The Rocker's Muse

“Do you need anything in particular?” My tone was abrupt. “Let me guess, you want to know how I thought you sounded tonight?”

His smile faded. “You really think that’s the only reason I called you here?”

Crossing my arms, I answered, “I think it’s one of the reasons, yeah.”

“You’re my reward for a job well done, remember?”

“I’m your reward for a job well done and your distraction from your problems. That’s a big responsibility and probably not healthy, Tristan.” My demeanor hardened further as I again thought about that woman onstage.

His brows drew in. “What’s wrong, Emily?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re not looking me in the eyes, and you seem upset. I want to kiss you, but I’m afraid you’ll bite my head off.”

“Haven’t you had enough kisses for one night?” I spat. He’d walked right into that one.

His expression darkened. “What do you mean?”

“Do you seriously not know?”

He shook his head.

“That woman you brought up onstage. You let her kiss you. Do you not fucking remember?”

“Ah. Shit.” His eyes closed for a moment. “You’re probably not going to believe me, but I had completely forgotten she kissed me. That’s how little it meant to me.” He closed the gap between us. “Emily, do you know how many women I’ve kissed? Not a single one has meant a damn thing in, God, I don’t know how long—years—except our kiss.”

How the hell was I supposed to stay mad after he said that?

I cracked a smile.

He looked relieved. “I got food for us.”

For the first time, I noticed the spread behind him. “Middle Eastern? How did you manage that this late? Catering had Italian tonight.”

“I know you like it, so I asked Mario to have it delivered.”

“That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Will you stay? I won’t lay a hand—or mouth—on you, I promise. Just eating. Food.” He winked. “Eating food. Nothing else. Promise.”

A few minutes later, I’d forgotten all about the anxiety from earlier. Eating Middle Eastern food late at night while lounging with Tristan had become my happy place. It was our thing. This time we ate on the spare bed. He always requested a room with two beds, one for eating on and one for sleeping. Tristan sat up against the headboard while I kept a safe distance at the foot of the bed.

As we finished our meal, he smiled. “I haven’t interrogated you in a while. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

I wiped my mouth. “Depends on what they are.”

“There’s a lot I still don’t know about you. And my goal in life is to eventually know everything there is about Emily Applewood. But due to time constraints, acquiring that information has to come in phases.” He grinned.

I swallowed, already feeling guilty for what I wouldn’t be admitting. “Okay…”

“Do you believe in God?” He licked the corner of his mouth. “I mean, we’ve talked about your negative feelings toward religion. But we didn’t dive too deeply into whether you feel like there’s a higher power.”

I tried not to overthink my answer. “I believe in…something. But I don’t know that I trust in God the way I should. When you lose someone you care about, it makes you wonder if anyone is looking out for you or the people you love.”

He nodded. “Stuff like that does make it hard to believe. I try to tell myself there are things we don’t understand, that maybe some people have a certain purpose on this Earth, and their time is limited from the beginning—they aren’t taken away, but maybe they agreed to that expiration date as part of their plan.”

“So what would Jacob’s mission have been if he died before ever really getting to live, never getting to see his dreams come true?” I challenged. “Make it make sense.”