Here With You (7 page)

Maybe, but it seemed like the respect she'd get from dating the best musician on the
planet would be worth it. "What
downside
s
?
"

"More
than I could list.
Like that I get roped into helping with his music when he gets stuck." Nicole's smile
took the sting out of her words.

"He gets stuck?" That was what
she
felt like. She hadn't been able to write anything since her mom's funeral.

The saleslady shrugged. "Every creative person gets confused at some point. Sometimes
you just need a friend to point you in the right direction."

Rachel nodded. She wished she could be Griffin Chase's friend. How awesome would that
be? And then she could help him with his songs—not the music part, but with the lyrics.
If she knew him, she'd give him the poem she'd written for her mom.

Nicole
handed over the little burgundy bag.
"
Come back in a week. We'll have new pieces you'll like.
"

She nodded, taking the little bag home. Rachel stopped abruptly on the sidewalk as
a thought occurred to her: if Nicole and Griffin Chase were friends, he probably hung
out at Romantic Notions a lot. Meaning if she went there more often, she might run
into him.

Meaning maybe she could give him her mom's poem.

Her heart beat to hard that she thought it was going to jump out of her chest. Her
mom would have been beyond excited to have Griffin Chase sing a song dedicated to
her.

She ran all the way home, bursting through the door and sprinting up the stairs to
her room. Dumping her bag's contents onto the bed, she looked for the journal.
She scrambled to open it, searching for the loose piece of paper.

Here
. She smoothed it open and read it.
You moved away...

Closing her eyes, she imagined Griffin Chase singing it. It'd be perfect.

It was one last thing she could do for her mom—the only way to keep her alive.

It'd be a great way to get back at the
–sons of anarchy
.

Rachel pictured their faces when they heard Griffin Chase used her poem for song lyrics.
Especially Madison's. It'd be the best thing
ever
.

She flopped onto her bed, hugging the paper to her chest. She'd get him to do it.
She'd get him to use it for a song, and it'd be beautiful
in so many ways
.



Chapter Six

His phone rang as he was jogging through the Presidio. Grif checked the screen. Roddy.

He had no desire to talk to his manager. He knew exactly how the conversation would
go. He'd say hi, and Roddy would ask him where the hell the new songs were and why
he wasn't in the recording studio.

Except in the past couple days, Grif had realized he was a masochist. Why else would
he insist on living with Nicole? It was pure torture. He couldn't write anything when
he spent every minute of the entire day thinking about kissing her—and more.

And being a masochist, Grif stopped and answered the phone.

Before he could say even a syllable, his manager jumped down his throat. "Where are
you?"

"I miss you, too." He walked around, free hand on his hip, trying to breathe.

"Cut out the cute act, Chase. You're in serious hot water here."

He was always in serious hot water with his manager. Roddy had always been stricter
with him than his dad had been. He guessed Roddy had repped a lot of musicians who
had gone down the path of alcohol and drugs. It was easy to do—the phrase
sex and drugs and rock 'n roll
wasn't coined just because.

While he had a moment in his career where the sex was really attractive, he'd backed
off on all of that. It was about the music, first and foremost. Without it, he'd be
nothing.

Which was why he was there, with Nicole. That last night of his tour, he'd been so
tempted to chuck it all. But even in that dark moment he'd known that wasn't really
the answer.

"Well?" his manager asked in his typical, impatient tone. "What's going on? Where
are you? What are you doing?"

"I'm running," Grif replied, knowing it'd infuriate the man.

"That's not what I was asking," Roddy yelled into his ear. "Where the fu—eff are you?"

He grinned. Roddy's daughter was approaching adolescence, so he was especially conscious
of his language, probably because his wife made it necessary. She'd told him that
for every curse word, he had to pay a hundred dollars into her shopping fund. In the
past year, she'd had to convert a second closet into a space just for her shoes. "You
know I'm not going to tell you where I am. You'd send the Coast Guard to retrieve
me."

"Fu—eff yeah, I would. All shi—crap's hit the fan here."

"That's what I pay you to handle."

"I won't have anything to handle if you don't have a contract."

Grif stopped pacing. "What?"

"The studio execs are getting nervous. You're supposed to be recording now, but you
aren't anywhere to be found, and they haven't seen any music from you."

He raked his hair back, missing his cowboy hat. Wearing it as a disguise started as
a joke, because the media called him the Urban Cowboy, but he kind of liked it. It
made him harder to recognize.

It made him a hero, when he hadn't felt especially heroic lately.

He shook his head. "I'm working on it. That's the entire purpose of this trip, to
give me space to figure out the rest of the album."

"Tell me you have something."

"I have something," he lied.

"Liar." Roddy growled. "Chase, you're giving me ulcers. You know this, right? My stomach
is bleeding because of you."

He sighed, thinking of the notebook Nicole had given him to jot down ideas. So far
it was a third full of stick figures with swords and Nicole's name over and over.
"I'll get the songs done, and they'll be good. When have I ever let you down?"

"There's always a first time." There was a pause. "I wasn't kidding about the execs.
They're nervous because you've suddenly disappeared. In their eyes, you're off somewhere
having sex and shooting heroine into your eyeballs. You need to give me something
soon, or they may cut you loose before you become a liability."

"I'm not going to become a liability."

"You know that. I know that. But the execs don't know shi—crap." Roddy cursed under
his breath. "Damn it, that one was close."

Grif smiled. "You're a good man, Roddy. I won't let you down."

His manager sighed. "Where did you say you are?"

"I didn't, but that was a good try. Talk to you later."

"Damn it—"

Grif hung up, tucked his phone away, and started running back.

