“I’m not.”
“So then, not a believer?”
He tilts his head. “I believe in the soul,” his response thoughtful. “I’ve heard too many bleed and crack through my speakers not to, so it’s only natural I believe that a higher power created them. But if there’s a religion I subscribe to—”
“It’s music,” I finish for him, and he dips his chin as he pinches the cross between his fingers.
“This is a talisman of defense to ward off evil gifted by an overprotective mother. I guess you could say ‘it’s a Stella thing.’”
When I tighten my grip on his hips with my thighs, he frowns. “What? Is that more of a deal-breaker than me not liking the Cowboys?”
“It’s the Longhorns, Crowne. Get it straight. And no, it’s not that at all. I feel exactly the same. I don’t buy into all the condemnation in organized religion, but I do believe in God and love. So, I guess if I have religion, it’s human-interest stories because that’s what feeds my soul and makes me a believer in the miraculous.”
“Okay, so we agree there, which is a good thing.”
“Right.”
He palms my thighs. “So why are you bruising my hips?”
“It’s just…what you said afterward. It took me by surprise.”
“What did I say?”
“Don’t get weird, but ‘it’s a Stella thing’ reminded me of our parents.”
“Don’t get weird?” He rolls his eyes upward. “We’re fucking naked, in bed, and you’re thinking of our parents.”
“Unfortunately…yeah.”
“Do I want to know why?”
“It’s just that my dad used to say that exact thing to your mom verbatim when he was wooing her. ‘It’s a Stella thing’ was their thing, an inside joke between them I read in some of the emails.”
He grimaces. “Their history really fucks with you, doesn’t it?”
“No, I’ve only been ignoring your phone calls twice a week for two months because it doesn’t affect me at all.” I deadpan.
“Point taken,” he chuckles before resuming his intoxicating touch.
“Will you at least read the emails?”
“Because you’re having such an awesome time dealing? No fucking thank you.”
“Easton, this is serious.” I sigh, and he grips my hand, threading our fingers.
“Okay, then let’s talk about it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, studying our clasped fingers. “Seriously.”
Eager for the conversation, I go to slide off him, and he grips my hips to stop me.
“No way,” he rakes his lower lip, “if we’re going to finally have this talk, I’m keeping my view.”
I can’t help my smile even as I roll my eyes. “Okay.”
He brushes his thumb along the crease between my brows in an attempt to erase it. “I don’t want this, us, to hurt you or your career. I also don’t want you to have to sacrifice anything, especially your relationship with your father.”
“I don’t see any way around that,” I shake my head. “I mean, how can we avoid it?”
“As much as I don’t want to have to—and as juvenile as it may seem—we’re going to have to hide this relationship from everyone.” He presses his lips to my knuckles before resting my palm on his chest. “For now, we’re in this to see what’s between us, so we’ll keep it solely between us.”
“Okay,” I agree readily, too readily, according to his rapidly darkening expression.
“But not for long, okay? I don’t lie to my parents.” He grimaces. “I’ve never really had to.”
“Same, and I hate it.”
Fear starts to slither its way in while my mind sifts through worst-case scenarios.
“Stop it,” Easton commands sharply. “We’ll figure us out first and feel them out later before we come clean. We’re only touring through the end of summer, and if we keep adding shows, possibly through fall. We can do it this way until I’m off the road. For now, I just want to concentrate on us, and I want you to know you’re safe…” He brushes my chest where my heart lay, “that this is safe with me.”
“Agreed…then, can I ask who that girl was?”
He bites his lip to hold his grin. “I was wondering when that was coming.”