Love Exactly (6 page)

“Why?”

Evan turned to face me. “Because I wasn’t there…because I wish it didn’t happen.”

“Don’t say that,” I whispered, placing my forehead against his as I ran my hands over his jaw line. “If we changed the past we might not be here in this future, and I wouldn’t change this. I’d do it all over again as long as I knew I’d have this.”

“You know I’ll never hurt you.”

I smirked at him. “Yes… yes you will, but I’ll hurt you too. That’s the way things work.”

“Is that the way love works?”

I shrugged before kissing him and answering, “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before.”

“Can we find out together?” he asked, his lips hovering over mine.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I’d like that.”

His eyes dropped to my hands and he grabbed at my wrist, flipping it with his mouth gawking at what he saw. “I haven’t been gone that long! When did you get that?”

“Umm…” I tried to find the words as his index finger traced the line that led to two hearts entwined etched into my skin. It was small and for the most part no one had noticed it. “A few days after the last time you left. It was silly. I just wanted one.”

He was laughing now. “Did you cry?”

I pulled my hand back. “No, of course not!”

“I’m a bad influence on you,” he commented as he got out of the car. “I’m afraid I’m going to have an even worse one than a few tattoos…and Angry Bird bandages.”

“Stop teasing my birds!” I retorted holding up the middle one.

He nodded with a wide smile as he tipped on his heels. “See—that’s what I mean, my bad boy-ism is wearing off on you.”

I ran at him head first as if to tackle him and instead found myself spinning in his arms.

“Feisty,” he whispered into my ear before nuzzling it. “Now let’s get you a guitar.”

When we walked into the music store I picked out my dream guitar in a matter of seconds. It was a stunning grape purple Ibanez acoustic-electric guitar with edges that faded into black from its center, and Evan purposely turned the price tag so I couldn’t see it. He smiled and muttered something about me having good taste before he explained some things about onboard gold tuners, mahogany and maple wood, along with some nonsense about Fishman and preamps. I rolled my eyes, and then smiled as I strummed my fingers across the strings.

Evan informed me as soon as we got to my apartment that I couldn’t play it just yet. So, I sat watching him re-string the custom-made guitar, a fresh pair of metal snips from the hardware store in hand. He carefully strung a metal string through one end, guiding it up the neck and around the posts before he tightened it with the tuners. There was such precision as he plucked at the string with care, tuning it tighter and tighter. I couldn’t help but grab my camera and begin snapping pictures. He explained each string to me, and when he got to the last and thinnest one he paused, looking down at the still wound circle in his hands.

“I hate the high E string, it’s so thin and easy to snap,” he explained as he unwound it with ease and stuck it through the bridge. “When these things snap it shocks the hell out of you—no matter how many times it happens. It’s always scary…thinking you could have lost an eye.”

“That’s reassuring,” I muttered, scooting further down the bed as he began to twist the tuner.

He chuckled to himself as he plucked at the string until it was tuned. “Now, I do this by ear, but you’re probably not going to be able to do that for a little bit—”

“That’s an understatement; try never.”

He shrugged as he maneuvered the guitar around to show me how to tune it. I half-listened to his instructions with a smile that matched his smirk.

“You’re not listening are you?” he asked.

I shrugged at him and fluttered my eyelashes. “Can I play with it now?”

He rolled his eyes and handed it to me. “How do you like the way it sounds?”

“It sounds like a guitar…” I began and when he raised an eyebrow I corrected myself, “It has a lovely, smooth sound to it.”

He nodded as I began to attempt, poorly I might add, to play a few chords of
Shattered Mirrors
.

“You’re pressing the strings too hard,” Evan explained as he tried to loosen my death grip on the rosewood fret board. “No wonder you have Angry Birds.”

“I told you I stink at this,” I replied, my shoulders falling against his chest.

“You’re trying too hard,” he said. His breath washed over my neck, and I had to concentrate on holding the pick in my hand.

“I think it’s a lost cause.”

I felt Evan shake his head behind me as he repositioned my hands. “This,” he explained, moving my fingers, “is a D chord.”

He continued to show me the chords one by one and they all seemed too similar to be able to tell apart.

“Now,” he instructed as he came to the front of me, “put it all together.”

I looked at him through my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” he nodded with crossed arms and stern lips.

“Be prepared for something awful,” I teased.

I took a deep breath and gripped the sparkled purple pick before he ordered each chord out of me.

“D…A…C…D…E…F…B…” he continued ordering them off until I looked up at him in shock.

He was sitting in my computer chair, his hands behind his head as he smiled at me. “You just played
Shattered Mirrors.”

“You ass!”

He threw his hands up. “What?”

“I spent hours on YouTube and all I needed was you for half an hour?”

He winked at me before looking down at his watch.

“You need to get back to Boston, right?”

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, we have rehearsal early.”

