Tone Deaf(56)

My cheeks flare with heat, and I shake my head. “The tattoos, I mean. They’re gorgeous. I didn’t mean you’re gorgeous. But I don’t mean you’re not. You’re, like, handsome, and . . .”

I trail off, giving up on my babbling response. His smile grows a little.

“It’s okay, Ali,” he says. “I get what you’re saying. I was just teasing.”

Somehow, it doesn’t seem fitting for him to be teasing. He’s at least six feet tall and has enough muscle for two people. But it’s not just his physique that’s intimidating—there’s something about his expression that’s totally serious, like he’s never heard a joke in his life.

I wonder what his story is. And, as long as I’m wondering, I’d like to know the story behind all of the band. Tone Deaf has always kept quiet private lives, and as much as the media goes crazy over them, no one has been able to dig up much about their pasts. All I know is that they rose into popularity after winning a nation-wide contest for one of their music videos. Aside from that, their past is a mystery to me, and I don’t think even their most hardcore fans know much more.

Jon shifts nervously, and I get the feeling he’s not comfortable around me. Why? I hardly know the guy.

“Jace asked me to keep you company,” he says. “He was worried you’d get lonely being by yourself all day.”

I search for any trace of mocking in his expression. Most guys would start cracking jokes the moment their friend got all sentimental, but Jon doesn’t seem to have any issues with Jace’s concern. Jon’s serious expression remains in place, and I offer him a small smile.

“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. Something’s definitely bothering him.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I just, um . . .” He lets out a hesitant laugh. “I’m shy. You know, around girls.”

I give him a skeptical look and wait for the punch line. But he just smiles a little sheepishly and shrugs again. That’s the moment I decide I like Jon.

“Well, thanks for keeping me company,” I say.

“No problem.”

There’s an awkward silence, and then Jon looks toward Jace’s bedroom. His expression turns puzzled, and he says something, but I can only see half his lips with his head turned like that. I quickly pick up the smartphone and open up the contacts page, tapping on the number that Jace programmed in under Jon’s name. I start a new texting thread and send a quick message:

Can you text me so I don’t have to read your lips? It gets tiring pretty quickly.

It’s not too bad with someone like Killer, who boldly enunciates every word he says. But Jon’s voice is soft, and he keeps nervously glancing away when he speaks, which is going to make a lip-reading conversation difficult.

Jon nods a couple times as he reads the message on his screen, and I swear he looks a little relieved that he doesn’t have to talk anymore. Then he texts back, Sure. And I was just asking why Cuddles is locked in Jace’s room. She’s scratching at the door.

I’m scared of dogs, I text.

His eyes widen in surprise. You’re scared of Cuddles?

I don’t think she lives up to her name.

He shakes his head. Trust me, she does. She’s just a big wuss. Before I can protest, he jumps up and heads down the hallway. Vibrations run through the floor as he opens Jace’s door and unleashes the pit bull. I scoot closer to the corner of the couch and tuck my feet close to me. This is what you’re supposed to do to stop a dog attack, right? Look small and helpless?

. . . Or is that for bears?

Before I can figure it out, Jon comes back into the room with Cuddles at his heels. Her stub of a tail wags madly, and she keeps slurping his hand with her long tongue. He doesn’t seem to even mind that she’s taste-testing him.

Jon sits back on the couch and Cuddles finally notices me. Her muscles tense, readying to pounce. I squeeze my eyes closed. So this is it. After making it hundreds of miles from my home, I’m going to be mauled by a dog before I even reach NYC. Just my luck.

My heart thuds wildly in my chest, and my breathing comes in sharp gasps. A large weight dips the couch next to me. But a moment passes, and no teeth dig into my skin. I crack open an eye and find Cuddles on the cushion next to me. She’s lying on her back, her stubby tail wiggling in excitement and her paws curled toward her stomach.

I scoot away from her and glare over at Jon, wondering what his problem is. He so didn’t have to let the dog out.

Jon rolls his eyes at my expression, and then quickly blushes, like he’s afraid of being rude. A new message lights up on my phone: She wants a tummy rub.

“No,” I say out loud, not wanting to type my response. Any movement might be enough to set this dog off.

He frowns. “No?”

“I don’t like big dogs, and I definitely don’t pet them.”

His expression is slightly appalled. “But she’s so cute. How can you not love her?”

Okay, I’ll admit those are the last words I expected to come out of his mouth. Who would have guessed the Hulk was so sentimental?

Jon cocks his head as he examines me and then sends another message. You’ve been attacked, haven’t you?