Chapter Twelve
Sawyer
I cracked open my eyes, feeling disgusting. My stomach was raw, and I put my hand to my head, trying to piece it all together. Oh man, the food truck. Kurt had brought me back to the bus to take care of me. I remembered the doctor but not much after that.
Where’s Kurt?
Following a soft snoring sound, I gingerly rolled to the edge of the bed. On the floor beside the bed, there was Kurt, crammed against the wall. The covers were askew. My heart warmed. He’d stayed with me, looked after me. I sat up a little to get a better look and noticed the cute little fluffball on his lap. When I cleared my throat, George lifted his head for a second before snuggling deeper into Kurt. Moments like this made it so hard to accept I would never have him.
I glanced down and noticed I was still in my halter top from last night. Ugh, I needed a shower. I smelled terrible. Without making a sound, I eased out of bed, careful to take my time. At one point, the bus lurched. Did we stop? I felt achy and weak but figured I was through the worst of it.
The warm water in the shower was a heavenly caress on my skin. After several minutes, I got out and dried myself off. The shower had worn me out. I was such a wimp when it came to being sick. I threw my hair up in a messy bun. At least the next gig wouldn’t be until tomorrow in Seattle. We were zigzagging across the US until we shot up the Eastern Seaboard. Today, however, Kurt had a promo event in Portland. A radio host would be interviewing the band. Hopefully, I’d feel better by then.
I walked back into my bedroom only to find it empty. Out in the living room, Kurt sat on a chair. George was in the kitchen, eating.
“Morning. How are you feeling?”
“Better. I think I’m through the worst of it.”
I stopped to kneel and pat George’s head before making my way to the couch to sit near Kurt. Kurt, first thing in the morning, wearing only his boxers and a T-shirt, was a sight that would help me feel better. “Thank you for taking care of me. I’m sorry I ruined your New Year’s.”
“It wasn’t ruined, Sawyer. I’m glad you’re okay.”
There was something different about Kurt today—I couldn’t pinpoint it. Or maybe it was my imagination. “Well, thank you.”
“Here, drink some Gatorade. Slowly. If that goes over well, I’ll make you toast.” He scooted the drink closer to me.
I took a few sips. The cool relief was welcomed, so I took a few more. “I will never ever eat pork and corn again. I’m ruined for life.”
“Shame. I was thinking of making pork chops tonight.” Kurt’s deadpan stare told me he was trying to be funny.
I pretended to gag. Then gagged again.
Kurt raced to get a trash can while George barked and nipped at his heels. He thrust it at me. “Here. Use this.”
With as much of a sassy smile I could gather, I said, “Gotcha.”
He gave me the smirk I loved. “I’d say for sure you are on the road to recovery.”
I laid my head back against the couch, tired from my antics. “Did we stop or was I imagining it?”
Kurt brought the trash can back into the kitchen area. As he stretched, he exposed his toned back. The muscles flexed with the movement. It was a sin to eat like shit and look as good as he did. I watched the muscles in his arms as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Seriously, he still affected me even when I felt this shitty.
Leaning against the black granite counter, Kurt took a sip and said, “We stopped. I had Frank work up a schedule to make stops for George and Roofus.”
That made me perk up a little. “Harlem’s dog?”
“Yeah, he had him brought on the tour last night. The band thought you adding a dog to the tour was brilliant. Syke’s words were, ‘Women love a man with a dog.’”
I groaned but then got serious. “You will not use my dog as a chick magnet. George is young and impressionable.”
Kurt smirked and smiled into his coffee cup. “George isn’t going to know the difference.”
This wouldn’t do at all. As a dog parent, I had to keep poor little George from being used as bait. “He will so know the difference. And then I’ll be getting calls about my wild dog humping all the other female dogs. I do not want a dog-whore!”
Coffee spewed everywhere. “Fuck, Sawyer. You cannot say funny shit like that when a man is drinking hot liquid.”
I gave a tired chuckle. “You’re cleaning that up.”
