Nikki

“Goddamnit.” I hear Tulsa cursing in the living room. The front door squeals open, and I listen as he talks to someone and then closes it. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I check the time. 8:46 a.m.

I stretch my arms toward the wooden headboard and smile, remembering how I held it last night during our second round of sex. Pointing my toes, I continue the stretch until my body finds relief from being pulled every which way several times over. I’m seriously due for some yoga postures.

Sitting up, I will my tired body from the comfy bed, feeling my muscles ache all over, and smile because I love it.

I get up and shuffle to the living room. “Why are you swearing this early in the morning?”

“The delivery guy knocked when I told him not to. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay. Thank you, though.” My voice is low, still bordering on the edge of sleep as I lean against the doorway to the kitchen. “You wore me out last night.”

He pauses with his hands inside one of the red and white bags on the counter. “Well, good mornin’ to you, darlin’.”

I stride in and try to peek inside the bags as he stands there frozen, staring at my body. “What did you order?”

“Are you going to stay like that all day?”

“Like what?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“Naked.”

“Oh.” I bump out my butt and arch my back to tease him just a little bit. “Do you not like me like this? I can put clothes on if you find me too distracting.”

“Distracting? Absolutely. Do I want you to wear clothes? Absolutely not.” He pulls out a container of guacamole and a bag of chips and then a small chocolate sheet cake with nuts on top. “So remember how we got married a few days ago?” He asks so casually I know he’s teasing.

“Vaguely,” I reply with a little snark as I sidle up to him.

His hands slide around my waist, and he holds me against his growing affections. “I know this wasn’t our official honeymoon, but I was thinking we could spend the day here like you mentioned yesterday. Eat. Play music. Have sex and just stay put until we have to leave tomorrow.”

I wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek on his chest. “Sounds amazing.”

Reaching lower, he grabs my ass and bends to kiss me. “Where do you want to start? Are you hungry orrrrr . . .”

“Now this is wedded bliss.”

He chuckles lightly as he turns to put the guacamole and the peppermint mocha creamer, which he ordered just for me, into the fridge. “Bliss. Heaven on Earth. It’s all of those things to me.”

I lean against the counter, feeling so naked; my heart as exposed as my body. But I don’t hide my body or reach down to cover my scar, despite my natural inclination to do so. I remain open and free to stand here as I am.

Leaning on the counter opposite me, he looks me over, and I let him. Tulsa doesn’t move to cover me or convince himself not to look. He doesn’t avoid seeing me—scars and all. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“Beauty from the inside. Bravery. You’re unafraid to take a risk—and have risked everything for me.” He makes his way over and stands before me, stopping short of pressing against my body. He cups my face, and says, “You love with your whole heart, and you love me even more.”

I run my hands over his shoulders and rest them on either side of his neck. “I see the same in you.” Lifting up on my toes, I close my eyes and kiss him, my sweet husband. When I drop back down on my heels, I ask, “When the tour’s over, I want you to meet my parents.”

The right side of his mouth slides up. “You’re asking me to meet your parents while standing naked in my crummy apartment in Austin.”

“No, I’m asking you as your wife.”

His hands caress the sides of my breasts and graze over the curve of my waist twice before he settles on my hips. “I haven’t met a girl’s parents since I was in high school.”

“You’re right.” I scrunch my nose. “Let’s not talk about my parents while I’m naked with you.”

“Wise choice. Now for the real question. Coffee or me?”

Tugging him by the front of the shirt until his chest is against mine, I reply, “You. Always you.”

* * *

The next time I wake up, it’s just before noon. Tulsa’s asleep next to me when I slip out of bed and head to my open suitcase in the corner. Knowing I only have dirty clothes, I detour to his closet and steal a T-shirt from the shelf. It’s super soft from wear, and I love that Tulsa’s the one who’s worn it so many times to make it feel this good against my skin.

Reminded of a call I need to make, I take my phone from the side table and close the bedroom door when I walk into the living room. The shirt comes midthigh, and when I sit, I realize I have dresses longer than this. I giggle while listening to the line ring.

“Hello?”

“Holli, hi, this is Nikki Faris.”

“Nikki.” She extends the last vowel in her happiness. “It’s so good to hear from you. How are you?”

“I’m good. Actually, I’m great.”

“That’s fantastic to hear. How have you enjoyed the tour so far?”

“It’s been amazing. Every show is sold out as you know, but the fans are coming early to watch us practice.”

“I’ve heard incredible things about your show. You killed it in LA. I’ve seen some video of your other performances too. You’re so good on stage.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m actually calling for a favor. I thought you might be able to help me.”

“Sure. What can I do?”

“I didn’t make it back to LA to change out my clothes and go shopping. This is super short notice, but I was wondering if you knew of a personal shopper who might be able to send me some dresses to cover the rest of the tour. If not, I can try to hit a few stores in Chicago.”

“I have the best stylist. She probably has a rack of dresses she can send with the band when they fly out tomorrow. And I can send you some pieces from my lingerie line. I’ll toss in a few T-shirts as well.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you. Send the bill, and I’ll pay when I get it.”

“No. No. No. My stuff is on the house. I’ll contact the stylist for you now and have her call you. She’s great in fashion emergencies. Stay by the phone.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime. Have a great time in Austin. I heard you’re writing a song with Tulsa. That’s so cool. I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Yeah . . . that. We can’t wait to share it, but it’s in the very early stages, so . . .”

