RockFan

Billie Joe's POV

It was a small two-bedroom apartment, and apparently Adrienne hadn't been kidding about how cold it was inside. It was cozily decorated though; family photographs hung on the wall, flowers on the kitchen counter, and Sherpa throw-blankets strewn across the couch. It radiated warmness and comfort that a thermostat couldn't provide; the lived-in-look made it more welcoming than my mansion could ever be.

"It's not that great, I know," she said, walking over to the tiny kitchenette and filling a copper kettle with water.

"No, it is. I love it, it's cozy," I said.

Adrienne chuckled, "Yeah, cozy's one way of putting it."

I spied a black and white picture of an elderly man, he was sitting on the couch in this apartment and he was proudly holding up an issue of RockFan magazine. I stepped closer to the picture hung on the wall, the strongly-built man was smiling broadly as he pointed to a title on the magazine's cover. Adrienne must've turned around and seen me examining the photo.

"That's my dad," she said, and I turned around to face her, "He's pointing to my first article that made RockFan's cover." She looked at the picture with a sad smile and nostalgic eyes.

"He looks proud," I said, which I knew was an obvious statement. I wasn't sure what else I could say as I didn't want to upset her, her father's death was still a very fresh wound.

"He always was, no matter what I did," she said, turning back around to attend to the whistling kettle.

She turned the gas burner off and poured the steaming hot water into two oversized mugs, "Come here," she called to me. I went over and stood beside her at the kitchen counter.

"Here," she said, handing me a packet of instant hot cocoa. We ripped our packets open and dumped them into our mugs, she handed me a spoon and we stirred until the chocolatey powder had dissolved. Next came a little cream to cool it down and, last but not least, the jumbo marshmallows.

"I haven't had cocoa in a long time," I told her, already craving my first sip.

"I can't do without it in the winter. It just warms me up more than coffee ever could."

We retired to the couch with our mugs and each pulled our own blanket around us. I watched my marshmallows melt into the cocoa, becoming gooey and foamy. It was quiet, but we didn't need any sounds. For once in my life I didn't feel the need to put on some music or the television for background noise; I didn't need it while she was with me.

When we did break the silence, our conversations were filled with our passions. Music, writing, touring, art, and more music. We shared experiences our lives had offered us and even told each other secrets we had never said aloud before. There was a quick and rare trust between us that I hardly shared with anyone, ever. I could talk to anybody easily about music and interests, but secret passions and ideas were something I kept very guarded. Why I had let my guard down so easily for Adrienne, I couldn't explain it.

"What time is it?" I finally asked her. The hot cocoa was long gone. The space between us on the couch had disappeared, she was now snuggled up to me to keep warm. I gently twirled the ends of her dark hair around my finger.

She looked down at her watch, which was illuminated in the dimly-lit apartment, "Oh, wow, it's almost two a.m.," she said.

"No way," I said, disbelievingly. I didn't feel like I'd been here that long.

"Yeah," she said, getting up. The warmth where her body had been against mine was replaced by a sudden coolness. I shrugged the blanket off me and stood up as well.

Adrienne collected the mugs on the coffee table and brought them over to the sink. I followed her awkwardly, not knowing if I should leave to go back to the hotel or if she wanted me to stay. I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her wash out the mugs and waiting for her to tell me what I should do.

Finally, she turned around, drying her hands with a dish cloth. She smiled at me and said, "So..." Her voice trailed off after that one word though, and I realized she was just as nervous and clueless as me.

"I should go back to the hotel," I said, "I texted my manager before, when you were in the bathroom, to get you a ticket on our flight. So, you're all set."

"Thanks," she said, but there was a sadness in her voice.

"You still want to go, don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah, of course I do," she said, and I could tell her following smile was forced.

"Adrienne," I said, stepping closer to her, "What's wrong? Don't say nothing, 'cause I can tell."

She was still and silent for a moment, but then she looked up at me and into my eyes, "Maybe," she paused, "Maybe you should stay?"

"You mean, stay the night?"

She shrugged, then nodded. Then she shrugged again, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you that," she apologized, clearly embarrassed.

I smiled at her pink cheeks; she had no idea how much I had wanted her to ask me to stay. I reached out and took her soft hand in mine, "Adrienne, I'd love to stay," I whispered.

"Yeah?"

I chuckled, "Yeah."

*
Adrienne's POV

I wasn't sure where he'd want to sleep though. I felt funny banishing him to the couch while I slept in my bed. I couldn't let him sleep in my father's bed, and he probably wouldn't want to anyway. Should he sleep in my bed with me, though we've only just met today? I wasn't that kind of girl, and I didn't want to give him the impression I was.

"You take my bed, I'll sleep on the couch," I said, finally deciding that would be the polite and appropriate thing to do. Yet, Billie Joe just looked at me confused.

Then he laughed, "I don't think so, Adrienne. I have no problem sleeping on your couch, it's comfy as hell."

I giggled, "I don't think hell's really comfy."

"You know what I meant," he said, letting go of my hand and walking over to plop down on the couch. He smiled at me before falling back into a lying position and pulling the Sherpa blanket over him.

I stared at him from my spot in the kitchenette. Seeing him over there, I realized that's not where I wanted him to sleep. I wanted him to sleep beside me, I wanted to snuggle into him like before. I didn't want to have sex with him, I just wanted to feel his body next to mine. I went over to the couch and stood beside him, his eyes were closed but I knew he was awake.

"Billie Joe?"

"Hmm?" He smiled and opened his eyes.

"Will you sleep with me?" I asked, then realized my words didn't exactly say what I meant.

"I mean, just sleep in my bed, with me? Not like-"

"I know what you mean," he said, getting up off the couch.

He took my hand again and led me to my bedroom. We each got in and under the covers. I moved closer to him, then he moved closer to me. Before I knew it, my head was resting on his chest and I was listening to his heartbeat.

"Were you anticipating, you know, more than this?" I asked him.

"No, you don't really seem like that type of woman. I'm not really that kind of guy either, you know?"

"You don't have one-night stands? A rockstar like you?"

"Sometimes, but more than likely I don't," he told me, rubbing his fingers soothingly upon my back.

"I'm really happy you stayed with me, Billie Joe," I said, beginning to feel very sleepy all of the sudden.

"Me too," were the last words I heard him say before I drifted off to sleep.