The Duet

  Jason grunted, but I smiled at LuAnne, “We’re going the love ballad route, but I’ll have to write most of the song considering Jason has no heart.”

  LuAnne laughed and shook her head at us.

  “Good thing there’s still a month to get the song done, right?”

  “Mhm,” I mumbled as I took a sip of water.

  “Thanks for this, Lu,” Jason said, reaching forward for one of the apple slices.

  “Of course,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys for dinner later,” she said, heading back for the door.

  When the door was shut tight, and I knew LuAnne was out of earshot, I glanced back at Jason.

  “One month should be plenty of time to get this done,” he said, turning back to his guitar. “Of course, if you’d let me work alone, I could have it done in a week.”

  I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Does your cockiness have a dimmer switch or is it always set to 'high'?”

  “Guess you’ve figured me out, huh?” he asked, as the strumming of his guitar came to an abrupt halt.

  I gulped down a comeback, feeling like I may have pushed our game too far.

  When I didn’t reply, he pushed up off the chair and headed toward the door, leaving the food, drinks, and his paper pad behind.

  “That’s enough writing for today,” he said, not bothering to look back at me before he slammed the door closed behind him.

  I sat frozen, running the last few minutes over in my mind. The only conclusion I came to was the fact that Jason and I were a ticking time bomb, destined to explode over and over again. I sighed and pushed up off the couch, but the morning light highlighted the black scribbles written on the top of Jason’s notebook. Even though I shouldn’t have, I looked at it.

  His penmanship was terrible, and the scratched out lyrics were distracting, but it was the first time I’d caught a glimpse of his writing process:

  She never liked the way I tried to make her smile

  But I said I’d change try harder

  She never liked the way I wrote my music, my style, my prose

  But I said I’d change break rewrite it all

  I thought I’d fix it all, but then she walked away

  She told me to

  She taught me everything I needed to say,

  But still those edges started to strip and fray

  I read and reread the lyrics, trying to decipher how long ago he’d written them. There were dried coffee stains across the paper and some of the lines he’d written in pencil were completely faded. It was tempting to tear the page off and take it back to my room so that I could keep studying it, but the moment I bent to grab the pad, I heard footsteps on the gravel drive below and I jumped back, fearing someone had seen me snooping. After a minute of holding in my breath, I decided to take the food tray inside, but leave his notepad. He’d come back for it and I didn’t want him to know I’d read it. Even if it was just the front page. Those lyrics felt personal, more personal than Jason probably intended to be with me.

  LuAnne thanked me for the tray when I brought it to her in the kitchen and I spent the rest of the afternoon lying on my bed, breaking apart his lyrics until my mind started to unravel each word.

  I wanted to know who he’d written those lyrics about— if they were real or fiction.

  Chapter Nine

  “We had our first writing session yesterday,” I said into the phone’s receiver.

  Cammie hummed, “Aaaand?”

  “Umm,” I stared up at my white ceiling, trying to find a one-word answer to that question. There wasn’t one. “It was pretty terrible. Our performance will probably be worse than a Kanye-Taylor-Swift duet. “Imma let you finish”, but we had the worst chemistry ever.”

  “I see,” she said, drawing out the “e” sound like a psychic reading a fortune. “Did you get any lyrics done?”

  I laughed, “Not a line.”

  “Wow. You two are destined for greatness, I can tell.”

  Choosing to ignore her statement, even if it was pretty accurate, I rolled out of bed and headed toward my closet to pick out an outfit for the day.

  “How’s your school stuff? Have you given Grayson a call yet?” I asked, sliding sweaters and jackets aside before landing on a black tunic dress that would keep me warm enough if I paired it with my fitted leather jacket and knee-high boots.

  “It’s going well. I finished that model last night, so now—”

  “Oh, that’s funny. I finished off a model the other night, too.”

  “Oh, God. Are you talking about that Colombian guy?”

