Chapter 17 James
James
While I’m playing drums, my phone keeps ringing. And I keep ignoring it. I can’t hear it over the music, but I see it lighting up with call after call while I practice. When I finish the next song, I stand from my drum kit and walk over to where my cell phone lies on a small side table.
Charlotte.
I’ve been dodging Char’s phone calls ever since everyone found out that Georgie and I are “married.” But since she’s called me three times already this morning, I pick up when she calls for a fourth time.
“Hey, Char. What’s up?”
“About time you answered, you asshole.” I smile.
After growing up together, I’m used to her standoffish, no-nonsense demeanor.
She acts like this only because she’s gotta be tough to wrangle Rowdy, Hayes, Josh, and me and keep us out of trouble.
If she were any nicer, we’d run roughshod all over her.
“Charlie O’Brien’s drummer has the flu. Charlie wants you to fill in for the next couple of shows on his tour. ”
Charlie O’Brien is a legend in country music, and I’d give my left nut to play with him. However, I have responsibilities here at home. Georgie’s feeling better, but I don’t want to leave her alone if she’s not up to caring for Weston on her own yet.
But maybe the separation would be good for us. I don’t know what it is about Georgie, but she makes me reckless. Her presence is destroying my common sense.
For fuck’s sake, I fingered her in the middle of the night to help her fall asleep.
I lift my fingers to my nose, inhaling deeply, hoping to catch another whiff of Georgie’s smell. This isn’t healthy behavior. Or even normal behavior. But fuck if I don’t want to do it all over again.
Which will definitely make our situation messier. The lines between my fake wife and me are blurring.
Yeah, putting a little distance between us might be for the best. Perhaps I can have a one-night stand or two while I’m away to help me take the edge off so I can think with my brain and not my dick.
But that idea doesn’t excite me like it once did.
Fucking hell, could I have feelings for Georgie? Real feelings, more than just wanting to fuck her?
Wedging my phone between my ear and my shoulder, I pick up one of my drumsticks and spin it between my fingers as I think. “How many cities are we talking?”
“Orlando and Miami, for sure. Maybe Atlanta, if necessary.”
“So, about a week?”
“More like a week and a half. Could be shorter or longer. You never know with the flu.”
“Let me talk to Georgie and call you back.”
“Okay, but hurry. They’re holding a seat on a flight that leaves in a few hours. If you aren’t going to be on it, they’ll find someone else who will be.”
After saying goodbye, I walk into the house, calling Georgie’s name.
When she doesn’t answer and I can’t find her anywhere, I call her on her old ass phone.
The thing is literally held together with a strip of duct tape and only works about half the time.
But I get lucky, and she answers on the second ring.
“Hey, where’d you go?”
“I took Weston for a walk. I’ve gotta work on shedding the baby weight, you know.”
No, she doesn’t. She’s perfect just the way she is.
“Probably good for West to spend time outside. That boy needs to figure out circadian rhythm.”
Georgie laughs. “He’s getting better. According to the posts on the newborn baby subreddit, he should start sleeping for longer stretches at night within the next few weeks. Hopefully, anyway.”
I grin, knowing Georgie’s on Reddit now. “I hope so, for your sake. Hey, so, Charlotte called. I’ve been offered a temporary gig with Charlie O’Brien’s band because—”
“The Charlie O’Brien? Holy shit, James!”
A chuckle bursts forth from my lips. “My exact reaction—”
“Liar. You were probably like, ‘Oh, nice.’ And it would have been said with the same level of enthusiasm one musters for getting a free coupon for a McFlurry at McDonald’s.”
“Only because the McDonald’s ice cream machines don’t work half the time.”
“Right? What’s up with that? I read this article once about how the repairs—”
“Georgie, darlin’. I need to make a fast decision, and as much as I’d love to discuss the McDonald’s ice cream machines with you, I need to get back to Charlie’s people with my decision.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll shut up.”
I hate to ask her to stop talking, but I know how fast these things move. If Charlie’s team doesn’t hear from mine in a few minutes, they’ll start reaching out to other drummers.
“Anyway, his drummer is sick, and he’s asked me to fill in on a few of his tour dates. I’d be gone for about a week or so.”
“Okay, and…”
“And… I’m wondering if it’d be alright with you.”
Georgie lets out this funny noise, like a half laugh, half scoff. “James, we’re not really married. You don’t need to ask me. I mean, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to. So yes, please accept the offer. It sounds like a dream come true!”
“We’re not married, no, but we are… roommates.
” The word roommate leaves a bitterness in my throat, but I don’t have a better descriptor.
Crush? Woman I can’t stop thinking about?
Woman I fingered in the middle of the night?
“I don’t want to leave you if you don’t feel ready to care for Weston on your own yet. ”
“Westie Bestie and I will be just fine, James. We survived when you stayed the night with Josh.” There’s a slight pause before she rushes on, “Besides, in another couple of months, we’ll be moved out, and I’ll be Weston’s sole caretaker. So go on tour, have fun, and then tell me all about it.”
My gut seizes anytime Georgie mentions her timeline or moving out. I hate thinking about it. I know that’s the plan, for Georgie just to stay here until she gets back on her feet, but… I don’t want her to leave. Her or Weston.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am. Totally sure.”
“Okay, but I’d feel better if I had Josh swing by to check in on you and give you a break.”
Since Georgie was sick, Josh has made it a habit to come around every few days anyway, just like he used to do before Georgie and Weston entered my life.
While he hasn’t warmed up to Georgie, he loves doting on Weston.
Maybe he and Georgie need some time alone to get acquainted without me hovering and playing referee.
