Chapter Five

 

This was breaking every one of his own rules, Blake thought. He didn’t take girls home after a show and he certainly didn’t take them to his room.

Sure, that was the norm when it came to musicians, or so most people thought. But he was in it for the music. Sex and drugs weren’t part of the game for him.

He’d left that stage tonight to avoid her and now here he was with his arm wrapped around her waist escorting her into his hotel. What an idiot.

They walked into the quiet lobby of the hotel. The housekeeping staff worked cleaning the always-busy area.

Blake looked at his watch. “I think even the bar is closed now.”

“Right.”

“We could order up some room service. Strictly food and drink, I promise.”

She didn’t pull away from his protective arm, even though they were already inside and she was safe from falling. As he pushed the button on the elevator, he kept his arm protectively around her.

“I trust you,” she said turning and looking him in the eye.

That said a lot, he decided. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would put up with crap from any man.

They rode the elevator in silence and he didn’t remove his arm from around her until he shifted to dig for his wallet and pull his room key card out.

“I demagnetize these things all the damn time,” he said as he slid the key into the slot on the door and it clicked open. “Good.”

He reached inside and turned on the light.

Tiffany stepped in and walked into the room. “This is nice.”

“Warner said since most of us were away from home for the holidays, he’d make sure we were comfortable.”

“He’s thoughtful like that.”

“He is. He doesn’t have that stardom syndrome.” Blake set his guitar against the wall. “Have a seat,” he offered.

Tiffany walked toward the window and sat in one of the oversized chairs. He picked up the room service menu and sat in the chair opposite her.

“Should we order something real or just dessert?”

“I haven’t actually eaten since three o’clock. Want to share a sandwich?”

“Sounds like a plan. And we’ll order desert too,” he added.

“You have a sweet tooth?”

“Don’t you?”

She eased back in the chair and crossed her legs. “Too much. I try to steer clear of sweets.”

“One night of indulgence won’t hurt.”

She licked her lips and his breath hitched. “In terms of dessert, you’re right.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so improper, but it certainly had and perhaps he’d meant it deep down inside.

Blake picked up the phone and placed the order. He watched as she pulled the fancy shoes off, tucking them carefully under the table and then wiggling her perfectly pedicured toes.

“It’ll be about a half hour,” he said hanging up the phone with a yawn.

“Maybe I should go. You’ve had a full night. You must be exhausted.”

“No,” he was quick to say. “I have nowhere to be later today.” But then he considered that. “I didn’t ask if you did.”

“Sundays are laid back. I usually just go in and clean the store.”

“You do that?”

“Why pay someone to vacuum and wipe down glass? I mean we do it every day, but…”

“I’ll help you.”

She lifted her eyes and stared at him through thick lashes. “You?”

“I know how to vacuum.”

She crossed her legs under her and sat in a near yoga pose in the chair, letting her long skirt drape around her. “I’ll take you up on it. I’ll start later today. Three?”

“You tell me where to be.”

She smiled at him before letting her head fall back.

He watched for a moment, enjoying her presence. “This isn’t being forward, I promise.” He held his hands up as if in surrender. “But we could sit on the bed and watch some TV.”

She lifted her head. “I think the hardest part about this is I trust you. I don’t think I should trust you so much.”

“Warner trusts me.”

“And that alone has me here.”

“I’m honored.” He stood and reached his hand out to her. She untucked her legs and took it. As she stood, she wobbled right into his arms. Each of them took in a deep breath as she clung to him.

“My legs are asleep, I guess.”

“I think you need to keep me around. That’s twice in one night I’ve caught you in my arms.”

She didn’t push away and he was finding that the gentleman in him was harder to keep intact. When she gazed up at him, he was nearly lost.

“I’ll bet we can find an episode of Friends or M.A.S.H.,” he said easing back.

“Anything is fine.”

He stepped back, found the remote control, and handed it to her. “I’m going to change. I’m feeling the performance settle into my clothes. Make yourself comfortable.”

He excused himself to the hall, picked out a T-shirt from the closet, and a pair of lounge pants. Then he tucked himself into the bathroom to change.

 

Tiffany moved to the bed and sat down. It was a mistake—a horrible mistake to be in his hotel room.

It wasn’t as if she were some prude. No, some of her friends might even have other words to describe her. But she really liked this guy and that’s what made it seem so wrong.