Leaning my head back, I watched while Kurt moved about. When he tore the paper towels from the roll, I noticed he hadn’t used the perforated edge. At times, we were oil and water. Why not go a few inches more and use the dotted line? But I already knew the answer. “I don’t need that much. Why waste it?” I bit the inside of my cheek to remain quiet. Otherwise the next tear would be worse. We were back to the flirting stage of our cycle.
“The guys have already called dibs on George. It’s part of his induction into the band.”
Images of the band using my dog as chick bait flashed through my mind. I sliced my hand through the air. “Absolutely not. My puppy is not getting them pussy.”
“That could be his nickname: pussy puppy.”
I tried to hold back my laugh. “No.” Then held my stomach. “Don’t make me laugh. It still hurts.”
“Come here, pussy puppy, let’s talk about your duties.” Kurt made little kissing noises, and George ran to him, his tail wagging.
I grabbed the nearest pillow and lobbed it at Kurt. “Don’t call George that. He’ll get confused. Then every time the guys say pussy, he’ll run.”
Kurt gave me a sexy wink. “That’s kind of the point.”
“I mean it, Kurt. I’m sick. Don’t be mean.” I sounded whiny and jutted out my lip for extra effect.
Gently, Kurt set George on the black leather couch. “Go give your mommy love and tell her what an honor it is to be the pussy puppy.”
“Kurt!”
George crawled into my lap, and I ran my fingers through his fur. “I love having a puppy.”
“You never had one as a kid?” He sat down not far from me. Even now, I could smell the lingering scent of his cologne—a woodsy masculine smell. It calmed me, and I snuggled deeper into the couch.
I glanced down to watch George as he licked my hand. “No. Mom was always too busy with the next big social event. Dad worked long hours. My sis—sibling required a lot of attention. So, no dog for the Wades. But I always wanted one. It was the only thing on my Christmas list for years when I was a kid.” I frowned. “At least until I found out Santa wasn’t real.”
My heart sped up a little as I watched Kurt for any reaction. I’d almost slipped about having a sister. No one knew about her.
For a moment, Kurt simply watched me. “Well, you have George now.”
“Did you have a dog as a kid?”
“I did. One.” His eyebrows drew together for a split second before they smoothed. “One day when I was five, this mutt showed up on our doorstep out of the blue. And he never left. I had Harley for almost fifteen years. Knoah used to watch him for me when Dylan and I went on the road with the band.”
“What happened?”
“Old age. But he was the best damn dog.”
I squeezed George a little tighter. “We could coparent George if you wanted.” Kurt’s eyes widened, and I stammered on, “I mean please don’t think I’m crossing the roommate line. Oh, hell…I’m messing this up. I was just saying, we’re roommates and I could share.” Then, though it was a total lie, I added, “I’ve moved on from that mess.”
For a second, silence lingered. Something seemed to bother him about what I’d said. Maybe I had crossed a line. I was about to tell him to ignore what I said when he asked, “Coparent?”
Trying to keep it light, I replied, “Yes, but I get final say. No pussy puppy.”
He laughed. “Deal. Dog coparenting it is.”
“Deal. George will need a man in his life to show him the ropes.”
“He’s a dog, Sawyer.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but…I don’t know…I love him.”
The topic had grown heavy again.
“Who made your pajamas today?”
Glancing down at my shirt and pants, I said, “It’s Lululemon. They’re so comfortable.”
“Lululemon knows how to make pajamas.”
I chuckled. “You’re such a smartass. It’s not nice to be prejudiced.”
All this bantering on the couch was making me tired, and my eyes grew heavy.
Kurt stood, and the motion made me open my eyes.
“Oh, Cameron and Jordan texted you last night. Their names flashed across your screen when I plugged in your phone.”
There was a new edge in the air. The way Kurt said Jordan’s name sent a thrill through me. It sounded a tad jealous. I played it off. “Would you text Cameron and tell him I’m doing better?”
“Sure thing, baby.”
I started at the term of endearment but closed my eyes to keep from exposing what it did to me. While we had been in LA, that was what he’d called me when he made love to me.
Did something change? I was aching to know, but I wouldn’t push. Kurt needed to come to this on his own. If a little time was what he needed, I would give it to him. At the end of this tour, if nothing happened, I would officially move on.
Until then, I hoped he realized we had a connection.