Getting Over You Read online

I quickly turned her around and slid my hand up her body.

  I kissed her harder, faster, stepping toward her.

  She clawed at my face with one hand, playfully leaning back, pulling at me to move at her.

  When I did, her ass bumped into the soundboard and suddenly there was a song blaring from the speakers.

  Josie let out a yell and jumped, dropping her bottle of beer to the floor.

  I jumped back and hurried to get the drink before it did any damage to any instruments or equipment.

  “Shit,” Josie said. “I’m sorry. Shit.”

  I put her drink, and mine, down on a table next to me.

  The song blared through the speakers with too much bass. The drums thumping so hard, they shook the windows.

  I reached around Josie, my body pressing to hers, her hands at her sides.

  I pressed a button and the music stopped.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” I said. “That button plays the song.”

  “What song is it?” she asked.

  “Something I’m working on.”

  “Can I hear it? More of it?”

  My gut reaction was to say no fucking way…

  My fingers slid along the board, adjusting a few things. When I let the song play again, it was much clearer. The bass turned down. The drums in their rightful spot. The sound coming from the speakers clearer. The entire time though, my body was pressed against Josie’s, my hand working behind her back, my eyes staring down at her eyes.

  “You can do that without looking?” she asked.

  “Yup,” I said.

  I slowly turned up the volume and then stayed right there.

  Josie’s eyes looked left to right. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad? “I asked, laughing.

  “I’d like to hear the words.”

  “I didn’t get those recorded. Plus, when it’s actually done, it won’t be my voice.”

  “Meaning you can sing…”

  “Meaning I can attempt to sing…”

  “Sing the song, Crosby.”

  “No,” I said. I turned the song off and backed away from Josie. “I don’t play shows anymore.”

  “It’s not a show,” she said. “It’s me. Just me.”

  I grabbed my beer and took a big gulp of it.

  “Come on,” Josie said. “Please…”

  She didn’t know how sexy she was. Standing there, reaching back, fingertips against the edge of the soundboard. Her hair down, tucked behind her ears. The way her eyes glistened at me, which was more about the whiskey she drank than actually looking at me.

  “To be fair, the last time I heard you play guitar, you weren’t very good at it,” she said.

  “So, you’re going to tease me into playing guitar?” I asked.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Really?” I asked, grinning.

  Josie’s cheeks turned red instantly. “That’s not what I… whatever. If that’s what it takes…”

  She touched the bottom of her shirt.

  She was wild, and she was tempting. She had me in a position where I actually enjoyed flirting with her.

  I put my drink down and moved toward her again.

  I touched her wrist and stopped her from exposing any skin.

  What the hell are you doing, Crosby?

  “Let me get my guitar, love. You can sit on the couch.”

  “So, you’re really going to play for me?”

  “Sure,” I said. “And you’re going to paint for me someday.”

  “Only if you threaten to get naked first,” she said.

  “Deal,” I said.

  I lingered as I stared at her.

  In a lot of ways, I didn’t know who Josie was. And yet in a lot of ways when I looked at her, I felt like I’d known her my entire life.

  She was getting to the pieces of my heart that I thought were lost for good.

  That meant trouble for both of us.

  17

  THE SOUND…

  NOW

  Josie

  Sitting on an old black barstool with one foot halfway up and his other foot on the floor, a guitar in his lap, his arms bulging with tattoos and muscles, he was strumming a song that I’d never heard before. I sat on Crosby’s couch, melting by the second.

  The sound was very different from what I heard through the speakers when I bumped whatever button that made the song play.

  “Sounds different,” I called out.

  “It’s supposed to, love,” he said. “It’s acoustic.”

  “Duh,” I said.

  I swallowed hard.

  My mind flashed images of him sitting on the balcony across from me when we were younger. His messy hair and baggy clothes. His clean-cut boyish face. The way he tried to look cool as he played, but could never really hit all the notes on the guitar.

  This was the opposite of that.

  His hair was still messy, but in a sexy, just-woke-up kind of way that made me think of him in bed…

  I looked away for a quick second to take a breath and try to calm myself.

  I was a little drunk, and I was okay with that. I sort of needed it.

  Not thinking.

  Just sitting there and listening.

  The moment I heard Crosby’s voice, the entire world came to a screeching halt.

  Just the first line alone…

  I turned my back, for the last time last night…

  … I was hooked.

  I leaned forward and listened to the song, forgetting to blink, forgetting to breathe, even feeling like a weight was on my chest.

  The story was clear.

  He was leaving someone he loved but couldn’t love. It hurt him to walk away, but staying would only hurt them both. And time would help to ease the pain, at least for her, but he’d carry the pain for life. Wishing he could change her, change things…

  … telling you I don’t care when I can’t stop looking back…

  I had no idea where Crosby was in the song when I stood up. A part of me thought about running out the front door. Instead, I hesitated long enough that Crosby stopped playing the song.

