Chapter Sixteen
Malik
Creed nudged me with his foot against my shin.
I met his gaze.
He grinned wickedly. “Okay, you’ve got to be thinking about someone. A gal? A dude? An enby? Just something, because you keep getting this look on your face—the look you get when you’re all smitten.”
I scowled. “Smitten?”
He shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t happen often…but it has happened. You’ve met someone.”
We were taking a break from rehearsing, standing near the wet bar in the basement next to the recording studio. Reese was in the bathroom, and Freddie was still at the keyboards—trying to work out a melody in his head that only he could sort out.
“Do you think he’s composing something new?”
Creed shrugged. “Anything’s possible. He might be tweaking Reese’s composition on that last song. I think he’s adding to it.”
I scratched my chin. “I thought the song was good.”
“So did I…but he might be able to make it better. It’ll be up to Reese if she accepts the changes or not.”
“What changes?” The composer of said song—and our bassist extraordinaire—pushed me aside as she made her way over to the bar fridge. She opened it and grinned. “Thanks for stocking up.”
“On blue energy drinks?” I wrinkled my nose. “Only one, okay? We don’t need you rocketing into outer space.” I couldn’t fathom how much caffeine was in those things.
Even as I had the thought, my electric tea kettle whistled that the water was boiling.
Reese moved out of my way so I could set my Earl Grey to steep—something else I got from my mother. I’d add lemon if we were doing a lot of singing. Today was more jamming with the music than worrying about lyrics.
As my tea steeped, Freddie sauntered over.
I opened the fridge, pulled out a can of root beer, and handed it to him.
He grinned, cracked the top, and downed half of it.
Then belched.
Yep, that was Freddie.
“And you wonder why you can’t get a girlfriend.” I tossed my tea bag into a compost container, added half a teaspoon of brown sugar, and stirred.
“What I really want to know is who Malik’s dicking.” Creed raised his ice water with a slice of lime in salute.
I glared.
Reese laughed. “You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question. I’m wondering if it’s that guy from the television.”
I blew on my tea to cool it down. “What guy?”
“You remember that interview?” She waggled her eyebrows.
“He’s married and way too old.” The anchor was super adorable—if one was into silver foxes. Me? Blond guys with soft-green eyes—
Creed elbowed me. “You know she’s talking about that do-gooder. What was his name?” He snapped his fingers several times. “Oh, I remember. Spencer.” He drew the name out, emphasizing each syllable.
Heat raced to my cheeks. I prayed my dark skin would prevent my best friend from seeing how close to the mark he was.
Okay, bullseye. Dead center.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you not?” Reese grinned. “Then what are the new lyrics in your notebook?”
“Hey!” I rolled my eyes. “Is there no such thing as privacy around here?”
My three bandmates burst out laughing.
“Uh, absolutely not.” Creed eyed Reese. “What kind of lyrics?”
I continued to glare.
She shrugged. “I was checking something out for our last song—the one Freddie’s not happy with.”
“Hey!” He glared.
“Just calling it as it is. We’ll get it sorted. We have time.” She sipped her energy drink. Then she pivoted her attention to me. “What lyrics? What melody? What are we working on now?”
“I just…” I scratched my chin. “Like…” I floundered.
Creed nudged my shin again.
“Yes, I’m sort of seeing that guy from the television.
From the nonprofit. Yes, I’m writing an anthem for his organization that none of you are obliged to be part of.
Yes, I’m trying to work out the lyrics, the melody, and the visuals in my head all at the same time.
” Finally, after pushing all that out, I took a breath.
My best friend chuckled. “I knew you were dicking with someone.”
I rolled my eyes.
Freddie raised his hand. “Visuals?”
I nodded. “Like, cinematographically. The images. Whether we’re just doing a video or if, during our concert, we project something.”
“You mean like the holograph that Blade does?” He cocked his head, apparently intrigued.
Blade and Hellsbane made their first appearance at Rocktoberfest a few years ago and had broken onto the scene with a splash and their holograph of Blade singing.
“Well, I hadn’t been thinking of that. More of projections on a screen behind us. Like they’re from an old projector. I’d need to go culling archival footage—and gets lots of permissions—but I can see something like that, right? Against a screen?”
“Some venues might have a back wall we can use. Otherwise, we’d have to rent a screen.” Reese rubbed her fingers together, miming money. Like how much this was going to cost.
From the moment I quit the orchestra, I’d been very conscious of how much I spent.
Maintaining a house this big took a lot of money—property taxes, repairs, electricity, gas, and other shit.
Some of which I hadn’t had a clue about.
My father’s lawyer had figured out most things for me and I could consult her when I needed to.
