64. Crazy #3
I pause mid-step,
narrowing my eyes at him.
He lets out a small laugh, tilting his head, giving me that look that says he thinks I’m adorable. “Just keepin’ your feet on solid ground.”
Ty turns over, setting his empty glass on the deck. “And I’d want none of that release limbo bullshit. Label can’t own my music, then not release it.”
Linc laughs. “You do know how crazy that sounds, right? ‘We own your music, but we’re not using it. And you can’t benefit from it either, so we’re gonna block you from eating and call it shelving.’ Even crazier, artists are like ‘sure, where do I sign?’”
“It’s ridiculous.” Ty sits up, shaking his head. “Ten people who never made a song shouldn’t get to tell me mine ain’t ready.” He scoffs. “I don’t wanna hear ‘the team is reviewing it.’ What team? Name the coward.”
“Okay,” I say, pinching my lip, thinking. “So a release-window clause. Label doesn’t meet the deadline, exclusivity dies.”
Server comes back right then, hands me my blackberry basil fizz.
Andrew watches me take a sip, then says, “So major in reach, indie in chain of command.”
Right after his words land,
Ty and Linc both moan in unison.
“Linc made a good point when he said services,” I say. “I’d want a services arm within the label for indie. à la carte. Distribution, radio, playlisting, sync, marketing. They keep ownership. We take a fee.”
Andrew’s elbow drops onto the arm of the chair, where my ass was moments before, lost in thought. “Allison.” He lifts his hand lazy. “That’s it. That’s the move right there.”
I raise a brow. “It is?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Artist wants out of the traditional deal? Fine. But don’t punish ‘em for it. Don’t make ‘em run to another company. Offer the power without the chains.”
Ty nods. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”
Andrew’s gaze sweeps to Linc. “And indie guys like Mr. West Coast here? Don’t chase ‘em with contracts. Offer the services. Build the trust. He never signs? Cool. We’re still workin’ together. No indie versus label. No treatin’ artists like traitors ‘cause they wanna own their shit.”
My gaze darts to Ty.
“With a real-time royalty portal for Ty.”
“Money portal?” Ty’s palms rub together. “My love language.”
“And contract reviews,” I add. “Deals get reviewed every year ‘cause things change, right?” I gesture around the fire. “First album cycle, first platinum record, artist turns 25 if they signed young, for sobriety or rehab return, for death or grief—”
“You grow, the deal grows,” Andrew says.
“You change, the deal changes,” I reply.
A lazy smile falls on his face.
“A living contract model.”
Something dangerous is happening.
The rest of the world goes quiet around us, noise a background blur, people fading out, leaving only room for this terrifying future.
Like this could become real.
Dad appears in my mind fast, stealing my chest. “And every artist gets someone inside the building paid to protect them from the building.”
Andrew’s eyes hold mine.
“That's good.”
I can see it. “Collab, not control.”
He nods. “Relationship, not ownership.”
I sigh, shaking my head.
“But then this isn’t a label anymore.”
“Yeah. You’re right,” he says low. “It’s your home.” A silence crashes down around his grin as his gaze sinks into mine, his eyes tracing my face, refusing to look away first.
Like he’s saying,
You want it? Then fuckin’ take it.
“Okay. Damn,” Ty says, breaking the silence. “That was sexy as hell.”
Linc slaps the back of the couch. “Whatever that was, sign me the fuck up.”
// 11:00 PM //
In my peripheral,
Andrew’s face is animated when he talks to Ty, both of them in sync, laughter leaving them at the same time.
He’s fitting in just fine,
like he’s always belonged in my life.
“No way she went there.” Ty leans sideways, fist shooting to his mouth. “That Allison Taylor?”
Andrew lifts his chin,
bringing his drink to his lips.
I’m standing in the corner of the deck, mid-convo with Kate, when I freeze. “What?”
My eyes drift between Ty, Andrew,
and fucking Gemma.
Ty shakes his head, like—I’m embarrassed to be your friend. “So this is how you’re pulling dudes? Spitting bars in their inbox?”
Shit. Andrew told him about the rap.
I deliver a dead glare at Andrew, and he chokes on his Coke. “Nah, nah,” he waves it off, “I was just sayin’ how impressed I am by you. That’s it.” He lifts a finger at Ty. “He don’t pull a quadruple easy like that.”
Ty turns his head slow back to Andrew, eyes squinting. “Can’t even defend myself ‘cause technically you right.”
Then by 11:30,
the music’s turned up,
the tension’s rising,
the countdown’s sneaking closer.
I glance back over my shoulder.
Andrew’s still on the couch, except now, Gemma’s basically crawling over him as if trying to hear Linc over the music.
‘Cause obviously she wants him
(based on nothing).
Doesn’t mean I don’t support women
(away from him).
