Page 153 of Bend

Fuck him.

“That feels a little aggressive.”

His mouth twitches. “It wasn’t.”

“You came downstairs, lurked in a doorway, then psychologically profiled me at one in the morning.”

“I told you I like your voice.”

“And somehow made it emotionally inconvenient.”

“Talent.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat in it.

The annoying thing is that he’s right.

Compliments are easy when they’re jokes. Easy when I can throw something back and keep moving.

It’s different when someone actually means them.

I run my thumb along the edge of the pick.

“Bikes are easier.”

Wolfe tilts his head. “Than music?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

I hesitate, mostly because explaining this makes it sound far more serious than I want it to be.

Then again, Wolfe has never been particularly bothered by my attempts to keep things unserious.

“Bikes make sense. Something’s wrong, I find it. I change something. I know if I fixed it because the bike either works better or it doesn’t.” I glance down at the notebook. “Music is different. You write something that actually means something to you, put it in front of someone, and then basically wait to find out if they think it’s shit.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“It is.”

“And you still do it.”

“Apparently I enjoy suffering.”

He smiles, but it fades quickly, his eyes staying on mine for another second before his voice softens.

“Come here, wanyeča.”

I look at him, and set the guitar carefully against the couch before crossing the space between us. His hand finds my waist like it already belongs there. Solid and steady, as his thumb presses into my side, grounding instead of grabbing.

“You don’t gotta shine so hard for everyone.”

The joke sitting on my tongue dies before I can use it.

He hooks a knuckle under my chin and lifts my face just enough so I can’t dodge him.

“I see you.”