’t believe he remembers that.
It’s crazy that he, Jake Wethers, rock god extraordinaire, remembers that I liked the Care Bears when I was little.
“You remember that, huh?” I murmur, cheeks flaming.
“I remember a lot,” he grins, devilishly. “Come on let’s sit down.”
He grabs hold of my hand. A jolt of electricity fires up my arm, searing into me. His hand is so rough, his fingers calloused. Must come from his years of playing the guitar.
Jake leads me over to the plush sofa and sits down, letting go of my hand. My hand instantly feels cold.
I clutch hold of my bag and sit down beside him.
He turns his body toward me, resting his foot up onto his thigh. It’s only then I realise his feet are bare.
Seriously, what is it about men in jeans and bare feet which is so totally hot?
I take my bag off my shoulder and put it to the floor.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks.
I shift my legs toward him, turning my body slightly to face him. His eyes are already on my face.
I flush under his stare. “Water would be great, thanks.”
I could actually do with a neat vodka right now to calm my nerves, my hangover suddenly disappearing. But it’s 10am, and Jake is a recovering alcoholic.
“Water? You sure you don’t want orange juice or something?”
I shake my head. “Water’s fine.”
“Stuart!” Jake yells, making me jump a little.
Stuart appears a few seconds later through a door to the right of us.
Was he standing by the door waiting or something? Actually it’s only now I realise I didn’t even see him leaving before. The guy’s pretty stealthy.
“Can you get Tru a glass of water and I’ll have an orange juice, please,” Jake says to him.
Tru.
I love how his voice sounds when he says my name. It’s giving me the warm and fuzzies.
Stuart nods, smiling at me, then disappears off again.
I can see Jake’s leg jigging in my eye line. I have the urge to reach over and put my hand on his leg settling him, but I don’t, obviously.
“So this is a little crazy, huh?” he murmurs.
“Hmm. A little.” I press my lips together in a small smile.
Actually, I was thinking more like … surreal, off the charts.
A silence falls between us.
Wow, twelve years apart and I’m just full of conversation, aren’t I?
It’s weird but I just can’t seem to find a thing to say to him, and I had all yesterday to prepare. I’ve just thrust myself upon him and he’s doing just fine in the talking department.
But then he was better with people than I was. Hence his success, I guess. Well that and his ability to sing, and of course his looks. His gorgeous, lovely face, and his toned, tight body …
“So how have you been?” he asks me.
“Good. Great. I’m a music journalist now, obviously…” I trail off.
“You always were a good writer,” he says.
“I was?”
I didn’t even know he thought that.
“Yeah, those stories you used to make up when we were little, and then you used to make me sit and listen while you read them back to me,” he chuckles, eyes shining with the memory.
I feel my face go bright red. “Oh God,” I groan, embarrassed. “I was so lame.”
He laughs again, louder this time. “You were five, Tru. I think we can forgive the lame.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “And of course you always loved music so it makes sense the two went together,” he adds.
My heart suddenly feels all warm and squishy. He remembers so much more than I thought he would.
“You still play the piano?” he asks.
“No. I stopped–”
I stopped playing after you left.
“I just, um, haven’t played in a long time. I fell out of it, you know. Well obviously you don’t know.” I gesture to the guitar propped up against the far wall.
He smiles. Stuart reappears with our drinks.
“Thank you,” I say as Stuart hands me my glass of water.
“Anything else?” Stuart asks Jake.
Jake looks at me. I shake my head.
“No, we’re good thanks.”
Stuart closes the door when he leaves. Leaving Jake and me alone again.
I sneak a look at him as he has a drink of his juice. It’s so weird, he’s Jake but not Jake.
And I don’t know why, but I feel so completely uncomfortable and so completely at home in his presence. It’s one of the most confusing feelings I’ve ever had.