Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
She squirts some ketchup on top of her burger and takes a bite of it.
She’s so beautiful. Even chewing her food, she’s so fucking beautiful.
Her hair is in a ponytail. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her wear a ponytail. It’s a high ponytail and makes her look young. Like she’s back in high school, walking on the homecoming court.
Finally, she speaks.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Brock, and you don’t have to tell me. But I’ve been thinking… About that recital you scheduled for me.”
There’s a chill back to reality. I totally forgot about that.
“I appreciate it, but I just don’t think I can get a program ready in less than two weeks.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Can you get your money back? On the cinema?”
“Probably. But instead of getting it back, why don’t we just push it back a few weeks? Make it a Christmas recital.”
She swallows the bite of burger she just took. “Brock…”
“For God’s sake, Rory, would you please just let me do this for you? It’s the only thing good I’ve got going in my life right now.”
Her lips turn down to a frown.
Fuck. I just insulted her.
“I didn’t mean it that way. I mean you. You’re in my life, and you’re good.”
She wipes her lips with her napkin, takes a sip of her water. “Nice save.”
“Rory…”
She takes another bite of hamburger, chews, swallows. “Sure. I get what you mean.”
Except she doesn’t. She so doesn’t get what I mean. She’s everything to me. Every fucking thing. And even though I forgot about that damned recital, when she brought it up, something inside me ignited. I want to do this for her. I need to do this for her. But she’s right. Neither of us has the time to put it together in two weeks. There’s just too much else going on.
Will pushing it back two or three weeks make a difference? I have no idea. The Steel family is kind of going down the toilet right now. I feel like we all have metaphorical toilet swirlies.
“Jesse… Jesse asked me to go on tour with the band,” she says.
“When?”
“Next weekend. Or the weekend after. I can’t remember. First I told him no, but now I’m thinking about it.”
“Why? Why would you think about it when you can prepare your own performance?”
She twists her lips a little, takes another sip of water. “I just thought it might be good to get away.”
“What about your students?”
“My students will be fine. It’s only for a long weekend, and it’s not the first time I’ve had to cancel lessons. They’ll continue their practice while I’m gone, and then we’ll continue our lessons when I return.”
“Okay, then. What about…”
Us. What about us?
But after the way I’ve treated her… Maybe she doesn’t think there’s an us anymore.
“What about what, Brock?”
“Me. You. You and me.”
“What about you and me?”
Damn. She’s going to make me say it. I don’t think I’m ready to say it, and I damn well know for sure she’s not ready to hear it.
Turns out I don’t have to say anything, though, because she keeps talking.
“You behaved atrociously the other night. You accused me of not reminding you to put on a condom on purpose.”
“Yeah. That wasn’t my best move, and I’m really sorry.”
“Then, you call me, and I come over here thinking you’re lying dead somewhere, but you’re only drunk as a skunk. You dropped the phone and didn’t bother telling me.”
“I passed out, Rory. I couldn’t tell you.”
She huffs. Takes another sip of her water. “And now you still want me to do this recital?”
“Yeah, I do. It will give us both something to focus on.”
“Don’t you have enough to focus on? With running a ranch and all?”
“Yeah, I have my work, just like you have yours. Then we also have the shit that’s going on in our lives. The recital is something…different. It’s not work. It’s for fun.”
“Producing a recital sounds fun for you,” she says dryly.
“Well, it’s a challenge. It’s nothing I’ve ever done before.”
“Let’s get honest about this right now, Brock. You don’t know anything about music production, so all the work is going to fall on me. Me.”
“No. That’s not what I want.”
“Who’s going to put together the program? Me. Who’s going to find an accompanist? Me. Who’s going to stage the performance? Me. Your only contribution is monetary.”
“No, I’ll produce.”
“What the hell do you think producers are? They’re deep pockets.”
Is she correct? Hell if I know. I produce beef, not music.
I sigh. “Fine. We can cancel the damned thing.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
“Do you have something to say, Rory?”
I see it in her eyes. A big part of her wants this recital. A really big part of her.
And damn… A really big part of me wants to give it to her.