I haven’t told her yet, but I told my mom about her. I talk to my mom as often as I can, which admittedly isn’t enough. But the last time we spoke I had to tell her about Mia. I couldn’t not. She actually cried on the phone, and admitted she thought I might never settle down, seeing as I’m twenty-five. I’m still young, I told her, but the excuse seemed feeble. She begged me to bring Mia to meet her, but I know it’ll be a long while before I can visit my mom—and what if, by then, Mia’s decided she’s sick of me?
It’s laughable, how I went from woman to woman every day and night, and now I’m worrying about her growing tired of me.
The tables have turned. It makes me regret every nasty thing I’ve ever said to a girl to get her out of my bed. Okay, maybe not every word—some of those girls were certifiable.
I take a drink of beer as we sit there, looking at one another. It’s a strange thing, this sitting in silence and not needing to fill it. With Mia there is no need for idle chatter, being with her is enough.
She finishes her wine and leans over to set the glass on the coffee table. She stretches out on the couch, laying her head in my lap with her hands clasped beneath her chin. She yawns, her tiredness an almost physical presence in the room. Even with her
living close to work and school, she’s running herself ragged. I think it’s commendable that Arden and Hayes want their kids to work and not have everything handed to them, but the selfish part of me wants to beg Hayes to take care of her because I hate seeing her tired all the time. But I know Mia would swat me to within an inch of my life if I dared say a thing. Not only would it give us away, but I know she values working hard and wants to work for everything she has.
I brush my fingers through her hair and her eyes drift closed.
“Your dad told us today we’re playing at Griffin’s this Friday. You been before?” I ask.
“Of course—I’m from here, remember?” she jokes.
“You and Kira should come.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” she vows.
“Your dad will be there. Willow Creek too. I’m … nervous,” I admit.
It feels like a weak thing to admit. Nerves are pointless. They do nothing but hold you back, but I am nonetheless. It’s a small venue, sure, and we’ve done larger, but when your mentor and his bandmates are going to be watching, and judging, it’s a whole new ball game.
“Don’t be,” she says. “My dad would’ve never signed you if he didn’t love you guys. You should hear the way he talks about you guys to my mom—he’s like a proud papa. I think he might think of you guys as his sons, but he’ll never admit it to your face.”
I snorted. “I doubt it.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says, stifling another yawn. “He’s a total softy. My mom wouldn’t have fallen for him otherwise. Did you know when I was like … two or three, I can’t remember, he invited my mom to his birthday party and told her to bring me—it was at a Chuck E. Cheese.”
I laugh uproariously picturing Hayes in a fucking Chuck E. Cheese for his birthday.
“For real?” I ask.
“For real,” she echoes.
“He can be scary when he’s pissed, but he’s really a big kid. You should be more afraid of that poor cub who bit you.”
I groan, tossing my head back. “I’m never going to live that down. It was a scratch,” I defend. “I didn’t even want to go to the fucking hospital, but the guys lost their shit. They thought I might get rabies.”
“You can’t get rabies if you already have it.”
I pinch her side and she giggles.
How quickly I’ve come to love that sound, to crave it and expect it as surely as I expect the sun to rise in the morning.
“You should go to sleep,” I tell her, concerned when she yawns yet again.
As much as I’d love to strip her down and fuck her right here, I know she’s not up for it. She needs to rest.
“Not yet,” she says.
“Okay,” I give in.
I brush my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp as I do.
“That feels good,” she murmurs.