Here With You (5 page)

But she caught herself just in time. She set her pen down, torn between wanting to
write and wanting to keep the journal fresh. Because this was the last journal her
mom would ever give her.

Rachel pushed it aside, leaving it open to the first page. She picked up her hot chocolate
and then set it down again, pushing it away, too. It was lukewarm now anyway, and
the whipped cream had all melted away.

Chapter Four

Nicole
jerked awake as someone shook her shoulder. Gasping, she reached out
in the dark
.

Her roommate
Susan
fended off
the
weak attack
and then turned on the bedside lamp
. "Nicole," she whispered sharply. "I
'm seeing things
."

"What do you mean? What time is it?" Rubbing her eyes, she checked the time. "It's
three-thirty in the morning,
Susan
!"

"No kidding. My flight was delayed
, and then my bags were misplaced
. I just got home. But forget that." She leaned down. "Either Griffin Chase is in
our living room, or I'm having delusions brought on by fatigue and vodka."

"
You're not having delusions
. I told you I invited a friend to crash on the couch for a few days, remember?"

"
Griffin Chase
is your friend?"
Susan
exclaimed.

"
Shh
."
Nicole
glanced at the door, hoping he still slept as soundly as he used to. "Just go to bed.
It's not a big deal."

"Are you serious?
We have every woman's wet dream in our living room.
"
Susan
goggled at her. "
H
ave you
seen
him? He's out there sleeping without a shirt on."

Nicole arched her brows.

Susan held her hands up
. "I couldn't help noticing. He's laid out like a buffet
,
and I've been starving for months. You know I haven't dated anyone in forever because
of my work schedule."

True.
Susan
sold pharmaceutical medication and had to travel all the time. She was successful
and beautiful, which helped in her sales, but she refused to date any of the doctors
she dealt with. Wisely, Nicole had always thought.

"Have you seen his chest?" her roommate whispered in awe. "It's a thing of beauty.
Michelangelo would be jealous that he didn't create that. I could lick every—"

"
Susan
." Nicole winced and sat up, fully awake. "He's my friend."

"Your
friend
is out there half-naked, and I suggest you go check him out because you'll never see
a sight like that ever again." She tapped a finger to her lips in thought. "Although
he may very well be completely naked. I didn't check under the blanket."

"And you're not going to." N
i
cole frowned at her roommate. "Go to bed."

"Can I ask him to join me?"

"
No.
"

Susan shrugged, ever pragmatic.
"It's okay. I don't mind that you have dibs. It's enough that you brought him here
and shared him like this. At least now I know what to aspire to."

"I don't have dibs. It's not like that." Except that he'd kissed her. A shiver went
over her body as she remembered the way his lips had claimed hers.

"It's not, is it?"
Susan
said slyly.

"No, it's not. I'm going back to sleep now." She
turned the light off,
flounced over
,
and covered herself with the comforter. "
G
oodnight."

Her roommate stood there for a long silent minute. Nicole could feel her staring,
but then she gave up and left the room.

Nicole sagged in relief.

But sleep was elusive, because her mind churned on Grif. The kiss. That he'd come
to her for help.

That he was lying half naked in the living room.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to imagine that. She'd meant it when she told
Susan he was her friend. Years of loving someone didn't just go away because you got
annoyed at him.

But she was pretty sure friends didn't kiss each other the way he'd kissed her.
It'd been like something out of a romance novel, and she was an expert on romance
novels.

She tried to feel weird about it. She should have, right? The
re'd never been anything
sexual between them.
Ever.

Well, maybe once or twice when she was a teenager she'd wondered what it'd be like
to be Grif's girlfriend. But that was a logical thing to wonder—they were around each
other all the time, and she'd loved him. Of course she'd wonder.

Now at least she didn't have to wonder if he was a good kisser.

Groaning, she muffled her face in her pillow.

Half an hour later, she turned the light back on and reached for her sketchpad and
colored pencils. Sometimes drawing helped calm her enough to fall asleep.

Propping herself up on her pillows, she flipped through the book, looking at the previous
pages before coming to an empty page. Lately, she'd been drawing lingerie—her own
designs based on what she'd seen women appreciate at the store and what she wished
they carried. Romantic, sensual pieces that flattered women of all shapes and sizes.

She picked a red pencil out and began sketching, a sexy red number that she'd love
to have for herself, the panties with a lush bow in the back that begged to be undone.
She added straight brown hair to the model, a birthmark on her hip just like the one
she had, and boots. Then, because it wasn't complete, she drew the shadow of a man
in the background, with a cowboy hat on his head.

Nicole groaned and ripped the page out of her book. She intended to crumple it, but
instead she tucked it under her pillow.

All this was Grif's fault, and he was sleeping peacefully in the other room, unaware
of the torture she was going through. She shoved the covers aside. That was going
to change
. He wanted a muse? He was about to get one.

She pulled on yoga pants, a tank, and a long-sleeved shirt. Grabbing her puffy jacket,
a scarf, and a wool cap, she stuffed her sketchpad
,
pencils
, and an extra notepad
in her bag and went to wake him up.

He was on the couch just like
Susan
had said, bare from the waist up except for a necklace around his neck. Nicole swallowed
at the sight, her breath shallow, entranced by the shadowed ridges and the dark goody
trail leading under the blanket.

Clearing her throat, she poked him with the tip of one finger. "Wake up."

He murmured and grabbed her hand, bring it to his heart and pulling her down on top
of him.

She froze, struck by his warmth and the hard, naked feel of his chest. This wasn't
the boy she'd known. He didn't even smell the same as he had when they were teenagers.
S
h
e leaned down and sniffed.
H
e smelled mysterious and sexy.