  “Um, he was Brazilian and he has a name. I just don’t happen to remember it.”

  “Gross. Well, I hope you washed your hands since then. Anyway, now I’m drafting plans for an urban, mixed-use development.”

  “Huh, that urban model had plenty of mixed-uses, too.”

  “That’s the last sexual, architecture-based pun you get to use for the day,” she warned.

  “Alright, fine. I don’t even know what half those words mean anyway.”

  She laughed, “Basically, it’s a building with restaurants and shops on the bottom floor and apartments on top.”

  “Ah. See, you should just talk to me like I’m a toddler and I’ll totally understand you.”

  “I already do that so, no worries.”

  “Har Har. Hey, you never told me if you called Grayson,” I reminded her.

  “What? Oh weird, can’t hear you. The phone is cutting out, koshcshckshhhhh.”

  “I can hear you just fine.”

  “What? Nope. Sorry, no habla ingles.”

  Then the phone went dead because my little sister is a total liarface.

  I didn’t bother calling her back. If she wanted to be weird about the Grayson situation, I’d let her. It was her future career, not mine. I’d call Grayson in a few days and check with him. Maybe if he called her, she would realize that he didn’t hate her like she thought he did.

  I was still contemplating that thought when I heard a knock on my door followed by another two. I glanced down to the pajamas I’d worn to bed and froze. My boobs were definitely on display, like somehow they’d fallen out of my tank top during my sleep. It’s not like I was a buxom wench from some renaissance fair, but I had my fair share of cleavage.

  “Hold on!” I called as I flew toward the bathroom to grab the robe that was hanging behind the door.

  Once I was wrapped up, I walked to the door and opened it to find Jason standing there. He’d been staring out the window at the end of the hallway, probably annoyed that I’d made him wait all of five seconds. When he heard the door open, he turned toward me and scanned down the robe that ended at my mid-thigh. His eyes blazed over my skin, and I swore I saw a hint of interest in his eyes, hidden deep behind his mask of cockiness. I looked down, trying to take in the view from his angle, but then my eyes landed on my toe nails and I laughed.

  Of course.

  The day before I’d left, Cammie and I were hanging out in my condo and she’d volunteered to do my toe nail polish. I didn’t even think much of it, but when she was finished and I glanced down, I’d wanted to kill her. She’d taken the liberty to paint my toes bright pink. (Not the worst color in the world.) But then she added letters onto each one of my toes nails so that it spelled out: “I

  I hadn’t removed the message because the pizza we’d ordered had arrived soon after and I got distracted. Shoving pepperoni pizza in my face ranks above all else.

  So, anyway, Jason was staring at my toes, and I was blushing hard at the fact that he now thought I wanted to do a fourteen-year-old kid. When he finally glanced back up to my face, he was wearing a small smile.

  “I took you for a One Direction girl,” he said, his smile widening even more.

  “Yeah, yeah, my sister did it as a joke,” I explained, know
ing he probably wouldn’t believe the true story anyway.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said with a smug grin.

  I rolled my eyes. “Did you need something?” I asked, my tone conveying how annoyed I was with him.

  “We have a song to write and I’m sick of being in this house. Let’s go up to a coffee shop in town.”

  I pursed my lips in thought. In LA I would have never been able to write at a coffee shop. There would have been paparazzi with their lens pressed to the windows and curious fans interrupting me at every moment. I loved my fans, but sometimes it became too much of a good thing.

  “No one will recognize you there, princess,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “Be ready in ten minutes.”

  He turned on his heels and I watched him walk toward the stairs in sweaty workout clothes. He must have just gone for a run. (I didn’t want to check him out as he walked away, but I was powerless to help it.)

  I would have protested to his demands, but the thought of going into town was too enticing. I’d seen a bit of the town square when Derek has driven me to the ranch, but I wanted to see it during the daytime when people were out and about. Once I’d thrown on my outfit, brushed my teeth, thrown my hair into a ponytail and applied a bit of make-up, I had a minute to spare, so I shot Cammie a death-text.

