The Fall Up (The Fall Up, #1)(47)

His little guilt trip didn’t still the angry butterflies in my stomach, but it did get my feet moving.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Shut up,” was my only response.





THREE DAYS.

Three f*cking days without a single peep from Levee. I was losing my f*cking mind. I wasn’t riddled with self-doubt or insecurity. Whether she knew it or not, she was mine on every possible level. I was, however, overwhelmed with worry. How was she doing? Had she made any breakthroughs? Why the f*ck was she even there?

Oh yeah, I’d chickened out of that conversation big time the last night we were together. After we’d had sex in her dressing room, she’d seemed so happy. The last thing I’d wanted to do was f*ck all of that up by easing my own curiosity. So, instead, I touched nearly every inch of her body. I had a feeling she’d enjoy that more than talking about her past anyway.

I’d told myself that I was going to give it a few days to let her get settled in, but after that, I was going to head up to her house in search of Henry. I was sure he wasn’t in the dark about her, even if I was.

Thankfully, that was rendered unnecessary when my phone pinged in my pocket while I was working on an old piano I was transforming into a dining room table.

Levee: I just wrestled a bear for custody of my phone.

Me: A bear?! That sounds dangerous. But it explains all the “rawr” texts I’ve gotten over the last three days. I thought you were just being kinky.

Levee: Ha! We’ve already established you aren’t kinky, but trust me, there is nothing even remotely sexy about this place.

Me: Well, obviously. I’m here.

Levee: Obviously. Anyway… Hi. How are you?

Me: My soul is trembling that I’ll forget your touch.

Levee: Hey, plagiarist! I wrote that!

Me: Yeah, I know. I binged on your music last night. It’s pretty good. I bet if you keep practicing you’ll be able to make music a full-time career one day.

Levee: Hilarious.

Me: I do what I can. How’s the vacation going?

Levee: Actually pretty good. The place is nice and I really like my doctor. My “helper” (aka: nurse) is a forty-year old man who’s covered in hair and makes Devon look like a member of the Lollipop Guild.

Me: The bear I assume?

Levee: Yep. He’s been holding my phone hostage since I got here.

Me: So does this mean you have it back for good now?

Levee: Double yep. Now, I have to go, but when I get back, I expect my phone to be filled with beer and chicken pictures. ;)

Me: Sweet! Do I get kitty-cat pics?

Levee: Be real, Sam. They don’t allow pets here.

Me: Improvise.

Levee: I miss you.

Me: I miss you too.

Levee: I’ll call you tonight.

Me: I’ll probably answer.

I smiled to myself as I lifted my shirt and flexed my abs for a quick picture. I’d barely pressed send when I noticed my mom standing in the doorway of my shop.

“Did you just text someone a crotch shot?” she asked in her best “mom” tone.

“Oh, God, Ma. No.” I walked over and pulled her into a hug. I couldn’t wipe away the grin that was threatening to split my face in half after even such a brief conversation with Levee.

Mom hugged me back before stepping away. “You know, women share those pictures with all of their friends. Just last week, this guy sent me one of his bait and tackle and I showed it to—”

I curled my lip in disgust. “Jesus. Why was some * sending you dick pics? And better yet, what in the hell made you think I would want to know that?”

I was still riding my Levee high, but my mom’s talking about anyone’s “bait and tackle” was more than enough to ruin it.

“I just want you to be prepared. You show one woman, you might as well just send it out as a group message, because all of her friends are gonna see it eventually.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, but I didn’t send any ‘crotch shots.’” Yet. “Thanks to you, my genitalia is safe for yet another day.”

“Oh good. That will make it even more special when you finally lose your virginity on your wedding night.” She gave me a look that dared me to argue otherwise.

Given the fact that she’d walked in on me having sex with Stacy Davis when I was seventeen, she knew better. However, I assumed she didn’t want to know any more about my “bait and tackle” than I did about her looking at pictures of some random dude’s.

Patting me on the chest, she headed over to the claw-foot loveseat in the corner, which was still waiting to be picked up. “This is gorgeous, baby.”

“Thanks. I love the way it turned out. You should have seen it before I started. There were—”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Save your breath. You know I don’t understand a lick of what you say when you get all technical about tools and stuff. Besides, we have stuff to talk about.” She lifted my overflowing ashtray in my direction. “This is ridiculous, Sam. You have to quit. I will not bury anyone else. I can’t…lose you too.” She glared at me.

She and Anne had been on my ass to quit smoking for years. I couldn’t count how many times I’d promised them I would. But, after Anne had passed away, I’d found myself with a cigarette in my hand more often than not. Guilt will do that to you. I needed to stop—I knew that much. But knowing and doing are a totally different story though.