Notes of Attraction - B.E.

Part 15 | OFF-SCRIPT

I take another sip of my tea just to keep from smiling.

"You're dangerous," I murmur.

Billie shrugs. "You already knew that."

She says it like a joke. But something about it lands differently.

Like a warning.

Like a promise.

And I can't help but wonder what would happen if I let myself stop resisting.

⸻

We leave the café without setting a plan. It just happens.

Billie stretches as we walk, arms overhead, hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. "Studio's not far. You wanna come?"

"To listen?"

"To help," she says. "You said you don't blur lines, right? Let's test that."

I roll my eyes, but I follow her.

⸻

The studio is dim and warm, scattered with cords and synths and the kind of organized chaos that tells me she actually knows what she's doing. Billie moves like she's at home here, tossing her phone down, adjusting dials, humming under her breath.

It's weirdly... calming.

"Sit," she says, nodding toward the worn couch in the corner. "Judge me silently."

I lower myself onto the cushions, legs crossed, coat shrugged off. "I don't judge silently."

She laughs—really laughs—and something about that sound coils low in my stomach.

She pulls her guitar into her lap, fingers moving instinctively along the strings. It's a soft progression. Melancholy. Curious.

"You have lyrics for this one?" I ask.

Billie shakes her head. "Just a mood right now. You can tell me if it sucks."

"I won't lie."

"I'm counting on it."

She plays a little more—loose, gentle strumming, something tender at the edges. She hums along, low and unstructured, and I find myself leaning forward, elbows on my knees.

"You're good," I murmur.

She glances at me. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not. I just..." I pause. "Forget, sometimes. That you're not just a name."

She sets the guitar down across her lap and looks at me fully now, hair messy, eyes dark and searching. hot.

"You ever let yourself have fun?" she asks.

"Define fun."

"I don't know," she says. "Something that doesn't end in press junkets and controlled narratives."

I scoff. "Fun sounds terrifying."

"Yeah," Billie says. "That's why it's good."

There's a pause.

She leans forward, matching my posture, her face closer now, voice softer. "You could sing, you know."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"That scene last week—when I caught you singing to yourself? You sounded good."

I shrug, playing it off. "That was nothing."

"It wasn't," she says, firm but not pushy. "It was soft. Different."

I want to brush it off. I want to pull the walls back up.

But I don't.

I look at her. Really look.

And the quiet in the room suddenly feels heavier than the music.

"Maybe one day," I say.

She doesn't push. She just grins like she already knows she'll hear me again.

⸻

By the time I get home, the city feels quieter. Like it knows I'm off-balance and is giving me space to pretend I'm not.

I don't turn the lights on right away. Just drop my bag, toe off my shoes, and sink onto the couch in the half-dark, Billie's guitar melody still looping in the back of my mind.

My phone's already in my hand before I register what I'm doing.

Evelyn:
Saw Billie today. Worked on a track with her.

It takes less than a minute before Hunter replies.

Hunter:
You okay?

I stare at the screen.

Am I?

Evelyn:
Yeah. She was... not what I expected today.

Hunter:
Not awful? Or not annoying?

I smirk.
Not cold. Not guarded. Just...

I delete the sentence. Re-type.

Evelyn:
She made me laugh.

Hunter:
And you let her?

That stings more than I want it to. Because she's right—me letting someone in, even a little, is rare.

Evelyn:
Don't make it a thing

Hunter:
I won't. But be careful. You're not great at pretending things don't mean anything when they start to.

I don't answer that.

Because I don't like how true it feels.

I toss the phone onto the coffee table and sink deeper into the cushions, Billie's smirk still burned behind my eyes.

I shouldn't care.

But I do.

And that's the part that scares me.

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