For an astronomical fee. So I preferred to watch my bank balance carefully and not splurge.
I might be twenty-seven with poor impulse control—sometimes—but I wasn’t ever going to risk losing this place.
“We might be able to partner with a company. In the film industry? Give them a sponsorship or something? Use their logo in our promos?”
Freddie snickered. “You think some big film people are going to lend us equipment?”
“They will if we get to Rocktoberfest.” I took a drink of my tea. “I have plans.”
“You have dreams.” Freddie downed the rest of his root beer and belched again. “Nothing wrong with aspirations.”
“Let me ask Mama if she knows anyone.” Creed gestured toward our equipment. “We should get started again. I want to get home before midnight.”
“Going to turn into a pumpkin?” Reese with the gentle teasing.
“You know Mama Bear likes to have all her cubs tucked in before the witching hour.” I winked at Creed.
Personally, I loved that Mama took such good care of her kids.
Perhaps too much, though. My friend really needed to move out and get a life of his own.
Often I’d considered inviting him to move in, but that felt wrong.
Not so much that my parents wouldn’t have approved—although they wouldn’t have—but that if I brought someone here, someone to share the space with me, they would have to be pretty damn special.
I loved Creed, but I didn’t feel that way about him.
Even in a home as cavernous as this one, I worried about stepping on his toes. Or, more likely, him stepping on mine.
“Woof. Woof.” Freddie grinned.
We all turned to him with varying looks of confusion.
“What? That’s a bear.”
Creed bust out laughing. “Dogs woof. I have no idea what a bear sounds like, but that isn’t it.”
“Wait.” Freddie frowned. “If you don’t know what a bear sounds like, how do you know it doesn’t sound like a dog?”
My mind screeched. Really, neither of them was talking sense. Which was completely par for the course.
“Show me what you’ve got.” Reese pointed to my notebook. “We can worry about projections after we’ve got a melody and lyrics.”
Ever the practical one. I might be the front man for this band, but Reese was the common sense and the brains. Too bad she couldn’t write lyrics worth shit.
Four hours later as I lay in bed, after my bandmates had gone home, I tried to recreate Spencer’s condo in my mind. About five hundred square feet? Give or take? Plus that pint-sized balcony.
Huh.
The primary bedroom, bathroom, and walk-in closet in this house were almost that size.
Give or take.
So his entire life could fit into my parents’ bedroom.
That thought sobered.
Last night, as he’d drifted in and out of consciousness—well, a sort of sex-drunk haze—he’d talked about his old condo in the sky.
The boyfriend he’d believed himself in love with until when, after Spencer had done the moral thing, the asshole Paul had stepped up to take over in a rather immoral fashion.
Instantly, I hated the guy. Sounded like a pompous jerk.
Spencer deserves so much better.
Yeah, but did that mean me? I was disorganized, scatterbrained, hyperfocused on music, and wanting to make a difference in the world.
While also being obsessed with likes and clicks.
Blossom loved that about me.
Spencer detested it.
With good reason. He saw me as a flash in the pan. As someone not serious.
So you’ll just have to prove that he’s wrong.
Easy, right? Show him my brilliance with the song and—
What? He’s going to fall at your feet in gratitude? Invite you to move into his micro-condo? Make room in his bed for you?
That was a legitimate question because, when Spencer’d crept out to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, Moses had clearly decided he’d had enough of being ignored. Somehow, three of us had fit on that queen-sized bed.
Darn cat.
Super cute. Tragic backstory. Pain in the ass.
What if you invited him to move in here?
My mind rebelled. Not so much at the idea of being with Spencer all that time—no, I didn’t mind that at all. I just couldn’t figure out how his cat would cope. Would he be lost all the time? Would he be able to find the litter box? Would he scratch my mother’s draperies?
Would you care?
Ridiculous. One day and night of amazing sex was not enough to base a relationship on. Hell, before I went to his office yesterday, he’d still been mad at me. For the city-hall thing. For the Lion’s Gate Bridge thing.
I have to get back into his good graces.
Or was I there already? Did a good fucking wipe away all the bad shit I’d done? I just didn’t know.
We’d exchanged hand jobs in the shower this morning. Since the rain was still coming down, he’d opted to drive his electric car to work, and I’d driven myself home. I’d spent most of the day trying to work out a song in my mind, and then we’d had rehearsal.
You can’t show him the song until it’s perfect.
No, I couldn’t. So I’d have to work harder to make everything the very best that I could. Perhaps by the time I finished, I might know where I stood with him.
Before I could do something as shmoopy as shooting off a text to him telling him that I missed him, I powered down my phone and went to sleep.