Tone Deaf(61)
Killer nibbles at his lip uncertainly. I don’t think I can tell you that. You’ll have to ask Jace.
I narrow my eyes in my best tell-or-die expression, but that just makes him chuckle. Although I do understand why Jace likes you so much. You’ve got spunk.
That makes me blush, and Killer smirks at my red cheeks. He’s been teasing me about them all night, saying that if I keep blushing so much, I’m going to wake up one day in the body of a lobster. I playfully slap at his forearm, and he cringes like I’ve actually hurt him. For a quick moment, there’s that gut-instinct panic that always invades me when I see pain, but then I realize he’s just kidding around, and I roll my eyes at him.
From then on, the topic of Jace is dropped. Killer rattles off a list of questions he wants to know about me: what’s my favorite food, movie, animal, memory, friend, family member. He doesn’t ask what my favorite TV show is; our six-hour marathon makes that answer pretty clear.
And Killer lets me ask a bunch of questions about him. I find out he grew up in London, although he moved to Colorado by the time he hit middle school, leaving him with the accent of a highly sophisticated country bumpkin. He hates the cold, especially snow. He and Arrow have been friends since sixth grade, when they bonded over the fact that they both had bizarre names. He thinks cats are way better than dogs, although Cuddles is an exception. He’s been out of the closet since twelve, and his parents are totally cool with it. He’s anxiously expecting Arrow to propose, and sometimes Killer likes to introduce Arrow as his fiancé, just to bother him.
It’s almost four in the morning by the time we decide to actually get some sleep. This whole night has been kind of strange—chatting with a rock star about mundane things, laughing with him, playfully smacking his shoulder when he gets too rude. But I like it, and I like Killer. I think he might actually be a friend now.
I drift off with a smile on my lips and that thought in my head: I have a new friend. And, as soon as I get to NYC, I’ll also have a new life.
29
JACE
A SIGH OF relief whooshes out of me as I hear the RV door open. Ali’s back. I knew she’d be safe spending the night over with Killer, but that didn’t stop me from worrying all night about her getting caught. I thought that fear would lessen the further we got from Los Angeles, but instead, it’s just gotten stronger as she and I have grown closer.
Ali strides into the living area, smiling despite the tired bags under her eyes. It’s amazing to see her like that, so happy and confident. It’s only been a week since she left that hellhole of a home, but being away from it has already changed her.
“No one saw you?” I ask, gesturing out the window.
She shakes her head. “Nope. The lot is pretty much empty, and I was really careful sneaking back over here.”
She sits next to me on the couch and wraps her arms around me, letting her head rest against my shoulder. I set down my guitar, which I’ve been absently strumming while I waited for her to return. I made a few mistakes at the last show, which is totally unlike me. Usually, I’m spot-on with every note, but having Ali around has infringed on my practice time.
Not that I’m complaining, of course. Although Tony did. He’s convinced that something serious is distracting me, and if I’m going to keep him from investigating, I need to stop giving him reasons to worry. That means extra practice and putting on a flawless show next time.
I smooth Ali’s hair, which is still slightly ruffled from her sleepover. Even like this, it looks gorgeous; it’s a perfect shade of auburn, half red and half brown. I guess it kind of fits her sometimes fiery and sometimes sweet personality.
“Good morning,” she murmurs. Her warm breath seeps through my cotton T-shirt and brushes against the skin of my shoulder. I shiver, but try to conceal it by wrapping my arms around her. A small smirk lifts the corners of her lips, telling me that I’m not very good at hiding how much her touch messes with me.
I kiss her forehead and sign back, “Good morning.” And it definitely is, now that she’s with me and safe. I pull her into my lap and rest my cheek on top of her head, and we stay that way for a long time. I’m not sure exactly how long, because having Ali this close does a weird time warp thing to me. It’s like time stops, and all that matters is this brave, feisty, beautiful girl in my arms.
I kiss along the side of her jaw, stopping every once in a while to teasingly brush my lips against her mouth. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, capturing me in a deep kiss. Then she slowly pulls away and picks up my electric guitar I’d left leaning against the couch. She runs her hand along the smooth varnish, pausing to trace the small scratches that mar it after years of use. Usually, I hate it when other people touch my guitar, but Ali’s grasp on the instrument is delicate and reverent, and I don’t mind it at all.
“Killer has a picture in his RV of you guys when you first started the band,” she says. She softly strums a simple chord. “You’re holding this same guitar in it.”
“This was the first one I ever owned,” I sign. “It’s still my favorite.”
“You use a different one when you perform,” she notes.
“Yeah.” I reach over and run my hand along the neck of the guitar. “It’s my favorite, but the sound quality is honestly not that great. So I have to use a more professional one for performances.”