  Brooklyn: Jason just saw my Justin Beiber toe nails. You are dead to me. And are henceforth excommunicated.

  Cammie: You’ll be back. You alllwaayyysss come back.

  “Brooklyn, let’s go!” Jason yelled from the bottom floor.

  “Okay, I’m coming, Mr. Bossypants!” I said, dropping my phone into my cross-body bag and trotting downstairs. LuAnne was standing next to Jason with a little smile.

  “Morning, Brooklyn. You look adorable in that get-up,” she said as I stepped forward to kiss her cheek.

  “Thanks, Lu,” I replied with a smile. “Tell me, does Jason always have his panties in a wad or is that just around me?”

  Jason crossed his arms, but Lu threw her head back and laughed, clearly enjoying my sauciness.

  “I can’t believe that label of yours thought a duet with you two would be a good idea. They clearly haven’t seen you two together before.”

  I grunted, “Oh, they saw us together all right. I don’t think they cared much though.”

  Jason shook his head and walked toward the front door, brushing past me so that our arms touched. The static electricity jumped between us, zapping me enough to make me take a hesitant step back. Don’t even go there. He zapped you because it’s cold. Don’t read into it, weirdo.

  “I’ll be in the car,” he said, leaving the front door open behind him.

  LuAnne met my gaze and I could see a little glow of mischief in her eyes. I knew she could see past Jason’s exterior, but she wasn’t going to help me out. I was all on my own. Team Brooklyn is currently accepting new members. The only requirement is that you also loathe Jason Monroe.

  With a sigh, I headed out the front door and reluctantly climbed into the passenger side of Jason’s Jeep Wrangler. To his credit, he’d opened the door for me. Well, okay, it was cracked open a few inches, probably by accident. That counted, right?

  Jason kept the radio off the entire way to the coffee shop in Big Timber, but not because he wanted to chat. We sat next to one another in complete silence as I watched his hand on the gear shifter. I pretended I was looking at my nails, but in actuality I was taking the opportunity to study him. His fingers were long and callused from years of working guitar strings. There was a scar that ran from the knuckle of his thumb down to his wrist. The paleness of it stuck out in comparison to his tan skin.

  “Bike accident in college,” he said, having caught me staring.

  I raised my brows. “College boy, eh?”

  “I went to the University of Montana for two years before I got signed to a record label. I finished the last two years up online.”

  An image of a younger Jason Monroe serenading girls on a college campus made me laugh.

  “I bet the girls loved you on campus with that guitar and all,” I said, trying to ease the quiet tension that seemed to follow us everywhere. I couldn’t place its origins, but it probably had something to do with the fact that I had the urge to straddle his gear shifter.

  His gaze hovered on the road in front of us as he answered, “Just one.”

  That’s as far as he cared to elaborate, and for the rest of the ride we remained silent.

  Suffice to say, Jason and I would not become lifelong soul mates.

  …

  When we rolled into Big Timber, I was expecting to see signs of life. Maybe a few kids in miniature cowboy and cowgirl attire, some old men sitting out front of a barber shop reading a newspaper, a woman selling jams on the corner of Main Street. Isn’t that what happens in small towns? Instead, it was nearly as deserted as it’d been when Derek had driven me through it the first time.

  Jason found a parking spot (there were about 100 available ones, unlike in LA) outside of a coffee shop that sat between a butcher shop and a shoe repair place. The awning was a little tattered, but the windows were painted with a giant coffee cup and scrolling cursive letters that spelled out Big Timber Brew.

  “Looks like we’ve found the mecca of city life,” I joked as we hopped out of the car. I fully expected a tumbleweed to roll by and take me out, it was that quiet.

  Jason’s mouth quirked up but he didn’t offer a reply. I was starting to learn that everything about him was a challenge. He didn’t offer laughter or words just to fill the silence. He laughed when he thought something was genuinely funny and he spoke only when he genuinely had something to say. My head would explode if I tried to do that. I’d talk to a brick wall if it meant I didn’t have to sit in silence.

