In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(91)
“Whatever those are,” I shrug.
“You don’t know Eskimo kisses?” she says, her voice raspy from her sleep and emotions. I shake my head no.
“We weren’t a very touchy-feely family,” I say, and her eyes grow sad, so I lean in and nuzzle my nose to her again. “But I love doing them with you. I’m an Eskimo-kiss virgin.”
“Awe, I popped your cherry,” she teases. I laugh with her, but it’s faint and tired on both ends.
I run my fingers through her messy purple curls, and wonder how anyone could not bet the entire bank on this amazing creature.
“You really are amazing. Don’t let him get in your head. I’m way smarter than that guy, and remember…I said you’re special,” I say.
She nuzzles against me, but only to hide her frown. I tug her cheek up with my finger, but it’s no use.
“I signed up for Paul’s tonight,” she says, rolling to her back and stretching her long arms over her head. I run my finger along one and down the other. “I think I’m going to call and cancel. They have a ton of people on the waiting list.”
“Don’t,” I say, faster than I really have a reason. Her head falls to the side and she blinks at me slowly. “Just…I think you should play. For you. Your way. I think it will help you feel better.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds before pulling her mouth up on one side in a half grin. “Yeah, well I think you’re nuts,” she says.
“Says the woman whose dad is an ax murderer,” I say, rolling over and caging her between my arms.
“He hasn’t killed anyone…yet,” she says.
My forehead falls to hers and my lips dust hers gently. Every time I open my mouth to speak, I’m left with nothing. I don’t know how to fix this for her. I feel like I fed her to the wolves. I know she doesn’t blame me, but I can’t help but feel like my father’s right—this, none of this, was very responsible.
“I’m sorry,” I say, finally, and her hands touch both sides of my face tenderly.
“Don’t be,” she says, kissing me again, harder. “Zero regrets,” she says, her nose running along my neck and her lips finding my chest.
I hold her to me tightly, and as much as I feel her trying to use us to forget about all of the reasons her heart hurts right now, I don’t give in. My body wants her. My fingers ache to touch and feel, but I’ve been the user before. Murphy and I are different, though…we can’t be distractions to one another. We can’t be. Because distractions are disposable, and I don’t know how to think about anything else but her.
* * *
When I left Murphy with her car, she promised she’d stay on the list for Paul’s. I made her cross her heart—literally—and I promised to come and sit in the front row. With every ring on my phone, I say a prayer, to a god who has never heard from me, that Murphy keeps her promise. Then again, she’s not the one known for breaking them really.
“Hello?”
His voice is nothing like John Maxwell’s, but it’s intimidating all the same. I hardly know him, save for his card left at one of my gigs over a year ago, telling me to “call him.” Noah Jacobs is John Maxwell…only completely not. He’s quiet and thoughtful. When he dangled the carrot for me last summer, he was still off the map. I saw him as nothing more than a slightly-more-together version of me—some chump with a dream of opening up a label.
Only Noah comes from money. And it turns out he’s more than just a little more together than I am. He’s got his shit figured out completely. I dug his card out of the pile I had in my glove box when I read about him in Rolling Stone a few months ago. I recognized the name—and the list of people dying to work with him. He isn’t big like John, but he will be. And soon.
“Hi, Noah. I don’t know if you remember me. My name’s Casey Coffield; I deejayed the OSU Alumni party before the bowl game last year…” I don’t even have to finish. He either remembers, or he’s faking it, because I dropped the right event name. Either way, he’s working me so I feel important, and he’s doing it well.
“Oh yeah, I remember…” he starts. There’s a pause, and I think for a minute I might have him stumped, but he fills it quickly. “You never called.”
I never did.
“I’ve been trying to get my own thing going, and…I don’t know…you’re Nashville, I’m OKC…” I fumble through excuses. They’re weak because I leapt at John Maxwell. I wish I could remember that saying about hindsight, because it’s spot on.
“I do love the Smokies,” he says, his chuckle low and deep. “So tell me, Casey Coffield from the OSU Alumni party…to what do I owe the pleasure of your call now?”
He knows I’m working for John. And there’s a smugness to his tone that tells me he probably also has an idea exactly what kind of style John uses to run his business. He thinks I want to jump ship, and he’s right. But I’m not jumping anywhere with anyone else ever again. I’m jumping on my own. This call…it’s for her.
“Respect?” I ask.
There’s a pause, because he’s not sure I deserve his. I probably don’t—I’m the punk * ten years younger than him who thought I knew more. Creatively, I kick everyone’s ass. But Murphy needs good business sense, and she needs someone who believes in her. Noah’s quickly building a brand that doesn’t do bullshit. He’s either in, or he’s out.