The thing about running was that it gave you time to think. Most of the time, he liked
the space it gave him. Today he could have done without it. The pressure to produce
a hit album wasn't atypical; the desire to stay with Nicole was. The sooner he had
his song, the sooner he'd have to leave.

Picking up the pace, he headed back toward her apartment. He wasn't ready to leave.
There was something between him and Nicole, something more than the simple friendship
they'd known as teenagers. He wanted to know what that was and how deep it went.

He rounded the block and slowed to a walk the rest of the way to her apartment. Susan
kept unusual times, leaving early one day and late the next, but she was always out
midday. Nicole's hours were steady: she'd leave a little before eleven and return
home after seven.

The apartment should have felt empty while they were gone, but the women always left
him unintentional reminders of their presence. He smiled as he almost stumbled over
the calf-high boots Nicole had kicked off in the living room the night before.

She liked all sorts of boots, short and high. He had to admit his favorites were the
long red ones she'd been wearing at the wedding. At night when he couldn't sleep he
thought about her wearing those boots and not much else.

No, that never helped him fall asleep.

Stripping out of his shirt, Grif headed to her bathroom to take a shower. As he walked
through her room, he noticed one of her notebooks lying on her bed.

He stopped, staring at it. He shouldn't invade her privacy, but he knew nothing was
going to stop him either. She'd been secretive about her drawings that morning they'd
gone to Coit Tower, and he was curious. Nicole used to draw all the time, for as long
as he could remember, and she'd always been good.

He crossed the room and opened it.

It was filled with page after page of sketches of women of different sizes and shapes.
Some were standing, some reclining, but all wore beautiful lingerie that enhanced
their shape.

He flipped through a second time, slowly, entranced. He didn't know much about lingerie
except how to take it off, but to his untrained eyes Nicole's designs were exquisite.
Romantic and colorful, exciting and flattering.

She had a gift.

He especially liked the one on the last page. Sheer black with a touch of frill, he
could see Nicole in it. With her boots, of course.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head. It was so wrong picturing Nicole's nipples
peeking through the see-through lace—and such a turn-on.

He quickly shut the notebook and took care to make sure it was in the same spot where
he'd found it. Was she pursuing lingerie design and just being quiet about it? His
mom hadn't said anything to him about it, and she was tight with Nicole's mom.

If he knew Nicole, it was more likely she hadn't committed to the idea. She'd always
flitted from one interest to the next. As a kid, it'd been cute. Now, seeing her designs
and how incredible they were, it made him sad.

He went into the shower, not sure what to do about it. Not sure if Nicole would appreciate
him doing anything about it, and that was the hardest pill to swallow.

Chapter Seven

"Baby has a new bra," Madison cooed in the locker room.

Rachel stilled as she hooked one of her new bras. The pleasure she'd felt all day,
feeling pretty underneath where no one could see, began to dim, and that pissed her
off. Her new bras were fabulous—Nicole would reassure her of that. And Nicole was
the one who was so beautiful and hung out with Griffin Chase. She was the one to emulate,
not sheep like the
evil
–sons
.

"She actually has boobs," Addison said, joining in with her fake laugh.

That was it. Whirling around, she flashed a sticky-sweet smile at the two girls. "I
can give you the name of the store, if you want to do something about
that
." She nodded at pityingly at Madison's chest.

Her nemesis's face went so red Rachel thought she was going to explode. For a second
she was afraid they were going to retaliate, but then the PE teacher came into the
locker and blew her shrill whistle. "Get going, ladies. You only have five minutes
left to shower and go to your next class."

The
–sons of anarchy
shot Rachel a glare and turned their back on her.

A victory. She smiled softly to herself. Wait till Griffin Chase used her
poem
in a song. Then they'd bow down.

But she wasn't going to hang around to let the girls gather the one wit they shared.
Deciding to forgo the shower to avoid giving them a target, she got dressed before
they came back.

As she left the locker room, another girl tugged her arm. Rachel stiffened, turning
to look at her. It was Lydia, with the small glasses and big lips, who sat next to
her in chemistry. "That was brilliant. Madison and her boobs have had it coming for
a long time. I only wish I were recording it so I could put the whole thing on Youtube."

What a horror that'd have been. Rachel shrugged off the girl's hold. "It was nothing."

"It was socially
significant
." Lydia blinked at her. "Do you know how many girls would have liked to stand up
to Madison and her crony but haven't had the guts? You're like a superhero."

"I can't be a superhero. I don't have a cape." She gave her a polite smile and walked
out of locker room.

One more period with Madison, she told herself, trudging to English. She'd almost
made it inside and safely to her seat when she felt someone fall in step next to her.

Looking up, she relaxed when she saw Aaron. "Oh, it's just you."

"I'm excited to see you, too." He grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I thought you were someone else."

"Tell me you didn't think I was Matt West, because that pisses me off."

Matt West was probably the only guy in school who was more popular than Aaron. She
could tell he was joking about that, especially because she saw them hanging out all
the time. But she bit her lip to keep from smiling. She didn't want to encourage him.

He took her bag from her shoulder and slung it over his. "Who'd you think I was?"
he asked as he began to walk slowly to class.

She pointed at her bag. "What are you doing? I can carry that myself."

"But this way you have to talk to me." He flashed her his cute dimpled smile. "So
who did you think I was?"

"The
–sons of anarchy
."

"Excuse me?" He stopped and stared at her.

She sighed, forced to stop, too. "Madison and Addison."

He threw his head back and laughed, so loud that everyone around them gawked.

"Shh," she hissed at him.

"That's just too perfect." Shaking his head, he wiped his eyes.

She grabbed her bag from him while he was still laughing. "They deserve that nickname.
They're horrible."

"They are," he agreed.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Really?"