He was a musician. Sure, Warner’s success heavily stemmed on keeping around like-minded people—but looking at Blake—he didn’t look like-minded.

Warner was clean cut. Even when Clara had met him, Tiffany thought he was a bit of a nerd.

But Blake, he screamed sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll.

She pushed the button on the remote and turned on the TV. As if it was meant to be, an episode of Friends had just started. It was a good one too, but weren’t they all? She often thought she and Spencer had a Friends like relationship, only it was never destined to end in marriage like Chandler and Monica’s was.

She could hear water running in the bathroom sink, which was just on the other side of the wall. Holding tightly to the remote, she considered moving back to the chair, but she didn’t.

A moment later Blake walked back, his hair down now, grazing his shoulders. He’d changed into a T-Shirt that was from a Kenny Rogers show, of all people. She laughed when she saw him.

“What?”

“Kenny Rogers? How old is that shirt? You almost can’t see his face anymore.”

He looked down. “First concert I went to when I was a kid. Mom was a fan.”

“You still have it? You still can wear it?”

He winked his signature wink. “Truth is it was my dad’s. I stole it the minute it fit. I don’t think he knows I have it.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the TV. “I like this one. That chicken and duck crack me up. Who has a chicken in a New York apartment? Or a duck?”

“I bet you’d be surprised what people try to keep in their apartments. I had a friend once who lived in an apartment as big as my closet.” He looked at her and laughed. “No kidding! And she paid two thousand dollars a month for it.”

“That’s just wrong. I grew up on land, I can’t imagine not living on a generous piece of land again.”

“Me too. Spencer and I got to be as good of friends as we are because we spent an hour and a half a day on a bus from school.”

“Looks like we have even more in common then.”

“I guess we do.” She looked at the empty space next to her. “You could move all the way back here. I won’t bite.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I would.”

He scooted all the way back to the headboard and arranged pillows so he was comfortable. They sat in awkward silence until they both spoke at the same time.

“What do your parents do?” she asked.

“Do you have a big family?” he asked.

They both laughed and she concluded hers with a sigh. “Not too big. One sibling. Two parents,” she started. “Everyone was always too busy and going too many directions. So, I had multiple families. I had Spencer’s family, whose house I spent more time at than I did my own.”

“That’s a pretty special relationship.”

“It is. So what about you? Tell me about your parents.”

He tucked his hands behind his head. “Mom stayed at home and raised us. I have three brothers and two sisters.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Sure is. We’re stair stepped too. Each of us is eighteen months from the next.”

“Where do you fall?”

“I’m number five. I have a sister that is younger.”

“What did your dad do?”

“Farmer. I may not be from Nashville, but see, I’m country.”

That made her laugh again. “What does your mom think of all these tattoos?” she asked, wanting to run her finger over them, but she resisted.

He turned his arm over and the name Christine was printed on the inside of his arm from elbow to wrist. “She likes this one best.”

Tiffany swallowed hard. This was a bad sign. “Christine?”

“That’s her.”

Tiffany batted her eyes to keep the sentiment from welling up. She’d been so wrong in her initial thought. “That’s very sweet.”

“It works two ways. It softens up the ladies when I tell them it’s my mom. It’s also good when I’m not interested and I can turn my arm over and they see some other woman’s name there.”

Tiffany felt herself inch closer to him. “Are you trying to soften me up?”

Blake took a finger and hooked in a curl, then tucked it back. “I was hoping I did that long before I told you it was my mother’s name.”

“Is it?” She moved in even closer.

Blake brushed his thumb over her cheek and drew nearer. “I wouldn’t lie about my mother.”

Their eyes locked and their faces grew nearer. She could feel the heat of his breath as he drew her in closer and her eyes closed.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. “Room service.”

Blake stopped his progression only centimeters from her lips and sat still for a beat. “Impeccable timing.”

He swung his legs off the bed and headed for the door. Tiffany quickly set her feet on the ground and stood up. There was nothing tackier than being in or on a bed when room service arrived—and she knew.

The man from room service gave her a nod and set the tray on the table. He handed Blake the check tablet, which Blake signed, and he was gone.

“Smells good. I always get hungry after a show. Usually after the bigger venues I have to hit a Waffle House and gorge myself.”

She snickered and looked away from him, careful not to make eye contact.