  “Josie?” he asked.

  I took a few steps to the left and stopped again. “That was really good, Crosby. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  I was frozen.

  My mind thinking back to Denny. For obvious reasons. That song. That was me and Denny. Except I was the guy in the song. And Denny…

  Crosby hurried to spin the guitar around and lean it against the barstool.

  He touched my back. “Are you okay? Are you going…”

  “I think I need to get some sleep,” I said.

  “Sure. You can have my bed if you want. I’ll sleep in a different room.”

  “The couch is fine. I don’t feel like going upstairs.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Here, let me help you. Then I’ll grab you some pillows and blankets.”

  I looked at him and forced a smile.

  Crosby had no idea what I went through or what I still felt.

  He thought I drank too much whiskey. I was okay with that lie.

  I sat back down on the couch and Crosby rushed upstairs to get me pillows and blankets.

  He put two pillows down and held up a blanket.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Get comfortable. I’ll cover you up.”

  My heart gushed as I watched this tall and tough guitar player put a heavy blanket over my body.

  When he got close enough to me, I hugged him.

  It was a little bit of an awkward hug.

  “Thank you for playing that song,” I whispered.

  “You’re a fan now?”

  “Always have been, Crosby.”

  “Yeah?” he asked as he broke the hug and looked down at me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “The mystery boy next door. You sort of always lingered in my mind.”

  “Hope I’ve lived up to your expectations,” he whispered.

  “You c
an always try harder,” I said, needing to get one last jab in.

  “Sleep tight, love,” he said.

  He kissed my cheek and walked away.

  A minute later, I was in complete darkness.

  In Crosby’s house.

  On his couch.

  My head a little dizzy from the whiskey.

  Tears filling my eyes because of his song.

  I curled up tight, trying to convince myself to let it all go.

  But the song kept playing in my head.

  I woke up with the song playing in my head so loud, I swore I heard it in real life.

  As I sat up on the couch, I looked forward and saw the old barstool and the guitar. The night washed through my head briefly, but the song was overpowering everything.

  That’s when I realized I was actually hearing the song. For real. In real life.

  I looked over the couch and saw Crosby already awake, standing at his recording equipment. He had his hands on the board, leaning forward, listening intently to the song. It was very different to hear it with all the guitars and the drums.

  There were still no words though.

  Crosby already said they weren’t recorded yet.

  But I heard the words… Crosby’s whiskey and beer laced voice from the night before.

  When he turned his head and saw me, he hurried to shut the music off.

  “Shit,” he said. “Morning, love. Did I wake you?”

  “No,” I said, not sure if that was a lie or not.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just messing around a little. I must have turned it up too much.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  I sat up and touched my hair, wondering how much of a mess I looked with my hangover.

  Crosby disappeared and returned with a mug in his hand. “Not sure what you want to do right now. Coffee is hot. I could take you to your car. We can grab something for breakfast. You tell me.”

  I stood up and knew I needed the coffee.

  I took the mug from him and sipped it black.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  “Comfortable,” I said. “I like your couch.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “All your one-night stands?” I asked, instantly wishing I hadn’t asked.

  “Hardly,” he said. “My writing buddy, Jonny, has crashed there a lot. Other people I’ve written and recorded with.”

  “Right,” I said. “That song… you’re selling it?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Because it’s what I do for a living,” he said. “Why?”

  “It’s really good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I mean, you know, like really good. Like good enough that you shouldn’t sell it.”

  “If I don’t sell the song, then nobody will hear it,” Crosby said.

  “You can play it,” I said.

  “I don’t do that anymore, Josie.”

  “You never told me why.”

  “I just don’t,” he said.

  I realized I’d touched a nerve, so I stopped talking and sipped more coffee.

  Crosby walked to his equipment and punched a button.

  The song started to play again, and he stared at a few computer screens. I watched as he masterfully adjusted the sound in ways I never thought possible. When I thought the song sounded perfect, he would turn a little knob and the sound would get better.

  This really was an art.

  The fact that the song could sound so good like this through the speakers and sound even better with just Crosby and a guitar was amazing.

  I took slow steps toward him as I let the coffee work its magic to chase away the hangover.

  Crosby nodded and pointed with his right hand as the song faded out. When he put his hands to the table the equipment was set up on, the back of his arms flexed hard. Ridges of muscle forced behind the tattoos that were so perfectly placed on his arms. His ink wasn’t overly done and obnoxious. It fit him. And it looked really good.

  I thought about what could have been from the night before, then I shut my eyes and cursed myself.

  How did I let that slip away?

  He could have played the song and taken me to bed. I could have been wrapped up in his bedsheets and nothing else.

  Instead, I stood there and watched him push away from the table and look at me.

