17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Anna

I t's well past the afternoon by the time I get off the phone.

Between giving Leo a piece of my mind, working through the plans, and calling a friend that has her degree in counseling, exhaustion settles in my bones.

I slump back on the bed, the door slightly ajar so I can hear if the bassist stirs, my phone gripped tightly in my hand as it blares warnings at me. A heavy sigh escapes me as I nibble on my lower lip, tapping the phone against my forehead.

Winter weather warning: Snow mixed with ice inbound tonight. Six to twelve inches projected to fall in your area.

The alert has my stomach twisting and my mind running a million miles an hour.

We need groceries that the local place refuses to deliver, the shipments for the loft furniture have been delayed another week, and there's a rock star in desperate need of a detox.

There's not enough hot cocoa in this place for this amount of crap.

And the bun on my head begins to feel so tight that it might pull the gray matter from behind my skull. Frustrated, I toe off my pinching shoes and unravel my hair, letting my red locks cascade over my shoulders as I scratch at my aching scalp, easing some tension but doing nothing for the upside down stomach I've battled all day.

Jeffers.

Tears threaten to build when I think about the younger version of him and his loss and I can't take the tightness that takes up space in my chest.

He blames himself for his dad's death.

I fumble through unbuttoning my blouse with shaking fingers and yank it from the tuck I spent twenty minutes perfecting in the early morning light. I'm in jeans that hug my hips and a tank I thank myself for packing less than a minute later, the air chilled to my exposed skin as I scramble for the socks and sneakers.

Making it to town is not going to be easy in the snow that's already fallen. But we're going to need supplies before the storm hits.

"Jeffers!" I call, hoping he's not deep in sleep, my mind still partly on his morning breakdown.

Someone's gotta help him.

The thought halts me. Wracks me right to my core.

It's me, I'm the someone. Nobody else is here to help him.

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I shake my head.

It's my job. It's going to have to be me.

"Jeffers!" I call again before cresting the end of the hallway and entering the living space. "You awake?"

Will he even remember this morning?

Part of me hopes that he doesn't remember spilling his secrets to me and things can go on as normal.

But a bigger part of me really does want him to remember falling into a peaceful slumber on my shoulder.

Just so he can remember what peace feels like. That's all.

"C'mon, we have to go into town," I say, standing by his feet, hands on my hips. "There's a storm coming."

And I don't trust you to be alone .

Not that taking a rock star to the grocery store is going to be any easier, but at least I know he'll be alive the whole time.

He groans and throws an arm over his eyes. "Let me sleep, woman. Fuck."

"Negative." I ignore the way his sleep-deep voice sounds and fist the fabric over his shin to pull the comfort away. "Get up or I'll break out the blender."

"I share my secrets and you threaten me with blenders?" He half snarls, half chuckles, and I ignore the way my body responds . "Savage, Prune."

Rolling my eyes, I ball the throw blanket. "So you do remember."

"I don't black out often. It's called tolerance ."

"Right." Pursing my lips, I nod more to myself than the guarded bassist who's still hiding beneath his arm. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

"Then get up."

He chuckles, the sound muffled by a grunt as he rolls to his side and hikes a leg that strains the shorts across his surprisingly toned buttock.

I flush as I scan his inked skin, my eyes wandering over his half-exposed body. Not what he needs, Anna.

"I can feel you watching me."

Before I can retort, he's up, shoving his hand into his hair, pushing it back from his deep brown gaze that goes wide when it lands on me. "Prune?" Toby's jaw ticks, nostrils flare, his hand frozen in his hair.

"What?"

His sight is trained on the blanket in my hands, his lids sliding closed in slow blinks.

"Um." His blinking quickens, his throat moving with a swallow. "I'mma need a few minutes." I cock my head to the side. "And maybe for you to put that button-up shit back on." He grips the open hem of his shorts and tugs. " Fuck ."

I roll my eyes. "We really don't have time for your antics, Jeffers." Tossing the blanket to the loveseat, I spin away to search for something to help me combat the cold once we're outside. Dismissing my winter coat, I rotate back to Toby with hopes of borrowing a hoodie or three to complete my incognito look, only to gasp as his warmth caresses over my exposed skin before his actual touch feathers down my jaw.

"Tob—"

"Hush, Mama," he murmurs. "Let me look at you."

Just as promised, his lip pinches between his teeth as he leans back, his molten brown eyes trailing down my torso in a caress almost as intimate as the one still teasing my jawline. It's like I can feel his sight touch my bare shoulders, feather over the slight cleavage, then trail down the ribbed waist of the tank to the tight denim on my thighs.

" Fuck , those jeans are doing you just right." His trailing groan of approval makes me suck in a breath and I bat his hand away with widening eyes.

I'm no prude as Toby continues to accuse me of. I've had sex.

My southern parts have been touched before.

A pastime I have enjoyed.

But never has my body reacted to just a single look. A single sentence.

A freaking groan.

I spin away when I want to lean in, walking away from the infuriating man heating up my back with his gaze, and pluck his hoodie off the loveseat. He makes another provocative noise that sends a quiver right down into my pants. " And you're gonna steal my hoodie?"

No, no, no, no.

Can't happen.

Won't happen.

Shaking my head, I thread my limbs through the overly large sweatshirt. I'm bathed in the citrusy-scented fabric, a hint of fresh tobacco on its heels.

"You're making it worse, Prune," Toby growls. "So much worse."

"Oh, Jeffers," I chide. "You have no idea how bad it's going to get."