“I’m pretty sure jumping to the conclusion that the pastor wants in a woman’s pants is like five hail Mary’s or something,” she chastises.
“He’s Baptist, not Catholic, so that means I get a pass.”
She lets out an annoyed breath and shakes her head. I grin as she rolls her eyes. I don’t know why I love the way we are with one another. I just know I do.
“You’re horrible.”
“I’m allowed because he asked you out,” I grumble, still not happy about it.
“Reed, Kurt’s not like that,” she says looking down at the floor.
We’re sitting out on the deck, our plates pushed back on the table, looking out at the stars, enjoying wine, and I swear nothing has ever been better. I reach over and push some of her hair behind her ear—just for an excuse to touch her.
“I’m a man, baby.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says, surprising me and making me laugh.
“And as a man, I can tell you that with one look at you it is exactly like that.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. I think being a big country music star has made mush out of your brains.”
“You just refuse to see how great you are. Trust me, other people see it—especially men.”
“I don’t think anyone ever saw me as great, Reed.”
“I always have,” I tell her, refusing to look away.
Surprisingly, she holds my gaze. “Except you,” she allows, her cheeks deepening with a blush so bright it deepens the permanent grin I’ve had on my face all night. God… Can she see how well we fit together? Does she know how rare our connection is? “Then again, you always saw the best in me, Reed. You saw it, even when I made stupid mistakes.”
“You say that like everyone doesn’t have ridiculous mistakes in their past, Bluebird.”
“Maybe they do,” she says with a frown. “I kind of think that mine corner the market on being stupid, though.”
“I had this guitar player once.”
“I thought you had a lot of those in your band,” she laughs.
“I have two. This particular one isn’t with me any longer. Anyway, he had everything a man could want in life. He had this gorgeous woman—a good woman—who supported him a hundred and ten percent. She worked her ass off, so he could pursue his dreams, and she thought the world revolved around him.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Plus, he had more talent than anyone I ever knew. He could make the guitar sing. The man could have been one of the greats.”
“What happened?”
“He happened—or rather his ego. Do you know he even decided to change his name to Shred?”
“Shred? Like lettuce you buy in a bag?”
“More like the giant rat in those giant turtle movies you made me watch.”
“Oh, yikes. Those movies were so bad. I guess you must be a kid to appreciate mutant turtles.”
“Probably,” I admit, making her giggle.
“So, what happened to Shred? Because, I’m pretty sure it’s not a happy ending.”
“It’s not. Junie—that’s the girlfriend—finally had enough of his bullshit and left him. Once she left, he liked to drown himself in the bottom of a bottle, so I cut him loose.”
“Dang…”
“Then, he decided if he couldn’t have Junie, no one would.”
“Oh, God….”
“Exactly.”
“Did you save her?”
“Me? No—”
“Reed, I’m so sorry.”
“Why? She’s fine, Callie. Her man saved her. Junie’s currently miserably happy.”
“Miserably?”
“She’s pregnant and to quote her, ‘getting as big as the side of a house’,” I explain.
“Gotcha. I just assumed…”
“Assumed?”
Callie lifts her shoulders and looks like she’s very uncomfortable. I curl a couple of my fingers and put them under her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Assumed what, Bluebird?”
“It sounded like you cared for her.”
“I do.”
“I just… it sounded like maybe you were her man.”
“No, never. We’re close friends, and I even like her man. I will admit there are times that I’d like to slap him.”
“That really doesn’t sound as if you like him.”
“He’s too cocky for his own damn good,” I reply with a smirk. The corner of her lips lift into a smile. “Junie and I were never a couple. Although, she’s the only woman since you I would have thought of along those lines, I guess.”
“Reed—”
“We kissed once, I think. I was a little too drunk to remember it that well.”
“It doesn’t matter, Reed. It’s none of my business.”
“I want you to know.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I think it is. Now, not that you bothered asking, I’ve decided to tell you why Junie and I never worked out.”
“Reed, stop!”
“Callie?”
“I know it’s stupid. I mean, it’s been five years, and we’re just friends.”
“Sweetheart, we’re more than that.”
“We’re not, not really. The point is, as weird as it sounds, I don’t want to hear about you and all the women you’ve dated—”
“Callie—”
“Or even kind of dated,” she finishes. “I’ve seen you with women on television, beautiful, amazing women, but I don’t want to hear about them, even if we’re nothing more than friends.”