Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“We don’t take gigs in too many places. Mostly, the music is online.” He wasn’t lying to her. He was determined to give her as much of himself as he could. There was the sin of omission, but he was certain she would understand once he was able to give her full disclosure.
Her eyes had gone soft, nearly liquid. He loved how she looked at him. He sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods there were in the universe to never take that from him. He craved that look. Needed it. He went to sleep thinking about her and woke up with her on his mind. Always, when he imagined her, she had that look on her face.
“If I forget to tell you, in all the excitement of hearing you play, thank you for the wonderful and unique surprises you give to me. You’re such an amazing man, and the way you treat me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I love being with you.”
Before he could answer her the waiter arrived, setting their salads on the table. He had already given them both water and told them the wine would be served during the main course. He engaged with the waiter for a moment, giving him time he wanted to give only to Azelie, but he recognized the waiter was a fan of his music. He appreciated those who enjoyed the band’s music, and he wasn’t about to let them down.
He wasn’t a man who easily shared himself with outsiders, but it was important to him to do his part for the band. He knew being friendly and talking to people outside their club wasn’t easy for the others either. Unless they were playing roles, each of them stayed away from outsiders. Their music wasn’t a role they played. Their world was the music. Opening themselves up where they were so vulnerable was disconcerting.
Once the waiter left their table, he picked up his fork and indicated her salad with it. The way she gave him honesty was refreshing. Something he wasn’t used to in women. He’d found that the ones he knew outside of the club had a motive for being with him. It wasn’t about him—it was about them and what he could do for them. He had money. He played in a band. He had massive sex appeal.
“You give back to me more than you could ever know, Zelie. There is a reason I call you my little sunshine. You’ve brought life to me. I feel alive when I’m with you. I swear I didn’t know there was anything but cold and darkness until you came into my life.”
Her eyes had that softness to them he’d come to rely on. She gave a little shake of her head, as if she couldn’t quite believe him. He continued before she could protest.
“I had my music, my woodworking and the men and women that survived the school of horrors. I know that’s far more than other people are gifted with, but I also have so many demons. I just couldn’t trust anyone outside my immediate circle. At first, when I watched you, I couldn’t believe you were true. I kept waiting to see you betray someone. Take a dig at them. Be ugly when the light wasn’t on you. It was difficult to allow myself to believe you were the real deal. That’s why you’re my sunshine. You brought light to me. Hope. Most of all, you made a believer out of me.”
He took a bite of the salad, which he always liked. With her sharing the table and eating the same salad, the flavors were even better. He enjoyed the food much more sharing it with her.
“I didn’t even enjoy sex that much. It was more of a release than anything else. With the kind of work I did, I never turned to drugs, but I did drink in an effort to sleep at night without nightmares. It didn’t work. I just woke up with a hangover and empty bottles strewn around my room. Fortunately, I wasn’t an alcoholic, because it looked like I tried to be. That period didn’t last long, but I’m ashamed to say I did my best to drown my sorrows.”
He got those eyes again. She gave a little shake of her head. “Self-medicating is very common when you suffer trauma.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Did you self-medicate?”
“My mother was an alcoholic,” she reminded him. “Quentin used drugs. I didn’t want any part of either one. I separated myself from the rest of the world as best I could and poured myself into college and the books I was writing.”
“Baby, I just want to point out that you did a crap job of separating yourself from the rest of the world. You have single parents and their children, street kids, three of the funniest older women I’ve ever encountered and two older men who all dote on you.”