Tim quickly departed to his room, leaving Billy and me alone. Billy flopped down on the small loveseat.

"Tired?" I asked, but the answer was apparent on his face.

He responded with a silent wince. I sat down on the coffee table in front of him and lifted one of his feet. He watched as my fingers untied his shoelace, pulled it off, and then repeated it with his second foot.

Standing, I held out a hand to him. "Come on; let's lay down."

His shoulders stiffened to protest.

"It's just a nap, Billy. We can even create a pillow wall if we must."

His eyes widened as he gazed at me. But whatever protest he was trying to muster didn't materialize. Instead, he reached for my hand in defeat. I kicked my shoes off before lying down on the bed next to him, reaching for his hand to maintain a small connection with him. Our hands entwined without hesitation.

"I enjoy you, Lily."

I let out a small laugh, "I enjoy you, Billy."

His hand tugged on mine, and I took it as an invitation to curl into his chest.

"I'm officially a groupie," I murmured.

Billy let out a groan. "You're not a groupie. That's so..." his smile contorted to a wince, "vulgar."

"Vulgar," I giggled. "I swear you were born in the wrong time."

"I don't disagree." His eyes swept over my face, followed by his hand, brushing back my hair so he could see my eyes better. "Tell me another memory like Get Back." His lips kissed the top of my head. "Just close your eyes and tell me what you remember." His voice was getting thin with incoming sleep.

I sighed, but closed my eyes. "When I was in the third grade, my teacher taught us how to play chess. Every afternoon he'd put on James Brown as we'd play for about an hour."

"Do you still like chess?"

"I've never liked chess that much, but when I told my dad that I knew how to play, we started playing, too. He had this part of the attic that he called the clubhouse. It had a stereo and all his records. Sunday afternoons, we played chess there and listened to music. That was my favorite part."

"The music?"

"Mmhmm, time with my dad, but the music as well. I liked The Beatles and Buddy Holly, so we listened to that a lot, but the song he always played first no matter what was I'm Your Puppet."

"James and Bobby Purify?"

I pulled myself up to look at him. "Have you heard it?"

"Mmhmm," he smiled at my shock.

"I love that song. I still listen to it daily." A warm smile filled my face as I settled back onto his chest.

"You're close to your dad, huh?" His fingers combed through my hair again.

"He's the best person I've ever known. He knows all this stuff, but sometimes I know something he doesn't, and I love his expression. Then, of course, he learns everything about it, so the next time we talk, I can't thwart him again." I sighed and let my fingers float across Billy's collarbone. "But music is our favorite topic."

"I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm a music fan." Two dimples dotted his cheeks.

"Who would've thought?" I teased. " What do you listen to when you relax?"

"It depends, but I can seem to always get into Gene Vincent."

"Gene Vincent?" I smiled into his chest.

"Hey, Gene Vincent is great." He tugged on my hair a bit in jest. "And the Blue Caps."

"No, he is, and you love hats," I agreed. "The rockabilly makes sense; I didn't see it coming." I adjusted to meet his gaze. "There's something I need to tell you, and this may affect your feelings for me."

"Okay," he looked at me with a bit of concern.

"I love Perry Como."

"What?" He let out a laugh.

"I love Perry Como. I think he's great; Catch a Falling Star, A You're Adorable, Papa Loves Mambo. I love it. I can't help but smile when I'm listening to his music."

Billy smiled at me for a long moment.

"What?" I blushed.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are. You're like some perfect little alien."

"Perfect little alien? I'm not sure how to take that."

"It's a compliment, I promise." He brushed the hair from my face. "Okay, so tell me a musician or band that you introduced to your dad," he continued.

"Green Day; Dookie was the first album he stole from me."

"Huh, that's later than I'd have expected."

"Yeah, my dad is cooler than me. He had all the albums you'd think I'd have introduced him to well before I mentioned them; Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and even Linkin Park. He's just cooler than me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second." Billy twirled a piece of my hair around his pinky.

"He is! He's like Wanda Jackson cool."

"Wanda Jackson cool? That's a definition?" A throaty gurgle of a laugh erupted from him. I savored how it rumbled from his chest to me.

"It's the definition. There's no trying to be cool when you're Wanda Jackson; there's just being cool."

"I'm converted. I'll now judge all people on the Wanda Jackson scale."

"Sleep now," I commanded as I settled on his chest.

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured as his fingers traced lines on the small of my back.

As he drifted off, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and set the alarm before drifting off to sleep in his arms.