The soothing movement of his fingers over my skin stops. His body shifts as if he’s staring at me but I’m too chicken to open my eyes.
“Shelby?”
I sigh. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”
That answer’s not good enough for Rooster. He sits up and clicks on the lamp. The sudden movement tosses me to my side of the mattress. I hug my pillow, rolling myself into a ball.
Everything inside me says to make up a story. Smooth it over with a fib. I shouldn’t drag those painful memories to the surface again.
But I can’t lie to him either.
I uncurl my body and stare up at him.
“I thought the song was doing well?” He glances at the ceiling. “Greg thinks it’s somehow my fault you’re not playing it. He asked if we had a fight.”
“He did what?” Now I’m wide awake. And pissed at Greg.
“Don’t worry. I gave him my polite version of fuck off. Told him to talk to you about the music.”
My irritation with Greg fades, replaced by love for Rooster. He’s always so careful to steer clear of my creative decisions. Vehicles, security, safety, travel—he has no problem takin’ over and being bossy as hell in those areas. Music—he’s hands off.
“Shelby? Is there a reason you’re not playing White Knight?” His voice remains low and soothing.
How can I explain my reasoning without sounding…I don’t know, presumptuous? Rude?
What a pickle.
“I…” My voice falters and I run my hand over the sheet willing the right words to form in my head. After a few seconds, I sit next to him, pulling the blanket around me.
Rooster’s gaze drops to where I’m clutching the blanket but he doesn’t comment.
“After what you told me…” I stare at my lap. “About your parents…your mom. I don’t feel right singing that song anymore.”
“Why?”
My heart thuds. “I think your instinct to protect. . .to rescue comes from losing so much. I feel awful, like the song makes light of that now.”
“Shelby.” His hoarse voice, full of emotion, draws my gaze to his face. “Baby, come here.” He holds out his arms and I hurry to scoot into his lap. His big, solid, warm body brings so much comfort, I wish I could do the same for him, instead of dredging up the past again. He bands his arms around me and rests his chin on my head.
“I’ve never…I wouldn’t have ever made that connection.”
Great, now I’ve made it worse.
He strokes his hand over my hair and down my back. “I don’t like the song because it’s about me—or so you say,” he teases. “I love it because every time you sing those opening lines, it brings back the day we met so vividly. My first glimpse of your sun-kissed cheeks.” He strokes his knuckles over the side of my face. “Your pretty red lips.” He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. “Slogging through that warm, murky water weighing down my boots and jeans. Fishing your squirmy little body out of the water. The feel of you in my arms. The sweet way you clung to me as I carried you out of that filthy river.”
“You were my hero,” I whisper. “The second you said ‘I gotcha, darlin’,’ I knew I’d be okay. I could trust you.”
He swallows hard and nods. “It was worth every wet, humid, uncomfortable second just to get to know you.” He traces his finger down my nose. “Loved watching your wide, innocent eyes as you sweet-talked those cops into taking the handcuffs off me.”
“They were such jerks,” I grumble.
“You were so worried about me gettin’ into trouble for kickin’ Chad’s ass.”
“Brad,” I correct.
“History,” he answers with a smirk. “Felt good holding your hand—first time I’d done that in a long time.”
I scoff and lean into him. “You were worried I was jailbait.”
“Damn right. I wanted to kiss you more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life.”
My heart squeezes at the longing and sincerity wrapped around his words.
“I probably would’ve exploded right there on the sidewalk if you’d said you were underage,” he adds.
I’m absolutely bursting with love for him. I curl my arms around his neck and touch my forehead to his. “You can kiss me anytime you want now.”
He palms the back of my head and rests his other hand on the small of my back. “My favorite activity,” he says, sweeping his lips over mine.
After several soft kisses, he draws away. “Don’t stop playing that song.”
I frame his face with my hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He inhales a deep breath and shifts his gaze to the side. “I love you for caring so much. For worrying about me in that way. And you’re probably right. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t watch you scared and helpless flailing around in the water and not jump in. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”