“Two days was really only one,” I said, standing and putting the guitar on the rack next to my bed.

Evan rolled across the floor in the computer chair before he wrapped his arms around my waist and placed his cheek on my stomach. “Yeah.”

I closed my eyes and ran my hands through his hair. “It was nice.”

“It always is,” he replied as he looked up at me. “I don’t want to go—why don’t you come with me?”

“With you?”

“You can see us rehearse—and then see the concert.”

I narrowed my eyes at him because of the look in his eyes. “You’ve been planning this all day!”

He shrugged. “I may have texted a few key contacts—not that I really needed to.”

“Of course you did.”

“I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

I rolled my eyes at him as I grabbed an overnight bag from my closet. “When aren’t you?”

“You don’t want me to be?” he teased, his hand sliding down my waist to my bottom as I tried to concentrate on finding something to wear.

“What do you wear to a concert?” I asked, throwing what I picked up back into the drawer.

“Sit,” Evan ordered, “and calm down. It’s not the Grammy’s.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you dare ask me to the Grammy’s.”

He turned and leaned against my dresser, a pair of my black skinny jeans in his hands. “Why?”

“That’s a lot of people staring at me with you…”

“And?”

“I know you’re used to it, but the whole idea is—”

“Scary?”

I nodded and he threw the jeans at me before yanking a plain white v-neck shirt from the closet and throwing it at me.

“Eventually I want people to know who you are…the whole secret relationship thing is hard,” he explained as he handed me a pair of purple ballet flats and a studded belt.

I looked down at the clothes in shock. “You really do know how to dress a girl.”

He fiddled with his watch in agitation as if he was gauging what he was going to say next. “Will you eventually let me take you out in public—let people know that you’re
my
girlfriend? It would mean a lot to me if you went to those sorts of events with me.”

“What would I wear?” I joked, folding the clothes and putting them in the bag. I was trying to control the shaking of my hands at the thought of being on public display with him. I wanted some sort of excuse to avoid it for a bit longer.

“As you can tell I can take care of that,” he remarked as he opened the top drawer of my dresser.

“Hey!” I shouted as I jumped in front of him. “That’s my—”

“Underwear and bra drawer. I know. I’ve seen you go through it enough times.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my anxiety gone in an instant. “You realize it’s creepy you know that.”

He pursed his lips at me and furrowed his brow. “Really? I’ve seen you change about a zillion times by now. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen everything in there.”

I stepped aside. “If you’re so sure…”

He looked down into the drawer and turned a few shades of red before sitting back down on the bed. “I hate my imagination right now.”

From the look on his face he had seen the new lingerie wardrobe I picked up from Victoria’s Secret. I chose a particularly sexy pink, lace number out and twirled it on my finger. “Now what was that about being a gentleman?”

He swallowed and put his hands in his lap, tapping his foot. “Monkeys, basketball, uh…guitars…shit, you—guitar. That’s not helping—monkeys, basketball, bunnies, clowns…”

“You good yet?” I asked, as I leaned down so my cleavage was in his face and my hands were on his shoulders.

“That’s not very nice,” he whispered.

I shrugged. “The drive to Boston is pretty long, so you should be all set by then.”

I always enjoyed the drive from Connecticut into Boston. It was often like driving home as I watched the roads go from clean and smooth, to bumpy and rough; watching the trees fade from view and houses, malls, and other signs of civilization pop up with more frequency as each mile flew past. Evan never turned the radio on; instead I found myself listening to his thumbs drumming on the steering wheel and my thigh, a hum or even a song I’d not heard yet echoing from his lips. It calmed me as I sat deeper in the seat, my head against the cool glass as I watched him. Every once in a while he would glance over at me with a smile and say “What?”—I’d just smile and shrug. It was always so easy to be with him. I could lose myself in a book in my mind—write in my head, bring my iNotes out for a moment and type furiously as he chuckled to himself before placing my head back against that glass. He understood it. He was doing the same thing with his music.

“So I’m assuming this means you’re writing again?” he asked as the car slowed in the traffic we hit once we entered Boston.

“I guess,” I replied as he weaved in and out of the scattered cars with skill; despite his skill my stomach still lurched. I wasn’t used to city driving.

“What?” he teased, looking over with a wink. “You don’t like my driving?”

“It’s different.”

“Distracting is more like it. I like watching you write in your head,” he commented with a smile. “You look happy.”

I squeezed his hand. “That’s more because of you than anything.”

“I’m glad to hear you can write again; makes me kind of cocky to think it’s because of me,” he said as he pulled in front of a beautiful hotel and a valet opened my door.

“Wow,” I breathed out as Evan threw his keys into the kid’s hands before he moved around the car towards me.

“Mr. Levesque—glad to see you again. The rest of the band just got here. Are there some additional bags that need to be brought up now?” the kid asked as he opened the driver’s side door and Evan wrapped his arm around my waist with a nod.