Then she really
noticed
the necklace he wore. Suspended on leather, it was the arrowhead she'd given him before
he
'd
left to make his fortune.

She touched it with her fingertip. They'd been out, walking, talking about the future.
He'd been so excited about a gig in Nashville to play with some musician she'd never
heard of. She'd been torn between being happy for him and desolate for herself, and
then she'd seen the arrowhead on their path. She'd dusted it off and given it to him,
to remember her by. To protect him on his path.

He still had it.

She swallowed, not sure what to make of that.

One thing was sure: she needed to get off of him.

He shifted, and her hand brushed his skin. He felt warm—so warm she couldn't help
letting her hands steal over his skin. Humming in his sleep, Grif rolled them over
and slipped his leg between hers.

He was hard, and it was prominent.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt like she was getting away with something
she wasn't entitled to, but she couldn't bring herself to move. It was enough that
she managed not to press into his hard-on even more.

His hand smoothed over her hair, and his eyes fluttered open.

Embarrassed to be caught, she took the offensive. "Get off me."

"It seems like you're on me," he said in a sleep-husky voice, but he rolled her back
over.

She scrambled off of him, falling on her butt on the floor.

Grif turned the light next to him on and leaned over the couch. "What are you doing,
Nicole?"

"Waking you up." She hoisted herself up and straightened her clothes.

"I think you were successful," he said with a dry lilt of his lips, glancing down
at the bulge the blanket didn't conceal.

She was
not
going there, no matter how much she wanted to. She cleared her throat. "Get up. We're
going to miss it."

"Miss what?" But he swung his legs over the side.

Averting her eyes, she pretended to be busy with her coat and scarf. "Sunrise. It's
inspiring."

"I seem to have found plenty of inspiration here," he said, but he stood and reached
for his jeans.

"Hurry up," she said, going into the kitchen so she wouldn't be tempted to peek at
him. She made coffee and filled two to-go cups before he ambled in to join her. He
wore way too many layers of clothes, but it was probably for the best.

She handed him his coffee. "You're driving."

"Okay." He took a sip and exhaled in pleasure. "This is almost worth being woken up
pre-dawn."

"You'll thank me later," she said as she led him out of the house.

"Where are we going?"

"Coit Tower. Sunrise is beautiful from up there."

He glanced at her. "You've seen lots of sunrises from Coit Tower?"

Actually, none, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She just shrugged noncommittally
and changed the subject. "I brought a notepad for you to write images down. I thought
maybe you might find a strain that calls to you."

"Nothing's called to me," he said, subdued, as he unlocked her door.

"We'll get you on track, Grif." She put her hand on his arm. "Trust me."

His hand covered hers and he looked into her eyes. "I do."

They drove to Coit Tower in silence. Because it was so early, no one was on the road,
and the parking lot was empty. They got out and went to the statue of Columbus in
the middle of the circle.

It was as good a place as any. Nicole sat down on the wide stone ledge around it and
extracted the sketchpads from her purse. She handed him the smaller, pocket-sized
one along with a pen and took out colored pencils for herself.

"What's this for?" he asked as he accepted it, sitting next to her.

"To write down words or themes that come to you."

"Okay." He pointed at her pencils. "You still draw?"

"Yes. Sort of." She shrugged. "It helps me relax."

"I always thought you were a great artist."

"That's because stick figures were a challenge for you."

"True." He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. "I always expected you to go to art
school."

"I went to Arizona State for a couple semesters. I didn't love the art program."

"What do you draw?" He leaned over as if to look at her sketches.

She kept the pad firmly shut. Her drawings were private. "We aren't here to talk about
me. We're here to let you be inspired by the sunrise and to talk about your music."

He grimaced. "Watching sunrise is great, but maybe we can leave the music out of it."

"Why aren't you feeling the love?" She faced him, perplexed. "You and your guitar
were together all the time in high school. What did you call it?"

"Wanda."

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "Remember that one girl you dated who was so jealous
of the relationship you had with Wanda?"

"She was a nut."

"You're the one who names his instruments," she pointed out with a grin.

"Of course I name them. I have an intimate relationship with them." He sat back, stretching
his legs in front of him. "My current guitar is named Tallulah, and I haven't touched
her in weeks. I don't even feel like touching her, which is really messed up."

"Why?"

He looked at her as if he was trying to gauge what to say. Then he let his eyes shut
as he dropped his head back. "I'm tired, Nic."

At first she thought he meant this morning, but she realized he was talking about
life in general.

"At first, I thought I was just tired from touring," he continued, "but it's been
weeks and I don't feel rejuvenated in any way. I feel a bone-deep weariness." He opened
his eyes and gave her a rueful look. "I hate talking like this. I sound like I'm saying
'poor little me, the rock star.'"

She smiled. "It's better than keeping it bottled inside."

He nudged her. "Remember the time you thought you were going to die, because your
mom told you that keeping your feelings inside was a sure way to explode and Mrs.
Klinger wouldn't let you express in class?"

"Sixth grade was hell." She reclined next to him, resting against the metal railing
behind them. "You wrote that song for me that year. It was your first song, and it
was about red Jell-O."

"My first big hit." He chuckled. "I won the talent contest with that song."

"You won the talent contest because even then you were gifted and charismatic." She
nodded at the sky. "Sunrise. Write down whatever thoughts you have about it."

He sighed like he was beleaguered schoolboy, but he followed her direction. She listened
to the scratch of the pen against the thick paper as orange, pink, and red streaked
across the sky.