You’d think that just three days before the tour that Hunter and the band would be practicing very hard, pulling all-nighters to get one simple note or verse perfected. When Hunter and I go to the studio to rehearse, I was expecting seriousness and lots of effort.
Instead, everyone’s just jamming randomly. I’m lying down on the floor as everyone else is seated around the small space, holding an instrument and singing. I’m the only one who isn’t musically talented in the room, which doesn’t make me feel special, of course.
We’ve been here for hours. Lunch has already passed, but no one wanted to pause their jam session, so now I have to suffer being hungry until they’re done. Which doesn’t sound like it’s going to be soon. They keep playing random songs, some country, and some pop. The guys get Hunter to beat-box a little, which results in all of us cheering. Justin asks Hunter to beat-box again, and when he does, Justin starts to freestyle rap to it. When he gets stumped, we all clap and holler. They joke about becoming a professional rap duo.
Every time Hunter sings, I find myself thinking about last night. How he kissed my forehead, and I didn’t flip out. That must mean something, right?
After a few other random songs, they just start to play their instruments without any vocals. They play “Name That Tune” for a while until they make up new ones. When I hear a rhythm I like, I start to randomly sing to it softly, my eyes closing.
“I think of you too often
I think of you too much
But no matter the amount I see you
It will never be enough
I tried to get away
I tried to rip free
But no matter how hard I try
You’ll always be the death of me.”
I open my eyes and look around. The band is staring at me. I scoff. “Come on, guys. I know I’m an awful singer, but could you at least hide your disgust?”
They all exchange glances. Andy speaks up first. “What song was that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I made it up.” The guys gape. “Why?”
Hunter sits on the edge of his chair. “Guys, I think we have a song writer on our hands.”
I frown. “What?”
“You just made up a decent song on the spot,” Matt explains and snaps his fingers. “Just like that.”
My eyes widen as I sit up. “Hold on,” I tell them, holding up my hand. “First of all, that was only a chorus thing.” I pull up two fingers on my hand. “Second, it sucked.”
Devo shrugs, tuning his guitar for the thousandth time. “It has some potential.”
The guys immediately start to write down what I had sang and the melody they played on their instruments, jotting down possible new verses and bridges or riffs. They all get sucked into a musical zone, completely forgetting that I’m here.
I lean back against the wall, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”
-
Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.
I close my eyes.
Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.
Hunter touches my hair. I don’t punch him in the face, which is an improvement.
After we got home from the long and tiring day in the studio, it was almost dinner time, so Hunter treated the entire band and I an expensive dinner. It wasn’t at a restaurant we had to dress up into or get reservations or anything, but it was still nice and expensive. The guys all ordered fancier foods. I got chicken tenders. Nothing on the menu was familiar to me, so I just ordered the only thing that I knew tasted good. Chicken. After our meal together, Hunter and I went back home, where I convinced him to try to help me get over my irrational fears again. Right now we’re working on touch. He hasn’t really touched my skin yet, but hair is dead skin, so I guess that counts, right?
I open my eyes again. “Okay,” I say, lifting my hand. “I think we should try holding hands.”
Hunter nods and takes his hand out of my orange hair. He carefully and cautiously takes my hand in his. The moment my skin makes contact with his, I wrench my hand away from him, squeezing my eyes shut so hard so the memories don’t flood through my mind again.
Hunter sighs. “Sorry.”
I shake my head, tears of frustration threatening to spill. Why can’t I just be normal? I thought that me allowing Hunter to kiss my forehead last night meant that I could at least hold his hand without getting a flashback, but I guess not. I cover my face with my hands. “Not your fault.”
“Maybe we can try again tomorrow?” he suggests hopefully.
I let out a shaky breath. “I was hoping I’d be over this stupid phobia before your tour started, but nothing has really changed.”
Hunter leans against the counter. “You’ve improved.”
I scoff. “Yeah, at least now you can touch my hair without me going into panic mode,” I say sarcastically.
Hunter smiles. “You’ll get over this eventually.”
“It better be soon.”
Hunter leans off the counter and claps his hands together once. “How about we see how long you can be alone? You’re getting good at that.”
I groan. “Fine.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I glare at him. He smiles cheekily back.
“So, like we’ve done before, I’ll stay here in the kitchen while-”
“I shut myself in the bedroom. Got it,” I finish, lumbering out of the room. I walk down the hallway and enter Hunter’s bedroom, shutting the door behind me and sitting on the edge of the bed.
This part is the easy part. I can usually go minutes being alone before I feel the need to be by someone’s side again. Today, though, my goal is to beat five minutes. I feel powerful today.
Time passes very slowly as I sit here, doing nothing. I look out the window. The grumpy old man neighbor is out mowing his yard shirtless. I turn back, not really wanting to see his bare back or chest. I start to twiddle with my thumbs. How much time has passed? Have I beat my goal yet?
I stay seated for a few more minutes until my chest starts to feel heavy. I stand up and pace the room, my hands low on my back.
I have to beat my goal.
Finally, when it feels like I’m going to pass out, I open the door and speed-walk back into the kitchen where my safety is.
Where Hunter is.
He looks up at me and smiles. “Ten minutes and four seconds. I believe that is a new record,” he tells me, grinning.
My lips spread into a grin as well. “Whew, I thought I was going to pass out,” I chuckle, taking a seat. Hunter passes me a water bottle. I gulp it down in a few seconds.
Hunter takes a seat next to me. “You know, you don’t need to push yourself too far.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “How else am I supposed to improve?”
-
“You’ll always be wanted,” Hunter finishes, staring straight into my eyes. The entire stadium erupts into cheers, but Hunter doesn’t even react to them. He’s still staring at me.
He suddenly jumps off the stage, the crowd screaming even louder. Hunter runs through his fans and stops right in front of me. We stand, facing each other for what seems like an eternity. I stare into his blue eyes. He gazes back into mine.
Finally, he breaks the gap between us and cups my face in his hands, our lips joining.
My eyes flutter open. When I see the blank ceiling above me, I frown. That was a dream? A good dream, and not a nightmare?
Wait.
I sit up, gently touching my lips with my fingers. Why did I dream of kissing Hunter?
Hunter shifts. My eyes fall onto him, still sleeping soundly on the couch. I can’t help but think about how cute he is when he’s sleeping.
I take a glance outside. The sun is starting to rise, filling the room with a hazy orange.
Deciding that I won’t be getting much more sleep, I climb off the bed in my pajamas, which include green shorts and a black tank top, and wander into the kitchen. Maybe I could surprise Hunter by making him some coffee? That’d be a small price for all he’s done for me.
I get out his favorite type of coffee and put it into the Keurig. As soon as it starts brewing, I hear fast footfalls. I spin around and see Hunter, looking panicked and frantic. When he spots me, relief floods his features.
“Oh,” he says, running his hand through his bedhead. “I got worried when I saw that you weren’t in bed… is that coffee?”
I laugh. “Yes, yes it is, Hunter.”
He grins. “You’re my best friend, you know.”
My heart sinks at his words, but I don’t let my face show my disappointment. “Yeah, I know.”
A/N: Hey guys!
I'm not a professional song writer, so that little snippet of a song above isn't very good. Like, at all. Just pretend that it's awesome for this book's sake, please!