  “Sound good?” he asked.

  “I like your version better,” I said. “Just you and the guitar.”

  “Tell you what, love. I’ll sell the song but play it just for you.”

  “So that means I get a chance to see you play again? And stay here again?”

  “You said the couch was comfortable.”

  I grinned.

  What about the bed?

  Crosby read my mind and winked.

  He walked into the kitchen and I looked around, no idea what the hell anything was that I was staring at. But something caught my attention.

  There was a notebook open, terribly scratched handwriting on the page.

  I stepped forward and realized they were the words for the song.

  The song.

  It didn’t even have a title.

  I turned my back, for the last time last night…

  I bit my lip and heard Crosby’s voice.

  In my head and in real life.

  “Need a refill?”

  I turned and shook my head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “You were reading the lyrics,” he said as he walked from the kitchen with his own coffee mug.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I don’t care.”

  “What… where do the songs come from?”

  “Where do your paintings come from?” he asked.

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Well, if I’m getting paid and told what to paint…”

  “Right,” Crosby said. “Take this song. I know Jackie is looking for some good breakup songs. Some of them will get turned into pop sound shit with lots of backing track. Some will get turned into country songs. Add in sad guitars, slide solos, twangy type voices… you get the picture.”

  “So, this is a breakup song,” I said. “Who did you walk away from?”

  Crosby laughed. “Not sure if that’s a conversation for over coffee.”

  “Then get the whiskey.”

  “What?”

  “Get the whiskey,” I said. “I have nothing to do today.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re something else, Josie. I can’t figure out if you’re half serious or completely crazy.”

  “Does it matter either way?”

  “Okay then,” Crosby said. “You asked for it…”

  He went back to the kitchen.

  Was I really going to drink whiskey for breakfast? If I had the chance to make up for what happened last night, then sure, why not. Then again, everyone was probably looking for me by now. Corey would play his worry off. Kait would be worried. And Meadow…

  My phone was in the living room.

  A quick text would ease anyone’s worry.

  My eyes moved back to the notebook though. I sort of wanted to take a picture of the words. Those raw and beautiful words.

  Crosby’s phone was next to the notebook.

  The screen lit up with a message.

  I didn’t mean to look, but when I saw the name Cindi, I didn’t look away.

  I just need to know you're okay, Cros. You can ignore me and walk away but I need to know you’re okay. You know I love you.

  “Okay, here we go, love,” Crosby said.

  I jumped and turned, feeling a little déjà vu.

  Crosby stood there holding a bottle of whiskey.

  “Uh, I can’t,” I said.

  “Can’t?”

  “I have to go,” I said. “Sorry. I have to get home. It’s… my niece thinks I’m dead. Or dying.”

  “What?” he as
ked.

  “It’s a long story. Okay? I just have to go.”

  “Okay,” Crosby said.

  I sidestepped to get around him. I looked back and watched him get his phone. He looked at the message and started to shake his head. He put his head back and sighed.

  He was in pain.

  Because of this Cindi person.

  That’s who the song was about.

  Someone he loved. Someone who loved him.

  And that didn’t bother me at all.

  What bothered me was that I felt jealous over it.

  18

  THE SIGHT…

  THEN

  Josie

  I thought maybe the glass on the floor would have cleaned itself up. But believe me, this wasn’t some fairy tale. And even if it was, I was going to be on the floor cleaning up a mess either way.

  The vase cost a dollar at the flea market. It had no true value other than what it meant to me. Which wasn’t really that much. But watching the way Denny grabbed the vase and threw it at the wall with ease…

  I shut my eyes and swallowed the lump down my throat.

  There were no more tears to cry, at least for tonight.

  I had to straighten my head out and keep Denny from hurting himself or anyone else around him.

  That meant cleaning up this mess of glass and then going to track him down at whatever bar he ran to.

  The actual sad part was I understood what he felt. And what he was going through. To feel that empty and angry. It didn’t make the way he reacted right. The only thing that calmed him was drinking. But there was a very fine line that he was leaping over that took him from drinking to becoming a disastrous mess.

  All because I caught him.

  Some woman called his phone and it was sitting right there in the open for the world to see. And if he thought for one fucking second that I didn’t have the right to ask who Carlie was, he was out of his mind.

  Telling me she was just a friend was one thing. But then getting more and more pissed off by the second… that was just him telling me the truth his lips refused to speak.

  I cleaned up the big chunks of glass first and then swept for all the little pieces. I vacuumed and mopped, just to be safe, and then looked at my keys dangling on the holder I had hung up right next to the door.

  Eventually I would have to stop chasing him down. Let him do his own thing in life. If he wanted to get plastered and drive, that was on him. I worried about everyone else around him though. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if he ended up hurting someone else. Some family driving home from the movies one night… or maybe parents out on a rare date night…