I spent the next day, after spending the night in Brody’s bed, at the church, making music with the band—the whole band. Elle and Dylan were there this time, and it was awesome.

But I also spent a lot of that time—whenever I thought I could get away with it—daydreaming about my night with Brody… and fantasizing about the night ahead.

And I couldn’t stop smiling.

Zane even asked me, joking, if I was high. At least I was pretty sure he was joking.

I was also pretty sure they all knew I’d spent the night with Brody in his room; for one thing, we’d both disappeared upstairs pretty early, and for another, I was wearing yesterday’s clothes. But other than a few sly glances, no one bugged me about it. Not even my brother.

Late in the morning, I texted Brody to ask him if I could make him dinner at his place. I was planning to tell him I’d think about his invitation to stay with him. The truth was, I wasn’t feeling all that comfortable at Roni’s anymore, what with all the coke-snorting bikers coming around for gang bangs. But I wasn’t about to move my stuff into Brody’s and get comfortable, when we still had to talk.

Since I was leaving for L.A. tomorrow, I wasn’t going to rush that talk. Not when we could spend tonight enjoying each other instead. The kind of talk we needed to have wasn’t the sort to be rushed anyway, I told myself.

I was planning to make Brody fajitas, because I rocked at making fajitas, and tell him over dinner. I thought that might soften things, so he didn’t take it as a rejection. More of a “let’s wait and see.” Because when I thought about having that talk, the one we’d have to have when I got back from the shoot, I couldn’t imagine him still wanting me to stay with him after we’d had it.

So mostly, I tried not to think about that.

I was disappointed we wouldn’t be alone, but it didn’t really change anything. We’d still have time to talk after his guest left, maybe while we undressed each other, before all the sex.

I knew it was wrong that I was putting off all the shit I needed to tell him. That this was cowardly of me. That I’d kinda promised myself I was going to tell him before we ended up naked.

Oops.

But the thing was, it was Brody. And I’d gotten carried away with how incredibly good it felt to get along with him for once. After all the years we’d been apart… and the years of turmoil before that… didn’t we deserve just a day or two to get along?

He’d given me his truck for the day, so on the way back from church I stopped off at Roni’s to shower and change, and picked up the ingredients I needed. When I got back to Brody’s place, I got caught up telling him about the day’s writing session and the new song we were working on as I unpacked the groceries.

“It was something Jesse said,” I told him, “about Katie. And something she said about him. We had this conversation the other day, about the studio he gave her; about making room for someone when you love them. And I got thinking about that. Making room… you know, physically and mentally; making space in your home, your heart. Then Jesse told me that sometimes she comes to bed in the middle of the night with paint all under her nails and smeared on her face, her hair all tangled up in a bandana, all sweaty and mumbling she’s so exhausted from painting all day. He said it’s like sleeping with a street urchin.” I grinned, kind of rolling my eyes. “I’ve never seen him talk about a woman like that. With that light in his eyes. I told him Katie literally lights him up, you know? The way music always has. And he just said, ‘She makes it easy.’”

Through all of this, Brody just smiled at me. He was sitting on a bar stool with me trapped between his thighs as I unpacked the groceries around him. He played with the ends of my hair, listening to me babble in such an excited rush I barely remembered to breathe.

“Anyway, that’s the name of the song.”

“What is?”

“‘She Makes It Easy.’ It’s kind of a play on words, ‘easy’ being a slide-into-home reference.”

Brody raised an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes.

“That was Zane’s contribution. Apparently a wet pussy is his version of a happy home.”

Brody laughed.

“Whatever. It’s got this really fucking sexy vibe. Jesse had this melody he’d come up with and I started playing around with some lyrics to lay down on top of it, and the whole thing just started to flow… the chorus came fast… and the song just came together. It was like old times. When we used to just write without worrying about how it would fit on the album. But they liked it so much that they said it’s definitely going on the album. They even said it’s going to help shape the direction of things. We played it for Jude and he liked it too, and you know how picky he is—like it really has to rock.”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Brody said. “Maybe you can sing it for me tonight.” Then he started kissing my neck, and the doorbell rang.

Damn.

“You never told me who’s coming over,” I said, melting into his kisses.

He slipped his arms around my waist, holding me close. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about him coming over. It’s Seth.”

I felt my face freeze in a weird half-smile. Then I found myself saying the last thing I’d ever have imagined I would say at hearing those words.

“Great. Hope he’s hungry. There’s plenty.”

“You’re okay with this?” Brody searched my face. “Because I can have him leave, reschedule if you don’t want to see him.”

Shit. Was he testing me on this or something? What the hell was Seth doing here anyway? First the painting… now this?

I’d thought Seth Brothers was a thing of the past. Wasn’t Dirty done with him, like years ago?

“Why wouldn’t I want to see him?”

