He scrunches up his face, trying not to laugh. “I bet you do.”

“Can I get your autograph?” I bat my eyelashes.

“Only if it’s on your breasts.”

This time it’s me who tries not to burst into giggles.

“Oh my God. That would be soooo amazing.”

He pulls the pen cap off with his mouth and spits it out onto the floor, then cups my breast in his hand, bending down to place a soft wet kiss on the tip before signing his name across my pale skin. I could’ve sworn I’ve always seen him write with his left hand, but he signs me with this right.

“I’ll never wash it off,” I say, twisting my body beneath his and rubbing myself against his thighs.

“You better not.” He stands and tosses the pen onto his nightstand, then pulls his shirt off, throwing it onto the floor. My stomach still does a somersault every time I see him shirtless—or even better—when I see him totally undressed. While I appreciate a nice body, I’ve never really been the type to get all drooly over bodybuilders, movie stars, or hot naked men. But when it comes to Blue—there’s just something so sensual about the confident way he moves and how his hair flows over his broad chest and shoulders like a Viking. The tattoos covering almost every inch of him are the icing on the cake and it all sets off sparks of desire in me.

“Do you bring a lot of women back here?” I ask, still using the sugary role-playing voice, but asking for myself.

He steps out of his boots and watches me watch him unbutton his jeans. They’re my favorite on him. No zipper. Just five silver buttons. The jeans are worn and soft and fit him like he was born in them.

“Hundreds,” he replies. “They’re all buried in the backyard.”

I laugh as he climbs onto the bed and between my legs.

“Do you like my room?” he asks. “And my house?”

“So far I’ve only mostly seen the ceiling of your room,” I tease, leaning up to peer around. His room is like the others in the house I’ve seen so far. Neat. Clean. Four guitars stand in a row in front of the windows that overlook the front yard. Black and white paintings of birds hang on the walls. Several photos in silver frames sit atop one of his black dressers, and as I squint at them, I realize they’re photos of me, Lyric, and Acorn.

“You have our pictures,” I say softly.

“Yeah. I print all the ones you email me. When I feel like I might fuck up again, I look at the pictures. There’ve been nights when I’ve sat here for hours just staring at your picture, waiting for the demons to fuck off and leave me alone.”

A vision of him flashes in my mind—sitting on the floor, taunted by drugs and alcohol and staring at photos of me, his daughter, and his dog while he sweats and struggles between all the things he loves and wants the most.

I swallow over the unexpected lump in my throat. “Does that work?”

“So far.”

I don’t know if it’s good or bad that I’ve been both his muse and his therapy. I suppose some might say that’s obsession and not real love. Some might say what we have is dependency and codependency. I wonder if it matters. Maybe all that really matters is that we make a difference in another’s person life in the way they need it.

Chapter Forty

Piper,

I love seeing you asleep in my bed. You have no idea how much peace you bring me. You’re like an angel in my dark mind.

Come downstairs when you’re awake, I’ll make us breakfast.

Love,

Blue

I smile at the note he left on his pillow for me. He’s been incredibly sweet since I arrived yesterday. Dare I say romantic in many ways?

After I make his bed I find my clothes from last night and hold them against my body as I sprint down the hall to my room. I take the note with me and stash it in my purse so I can add it to all the others I have saved at home.

I shower and blow dry my hair, then pretty myself up with a little makeup. I’m not sure what Blue’s got planned for us today, so I dress casually in skinny jeans, low black boots, and a purple gypsy top with wide butterfly sleeves.

The happy, carefree feeling I’ve had since I woke up takes a slight nose dive when I find him in the kitchen. I frown in confusion at the scene of disarray around me. The countertops are covered with glasses, mugs, bowls and dishes. All the cabinet doors are wide open, showing the bare shelves. Blue is standing at the center island, looking quite boyish and young in a band T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, black sweatpants, and black and white high-top sneakers with the laces untied.