“Have a seat,” he said with a gesture of his hand. “I’ll serve.”

“Did you really order a bottle of champagne?” she asked as she lifted the bottle from the tray.

“I did.”

Again, she wondered why she was still here.

He turned the tray just so that half of the sandwich was facing her and the other half to him. He uncovered her glass of water and handed her a fork. Then he began to inspect the top to the champagne bottle.

“I never can quite figure out the cage on these damn things.”

“I’m an expert at this part.” She took the bottle from him and skillfully popped the cork out of it with ease.

“You drink this a lot?”

“Not so much anymore. But I’ve been known to,” she said softly as she couldn’t find a reason to be proud about that right now. She handed him the bottle.

Blake poured two glasses, set the bottle down, and handed her one. He lifted his glass. “To new friendships.”

Tiffany swallowed hard before tapping her glass to his. “To new friendships.”

They tapped glasses and each took a sip. As she set her glass down and took her seat, she noticed his eyes on her. His dark brown eyes, she’d noted.

“You seem nervous. I don’t mean to make you nervous,” he said as he sat down across from her.

“I suppose I am. There is a part of me that says I shouldn’t be here at all. Then the champagne and…”

“You think I’m trying to get you drunk or something?”

She winced. “It wouldn’t be the first time I got myself into a situation like that which…”

“I’d never do that to you,” he interrupted. “I’m not like that.”

“Look at you, you’re…”

“Look at you,” he countered. “Are we going to judge each other? Really?”

How could he quickly make her feel so little?

Blake sipped his champagne and then took a bite of the sandwich. She couldn’t decide if he had more to say on the subject or not. But when he wiped his mouth and stood, she figured he wasn’t quite done.

“I got my first tat at seventeen. By twenty, I had eight. The minute my hair could be pulled back people were putting their hands over their pockets hoping I wouldn’t take their wallets. Moms don’t like me with their daughters because I must take one home every night. I’m a tattooed, long-haired, musician. So, is that what you think? Did I hit any of this accurately?”

Tiffany stood and gathered her shoes from under the table. “I need to go.”

“Why? Because that’s what you wanted? The bad boy? Well, you’re not going to get that. If I’m somewhere I can get to church on Sunday, I go. Warner doesn’t take girls home on the road and I admire that. I stick close to him, because when I’m with a woman I want it to mean something. I can’t even tell you how many tattoos I have now. Some blend together. But I admire the art. And my favorite one is the one with my mother’s name.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The leather and the rings, they go with the persona. The hair, ah hell, I like it. But honey, I didn’t ask you up here just so I could have my way with you. I happen to find your company enjoyable.”

Her lip trembled and she tucked it between her teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said moving toward her. “It’s human nature to judge.”

She looked him in the eye and batted away tears that threatened. “I did think some of those things,” she said regrettably. “I am the girl that would have gone home with the musician. Without even a thought.” She felt the bitter taste of those words lingering. “I’m no saint. I don’t go to church.”

“Then why are you worried about me?”

Ah, hell. What did she have to lose? “I like you. I like you enough to think that this is a mistake, me being up here in your room. This should come much later. Then I think why does it matter? What’s one meaningless night? You’ll be on the road in a few days and I’ll be forgotten.”

He raised his hand to her cheek, gently caressing her. “I don’t even think that’s possible.” His hands moved from her cheeks to her shoulders as if to ground her right there. “Let’s eat this sandwich. Follow it up with that dessert that’s already calling my name. Drink another glass of champagne and then I’ll walk you to your car.”

“And that’s that?”

“No. I’ll be at your store at three o’clock to vacuum.”

Tiffany swallowed back the anger. “You don’t…”

“I’m a man of my word, Tiffany. Trust me.”

“I’m not real good at that.”

“Then maybe you should learn.”

He pushed away and sat back down before she could foolishly move in and kiss him—and she wanted to. She wanted to forget about right and wrong and pull him in close. She wanted to touch each tattoo and run her fingers through that hair.

What was one night with him, she wondered? She’d been far more foolish in the past, but this time she didn’t want that. She wanted what Clara and Warner had. What every Keller and every Benson had—true love. She sucked in a deep breath of courage. Tiffany was used to the quick ‘fall into bed’ pace. Sadly, she was comfortable with it. This gentleman, in the antique T-shirt, was throwing her for a loop—and she liked it.