“You don’t even have to park your own car?” I whispered as Evan began to guide me into the hotel.

Evan shrugged. “It’s a perk, although I don’t mind doing it myself.”

“It’s insane.”

“I can park it myself next time if you’d like?” he asked, obviously he thought I was uncomfortable with the situation.

“No—it’s fine. I’m just not used to the treatment,” I replied as the woman behind the counter looked up. From her lack of blush I could ascertain she had seen him, or other famous people, enough times that it didn’t matter.

“Mr. Levesque, we have the penthouse for you. I hope that’s okay?” she asked as she handed him an access card, and then handed one to me.

I stared down at the white card with the silver strip as Evan replied that it was perfectly fine.

“You okay?” he asked me when we got into the elevator.

I realized I was still staring at the access card in awe. “Yeah, sorry.”

He sighed as he pulled me into his arms and brushed a hair out of my eyes. “Is this all overwhelming for you? I know you haven’t really experienced too much of the things that come with my fame yet. I don’t want to run you off.”

I shook my head and leaned up to kiss him. “There’s nothing that will run me off.”

The elevator opened and Evan peeked his head out before signaling the coast was clear.

“I don’t want the band to pounce on you just yet,” he explained as we jogged to his door, and he swiped the card.

When we were inside I was still laughing from the rush of hiding, but I was silenced by the view I saw out the wall of windows in front of me. I stood in the middle of the room and spun as I took in each thing before making my way into the bedroom. It had the same pristine view of the city. Evan followed me without speaking, observing my reaction with care. My eyes fell on a picture of us that sat on the nightstand next to the crisp white king size bed.

“I bring it everywhere,” he explained with an awkward smile as I looked over my shoulder at him. “You should see my house. There are a lot of pictures you’ve taken in there. The guys think it’s kind of creepy. I guess it’s even creepier the hotel staff knows to take it out and put it there…”

“It is,” I said with a smirk. “But it’s no creepier than me playing your CD’s on repeat and having your music videos saved to my favorites so I can see you every day.”

I wandered to the sliding door and opened it to step onto the balcony. I had always been told there were no stars in the city, but there they were; perfect diamonds in the black sky. I let a deep breath out and tipped my head up to the cool breeze of the night. When I turned Evan was leaning against the door as he watched me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he commented. “I thought you might say no.”

“Why? It’s not the first night we’ve spent together.”

“You’re going to be meeting the whole band tomorrow. You’ll get to see me live.
I’m
nervous,” he explained as he walked forward and put his hands on my waist. “What if I screw up?”

“Really? You’ve done how many concerts and you’re nervous because I’m here? Or are you nervous the band is going to hate me?”

He shook his head. “They already love you.”

“That’s right…I’ve allowed them to have ‘creative freedom’.”

He nodded and twirled a piece of my hair around his finger. “I’m afraid I won’t live up to your expectations of a er…rock god.”

“Who you are as a person is a hell of a lot better than the rock god part,” I reassured him with a kiss.

He nodded and sighed. “I’m going to go take a shower. Order something from room service?”

I watched him slide his shirt off and then wink at me as he closed the door to the bathroom behind him. Every part of me begged me to follow him, and I had to take a deep breath to remain composed at the thought of him in the shower. I knew I could have followed him, but something stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t want to think of the reason why I suddenly doubted him. I knew it was simple. I didn’t want to be a mere booty call when he was on the East Coast, and I was afraid if I gave into my urge that was what I would become. I trusted him; I really did, but in my heart I knew as much as I wanted him that I wasn’t ready. When he came out in just a towel, his chest still wet, I began to lose my resolve.

“Did you order anything?” he asked with a nod towards the menu sitting on the table.

“I was a little distracted,” I explained as I told myself to breathe in and out—to concentrate on his eyes. That was just as bad, because I saw the yearning I had shared there.

“It’s hard sometimes, huh?” he asked.

I burst out in a fit of nervous giggles, and he shook his head before pointing at me.

“You’re dirty!” He laughed as he walked into the closet and the towel dropped down his waist.

I closed my eyes and flopped back on the bed. When I opened them he was hovering over me, shirtless in pajama bottoms with a wide smile on his face.

“So you do want me,” he said as he bit my neck ever so soft.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I gasped back as his kisses trailed up my neck and to my mouth.

“Sometimes I wonder if you do.”

“I just have immense self-control,” I answered.

“Mhmm…” he muttered as he stood up, went to the table and opened the menu. “What are you in the mood for?”

I looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile at his eyebrows risen over the top of the menu. Him. I wanted him, so very badly.

“Ice cream sundaes,” I finally said.

“Ice cream sundaes it is.”

The only issue was the fact I was thinking about smothering him in the hot syrup. I gave him a weak smile and closed my eyes as I tried to wash the image away. Now I was the one who needed a cold shower.