“I don’t know,” Brody said evenly. “You tell me.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in years. Might be nice to catch up.” My guts roiled even as I said the words, but I’d always had a hell of a poker face. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

“Guess we’re about to find out. We’ve spoken a few times, but this is the first time I’ve met with him. Think he’s sniffing around about the guitarist position. I hear he’s doing well, though.” He was watching me, gauging my reaction.

“Cool. I’ll make dinner, and you guys can talk shop.” I turned back to my dinner preparations.

Guitarist position?

Seth was here about the guitarist position?

And Brody was meeting with him?

I knew Dirty was on the lookout for a rhythm guitarist, yet again, since losing Paulie, but I had no idea they were casting such a wide net. Really wide, if they were actually considering opening the door to Seth again after throwing him out.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Bring him in.”

Brody stood there watching me for a long moment. “Okay.”

Then he went to get Seth as the doorbell rang again, and I got ahold of myself the best I could.

When they came in, I spared Seth a glance, careful to look him in the eye but not show a thing on my face.

He looked mostly the same, and yet, like a different man than the Seth I’d known. The few lines on his face had deepened, the angles sharpened, and cute had turned to beautiful in a manly, rough-edged way. And he had more hair. Light brown and slightly wavy, it used to just dust his chin but now it was long enough that it was pulled into a man-bun on the back of his head, and he had a short beard. He no longer had that ever-present pothead softness to his eyes, though. They were clear and sharp, and when he met my gaze he smiled, dimple and all.

“Hey, Jessa,” he said softly, rocking back on his heels, just like he had as a teen when something floored him.

I said hi and gave him a hug, quickly; a hug that ended before he seemed to want it to. Then I made myself very, very busy. Fajitas were simple enough, but mine had a lot of different steps to get all the seasonings and the sauce right, and there were a lot of ingredients.

“A model who cooks,” Seth mused. “Multi-talented woman.”

“She writes music, too,” Brody said, watching me.

“Right,” Seth said. “How could I forget.”

“Okay, out of this kitchen,” I said, waving them away, and finally they got scarce, heading down to the party room to talk while I got busy making fajitas. I tried not to overhear what they were saying; I couldn’t quite make it out from where I was, even if I tried.

After a while I turned on some music and tried to forget that Brody and Seth were chatting in the other room. It was just too fucking strange. And too much like no time had passed at all. Like I was right back there, smack in the middle of those difficult years, not knowing which way to run.

Soon, I was lost in the memory.

It was far too fresh, as if it happened not long ago… which was maybe what happened when wounds weren’t fully healed, no matter how long ago they were actually inflicted.

I was hurting. And I could still feel that hurt, hot and fresh.

I was high.

I was in a club I shouldn’t be in, with people I wasn’t supposed to be with. My brother was playing a gig across town. He thought I was home in bed. It was one in the morning and I was sixteen, but I was not home in bed.

I was dancing.

And I’d just popped some pills.

I felt the vibe of the room around me as other people got high, too. The music was loud, pumping, and it felt like the entire crowd was starting to rush, everyone caught up in the electronic vibe as it built in that way it did when the DJ was really, really good.

I was dancing with my girls. Most of them were also underage and shouldn’t be here. I didn’t care. I was thinking of nothing but the music, and my body, moving with the music. I didn’t want to think about anything else. Just the music.

Then I felt his hands on my waist.

Big, warm, possessive hands.

I turned around. Seth stood there, moving slowly, and my movements slowed to meet his. His eyes were hooded in the rippling lights as he gazed down at me. He got closer, gradually closer, until his hands had tightened on my waist, gripping me, and his hips were pressed against me. We moved as one, slowly, as his face got closer.

“Still the dreamer,” a familiar voice said behind me and I turned so fast the spoon flew out of my hand and clattered against Brody’s fridge.

Seth picked it up and took it to the sink, watching me. “You used to zone out like that all the time. Never quite knew what you were thinking, but you were an incredible writer when you put it on the page.”

“Where’s Brody?”

He looked away from me, washing the spoon in the sink. “On the phone.” He dried the spoon and turned back to me, took a couple of steps across the kitchen and held it out to me. I took it and got back to cooking.

“You and him… you’re together now?”

“It’s none of your business, Seth.”

He didn’t respond, and I hoped he’d left. I didn’t want to look up to check.

“Look…” he said, “I just want to apologize, Jessa. The last time I saw you, you were pretty upset. You know… at the party, here at the house—”

“What do you want, Seth?”

“I just want to say I’m sorry. For all the shit I pulled back then. To be honest, I don’t remember a lot of it. I was pretty messed up—”

“I know you were.” I turned to face him, still gripping the spoon.

Brody walked in, and I went back to stirring my fajita sauce. If he picked up on the tension in the room, he didn’t show it. He just put his hand on my arm and kissed me on the temple, gave me a lingering look, and he and Seth disappeared again.

When the meal was ready, I set out two plates on the bar with all the fixings for fajitas.

Then I ran out the door.