“Well, good luck and I’ll see you in a few weeks when you’re back in LA.”

“Thank you again.”

Holli’s stylist calls me within thirty minutes. I give her my sizes, and since she says she’s watched a few videos of me on stage, she knows exactly what she wants to send. One box of five dresses will arrive with The Resistance tomorrow and five more within forty-eight hours.

I’ve never felt more like a celebrity than I do now. My mom has a personal shopper at Nordstrom, but having a stylist feels über fancy—very LA. Before I let it all go to my head, I remember I still need to do some laundry.

Sneaking back into the bedroom, I gather pretty much everything from my suitcase into my arms and go into the hall that leads to Rivers’s room, dumping the clothes on the floor. I decide to surprise Tulsa by washing his clothes as well. Lucky bastard. I kneel in front of his suitcase and start pulling out his clothes, not knowing what’s clean and what’s not, which means it’s all dirty to me. But I stop when I see a flash of hot pink. I tug at the fabric and hold the thong in the air in front of me.

These are mine. Why does he— Oh, my God!

I vaguely remember asking him if he knew what happened to my panties after getting drunk with him. How on earth did he get them? And when? I can’t believe he kept these after he said he had no idea. No idea, my ass. Tricky bastard. I pick up the clothes and return to the hall to start a load in the washing machine.

Then I really get busy.

It’s kind of fun to have a day with nothing to do but whatever I want to. In the kitchen, I cook some bacon and then cut a piece of cake to snack on. I wander into the living room and spy a guitar sitting on a stand in the corner.

Picking it up, I strum lightly, closing my eyes and letting my fingers find the sound again. It’s only been a few days since I played on stage, but I haven’t created music in a while. It feels good to just let go and play from the heart.

I find my rhythm and play on repeat, memorizing the new riff.

“I like that.”

Turning around, I see Tulsa standing in all his gorgeous glory. “Good morning, uh, afternoon, handsome.”

A couple of times on the road, we played together in the privacy of our room—me on the guitar while he hit a practice pad. No big deal, but my heart felt closer to his because it wasn’t just a way for us to spend time together, it was a way for us to get to know each other more deeply. You can learn about the soul of a musician through the songs he chooses to play and the music he creates when it’s just for him.

When it comes to the songs Tulsa writes, some are unexpected—haunting in slow chorus. Others fit him to a T. If I were to put notes to Tulsa Crow, they’d be upbeat, fast, and charmingly lyrical.

Taking another guitar from a stand beside the couch, he sits down next to me, and I lean over to kiss him before playing the melody again. Following my lead, he catches on quickly. He says, “You should write it down. I have music sheets.” He gets up and goes to a drawer under the TV to pull out pencils and paper. Setting them in front of me on the table, he hands me a pencil.

“I’m not the best at writing music. Can you help me?”

“Sure. Play it for me, and I can do it.” For the next hour, I repeat the song over and over, adding to it each time. He’s charismatic and happy and loves to talk about everything. He’s so open with his heart and his mind. Tulsa is exactly who he is, whether you know him or have only read about him. There are no pretenses. His heart is good through and through.

Watching him write music is a side I’ve not seen before. Listening by ear, he jots down the chord sequence, every so often confirming what he heard. He’s changed a few notes to make the song better, but it’s his love of music that causes me to sneak peeks when he’s not looking.

Tulsa catches me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? Because you were staring at me like it was something.”

“I just . . .” My fingers find the strings, and I strum to cover up any excuses I might feel the need to say. I go with the truth. “I was admiring you. That’s all.”

His hand warms my leg. I add, “You know I think you’re attractive, but I was admiring who you are and how you love music. How good you are at writing just from hearing it. It’s something I want to get better at. Will you teach me?”

“I’ll teach you. Rivers taught me when I was sixteen. Playing is one thing, but writing music is another. You’re talented at creating unique sounds and songs. I know your band plays two of your songs, but you should play this one for Laird. He’d be a fool not to want this for the album.”

“You think?”

“I know. Want to finish it?”

“I’m not sure how my brother will feel about a song he had no part in.”

Sitting back on the couch, he says, “A good song is a good song. I don’t need credit for anything if that’s what worries you.”

“No, although I don’t know that he’d give it to you anyway.” I stand, remembering I need to move the clothes to the dryer. “I don’t want to keep our marriage from him past Chicago. He might be upset, but he deserves to know.”

“I know he was there for you, and for that, I’ll always respect him and give him credit. But we all fuck up from time to time. The first night I met him, I fucked up.”

“How?”

“We met some women that night. I won’t lie to you, but it’s not easy to admit.”

“You slept with them?” I hate knowing that, yet, another woman has had Tulsa. But I do know he’s not that man anymore.

“Not them, but, yes, one of them. He hooked up with the other.”

Of course. “Well, I knew you two were alike.” Leaning against the corner of the wall, I say, “I don’t need details or any more confessions. The moment we said I do, we decided to move forward together. That’s all I need to know about.”

“The bottom line is he doesn’t need to protect you from me. I’m not just your biggest fan, I’m the man who’s going to prove to you that I was the worth the wait.”