Andrew’s sunk back, relaxed,
one elbow on the arm of the couch.
When his eyes find mine across the deck, string lights glow across his face, his intense gaze smolders over the rim of his drink.
Gemma tips her chin to Andrew, says something, and when Andrew responds, her eyes make a trip to his mouth.
And the sick part is—
as long as she doesn’t touch him,
as long as he doesn’t touch her—
it makes me feral for him.
The other sick part is, Andrew knows it.
He knows my blood gets hot when women think they have a shot, when they lean close, think maybe, maybe, maybe…
then when he tells them no.
Disgusting foreplay kink I got.
It’s not jealousy, I swear.
It’s him choosing me publicly.
Gemma cups her hand around her mouth, leaning into Andrew to whisper in his ear, closing the inches between them—
When Andrew pulls back.
He presses his tongue into his cheek, cutting off his grin and shaking his head.
Gemma laughs, embarrassed.
“I was just—”
Andrew tsks. “Gettin’ a little too close.”
I bite down on my smile to kill it, turning my back to them, and step deeper into the shadowed corner, hiding my stupid smile feels, not used to being this happy.
Andrew Harding, the reason for all of it.
And I want to show him… shock him a little. So I slip my hand under my dress,then under the hem of my panties, dragging two fingers through my slit, my oversized wool coat hiding me.
Ten seconds later, Andrew’s still leaning back, thighs spread. I break away from the edge of the roof and walk toward him, the taste of my own slick waiting for him on my tongue, the heat of it hitting my blood.
The second he sees me, his conversation with Linc dies mid-sentence. As I get closer and closer, his heavy-lidded gaze follows,
starting at my thighs,
tracing the silhouette of my dress,
until I’m standing over him,
Gemma still right beside him.
He looks up at me through his lashes.
And I lean over,
hook my fingers under his jaw,
and take his mouth.
The moment my tongue drags across his, and he tastes my pussy—the mild sugary glaze, the heated, clean sweetness—his expression fractures, brows snapping together in shock.
A dark groan tears out of his throat, and his hand flies to the back of my head to kiss me deeper.
I give him three more seconds
before I’m slipping out from his hold,
inching away with a dirty little smirk.
“Shit.” A raspy laugh catches in his mouth. “Nah. C’mere.”
I shake my head, backing away slow.
He’s breathless.
“Okay, that’s what we’re doin’?”
I turn and hurry across the catwalk, no plan at all but to presumably die, my eyes locked on the half-renovated building ahead.
“You evil fuckin’ woman,” he laughs,
his voice right at my spine as he follows.
“Oh, now you’re brave?”
Inside the building, I pause at the stairs,
glancing over my shoulder,
seeing Andrew slip between bodies,
coming right this way.
The air’s freezing as I take them down, and I pull my coat closer, my steps echoing under the long rows of steel studs.
On the rooftop, the party warps into a ghostly thing—the music like a choir singing underwater, the bass like a heart thumping underground.
My boots hit the next floor, and I slip around a partition of drywall, pressing my back against the brick. The cold sinks its fangs right through my dress, craving my blood that’s pumping white-hot.
His heavy footsteps follow,
taking the stairs slow,
his low voice drifting in the dark.
“Where’s my baby?
“I know you’re near me…”
His smug voice crawls closer.
“I can feel you.”
A smile hits my face fast,
and I bite into my lip.
Outside, fireworks boom, one after the other, midnight getting close. I turn to the windowless hole in the wall, seeing the explosion, a waterfall of gold glitter in the sky.
Andrew’s shadow stretches across the concrete, throwing his dark silhouette against the wall, and I hear the grit-crunching under his boots.
I turn to go the other way,
pushing through a plastic drop cloth,
stepping into another room,
my heart beating so hard it hurts.
A cold draft snakes through the building, hitting the plastic drop cloth, making it snap and hiss.
“Allison,” his voice carries on the wind. “C’mon. You got me so fuckin’ hard. Lemme eat your pussy before I lose my goddamn mind.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat.
I slap my hand over my mouth to smother it.
“Yeah, you’re laughin’, but I bet you’re soaked right now. Saw some girl wantin’ your man… Saw your man tell her to back the fuck up. Don’t think I don’t know my girl. You like that shit.”
Keeping my hand over my mouth,
I walk to the other wall—
Two hands catch my hips from behind, startling me, a laugh punching out through my fingers.
He turns me fast,
presses me flat to the brick.
When his breath hits my mouth,
it’s hot, Coke-sweet,
my pussy still faint on his tongue.
“Feel that?” His lips coast my cheek, his stiff cock burning hot through his jeans and through my dress.
“No one else gets my dick hard. No one,” he says, slipping my jacket over my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“No one else gets me nervous, gets my heart poundin’.
Not a single fuckin’ person’s got control over my body. But you, Sonny. No one but you.”