  He held the door open for me and a little bell chimed over my head as I walked inside the dim shop. The smell of coffee hit me in a wave and I took a deep whiff. Better than crack, I tell you.

  “What’ll you have?” Jason asked, retrieving a wallet from his back pocket. Oh, Mr. Silent was going to pay for my coffee.

  “I’ll come up there and order,” I said, mostly because I didn’t want him to make fun of me for my complicated coffee choice.

  A portly woman with a bob, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since Rachel on Friends, was manning the counter. Her green apron accentuated all of her curves, but her wide lip-sticked smile was what caught my attention.

  “Morning, Jason,” she crooned, her eyes twinkling as she took him in behind me.

  “Hey, Marcy,” he replied with a tip of his head. If he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, I bet he would have tipped that forward, too. There was something about Jason that just seemed old-fashioned even if he wasn’t that way on the outside. “This is Brook—”

  “Brooklyn Heart!” Marcy exclaimed, putting her hands over her mouth. “I don’t live under a rock, dummy!”

  She rushed around the counter and came toward me with her arms outstretched. There was just enough time to give Jason a worried glance before her arms were around me. Mmm, coffee. Her hair smelled like a mocha Frappuccino and I liked it.

  “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, releasing me and holding my hand up so I was forced to spin in a circle. So far, I was two for two when it came to Montana women. Maybe it was just Montana people in general. My LA fans were just as excited to see me, but the people I’d met in Montana just seemed more genuine, like they wanted to adopt me into their family and feed me Sunday dinner.

  “We came in here to write for a little bit, if that’s okay?” Jason asked behind me.

  Marcy finally dropped my hand and glanced toward him. “Of course it is! Y’know, I’ve always told you I had some good ideas for a song.”

  I smiled at Jason, but he was eyeing the menu board behind the counter. The scruff on his chin looked trimmed, and if I could do it without him biting my hand off, I would have reached out to run my hand from his chiseled che
ek bone down to his jawline. I knew it’d be a little scratchy at first, but I’d get used to it.

  “Okay, what can I make for you?” Marcy asked, drawing my attention back to her.

  I stared into her honey-brown eyes, and rattled off my drink of choice. “Small vanilla latte with almond milk and an extra shot of espresso.” The moment I got it all out I heard Jason chuckle softly behind me and I suddenly felt self-conscious about my order. “Er, if you have it,” I finished, wrapping my hand around my stomach to grip my other arm.

  Marcy’s smile fell slightly, “Um, we don’t have almond milk. I can get you—”

  “Coffee is good,” I said with a smile, cursing myself for making Marcy feel less than adequate.

  “Same for me,” Jason said, setting a twenty on the counter when Marcy turned to fill two coffee mugs with a dark brew.

  She slid the mugs toward us on the counter and tried to give Jason his change. He held up his hand in protest and then turned to find a seat before she could push the issue.

  “Guess you take your coffee like you take everything else,” Jason said. “Complicated as hell.”

  Was I supposed to feel bad for wanting almond milk? “Yeah, and you take yours black like the color of your soul,” I said, genuinely annoyed that he thought so little of me. “Are you always this judgmental?”

  Jason sat back in his chair, his jaw clenched tighter than usual. After another moment of contemplation, his eyes hit mine and he exhaled. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. You can have whatever damn coffee you want,” he said, looking down at his mug as soon as the words were out. Then he smirked, just slightly so that the left side of his mouth lifted in a sexy, private manner. “Besides, I like my coffee with cream and sugar.”

  I grunted and rolled my eyes, tossing a sweetener packet his way.

  He didn’t like being wrong and it didn’t look like apologies were his favorite either. I already knew Jason was a proud man, but maybe he had a soft side, too.

  “So, do you want to get started?”