“That’s okay, James. We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll leave you the car keys to the Tahoe, so you can leave whenever you need to.”
“Yes, Mom,” Georgie teases, causing me to smile. I do sound overprotective.
After a quick shower, I pack a bag and say goodbye to Georgie and Weston.
As excited as I am to get back on stage, I’m sad to leave because, for the first time, I have someone at home waiting for me to return.
Before leaving the stage, my ears still ringing, I toss my drumsticks into the crowd.
Outlaw’s last performance was months ago, and I haven’t been practicing as much as I should since Georgie and Weston moved in with me.
I felt a little rusty tonight, but damn, it was exhilarating getting back out there after such a long hiatus.
Pulling off my baseball cap, I wipe the sweat from my forehead on the shoulder of my T-shirt. Charlie claps me on the back. “Well done, kid. You did great out there. Thanks for filling in for Mitch. We couldn’t have gone on without you.”
While the lead singer is the face of a band, it’s the drummer who’s the heartbeat of the band.
The beat of the drum provides the framework for the music and drives the energy behind each performance.
Without a drummer, you ain’t got shit; however, most people don’t realize that. But I’m glad Charlie does.
“Thanks, old man.”
Charlie laughs at my dig. He’s twenty years older than I am and has been in the country music business for over thirty years, but he’s never settled down.
And I don’t think he ever intends to. He’s a top performer and media darling who can do no wrong in the eyes of the public.
By day, he participates in countless interviews and charity events, and by night, he sells out arenas.
But after the show ends, the public persona Charlie adopts disappears, and the real Charlie comes out to play.
Booze, drugs, women, gambling, you name it.
Within the industry, there’s always gossip swirling about Charlie, but his team tamps down those rumors faster than a kid playing Whack-a-Mole at Chucky Cheese.
“Party tonight in my suite at the hotel.” He’s speaking to me, but his eyes are wandering over the women hanging out backstage, as a wolfish smile stretches across his face. “Feel free to bring friends. Or if you’d rather, I can introduce you to some of my friends.”
He knows I’m married, but I’m confident we hold very different beliefs regarding monogamy.
“I’ll swing by, but no need for any introductions, Charlie,” I reply before excusing myself to go shower and change into fresh clothes. Afterward, I stick around to sign autographs and mingle with the VIP guests.
Two hours later, when I step off the hotel elevator, I follow the noise until I find Charlie’s penthouse suite.
People are everywhere—spilling into the hallway, crammed like sardines inside the suite, and crowding the balcony that overlooks downtown.
Music blares, alcohol flows, smoke wafts through the space, and women in barely-there outfits drift from room to room.
And all I want to do is retreat to my hotel room and check in with Georgie. The partying, the drinking, the women… none of it holds my attention tonight. It used to, but it doesn’t anymore.
A hand reaches out, curling around my wrist, drawing me to a stop. I look down at the hand with glossy red fingernails encircling my wrist and follow the line of her arm up to her face. She’s a gorgeous woman. Tiny waist, nice tits, pretty face.
“Hey, sexy,” she says, sending me a coy smile.
“Hey, darlin’,” I reply out of habit, adopting my own public persona, but as soon as the words emerge from my lips, I hate the sound of them.
Darlin’ was always the generic term I used for any woman because it was easier than trying to remember their names.
But somewhere over the past month, I’ve come to associate darlin’ with Georgie specifically, and it no longer feels right to use it with someone else.
Her grip loosens as her fingertips trail up my forearm to caress my bicep. “You put on a great show tonight.”
I manage a tight smile. “Thanks.”
“Maybe I could show you my… appreciation,” she lifts a brow, eager to see if I’m picking up what she’s putting down.
I’m not. “Sorry, I’m on my way out.”
Her lower lip juts out in a confused pout. Don’t think she’s the type to get turned down often. “But… but you just got here.”
“Yeah, I’m just making a quick lap before heading back to my room.”
She brings her hand to her cleavage, tracing along the swell of her perky tits. “I could always come with you to your room.” She amps up the wattage of her smile. “I don’t want you to get lonely.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
I leave her standing there to say hi to Charlie and the rest of the band.
Originally, I had planned on staying longer, but after getting hit on, I realized fast that I’m not feeling this scene tonight.
When I cross the threshold of my own tranquil, private hotel room a few minutes later, I take a deep breath.
After throwing my hotel keycard onto the closest flat surface, I kick off my boots and sprawl out onto the bed.
I slide my phone out of my pocket, my fingers flying over the keyboard, feeling more excited to text Georgie than I have to do anything else all night.
She should be sleeping, but given Weston’s unpredictable sleep schedule, it’s possible she’s awake.
How’d you survive the first 24 hours without me?
Georgie
Oh, you’ve been gone? Hadn’t noticed.
Kidding, kidding. Let’s just say… we survived, but your armchair in the living room did not. Weston had a major blowout.
It was awful, James. Shit was everywhere. Somehow, he pooped with such force that his little butt cheeks acted like a funnel, propelling the poop up his back. It spewed out the arms and the neck of his onesie. Poop was in his hair, dribbling down his arms, all over me.
And all over the chair. RIP cute striped chair.
My lips twitch.
So, he had a shit exorcism.
Georgie
Something like that. Sorry about your chair. I tried my best to clean it, but the shit stain won’t come out.
Neither will the smell.
Don’t worry about the chair, Georgie.
Georgie
How’d the show go?
Great. It was good to be back on stage.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’d rather have been with you and Weston tonight. I type out those words, read them back and hit delete. While true, that isn’t something I’m ready to admit to Georgie. Not yet, and maybe not ever.
When words fail me, I know there are other ways to show Georgie that I'm thinking of her.