Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
“Let’s go,” she says as she starts to pull me.
Cash grabs my other arm, holding me in place. “I have to see you again.”
There’s a desperation in his heated eyes as he says it, like the thought of being apart from me is crushing him.
“Come to Graham Marshall’s launch party on Thursday,” I tell him. “It’s at his ranch in Austin.”
“I’ll be there,” he says as he stares at me with such intensity that it makes my body quake. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
I want to say something smart, something cool, something sophisticated, but all I can manage to squeak out is an “okay” before Karen drags me away from the man of my dreams.
Our eyes never leave each other until I turn the corner.
CHAPTER THREE
Cash
I’m like a wild animal pacing around my penthouse hotel room. It’s only been three hours. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to last three days.
Three days until I see her again.
Normally, I’d be grabbing a bottle—half absorbed into the couch while I drain the night away in numbness, but not tonight. My thirst is gone. My apathy obliterated. It’s the strangest thing—like someone flipped a switch and now every nerve-ending in my body is crackling. It’s electric. I feel a roar in my chest.
I feel… alive.
And I know exactly why.
Lola Lively.
I can’t stop thinking about her, obsessing about her.
Her melodic voice.
Her angelic smile.
Her mesmerizing eyes locked onto mine, freezing my breath. Freezing time. I’ll never forget it. It was the moment that changed everything. It was the moment that pulled me out of the deep unyielding darkness.
My heart races as I pace along the windows—the stunning view of the Tennessee skyline at night spread out before me.
I can’t stay here. This stifling hotel room feels too cramped. The walls are inching in on me. I want to throw a chair through a window to get some air on my clammy skin.
What I wouldn’t give for a walk outside. But that would end in chaos. I’d be surrounded by loud adoring fans, all wanting a piece of me before I even got to the stop sign on the corner.
I can’t sleep, can’t sit, can’t do anything but vibrate with this restless energy that’s pummelling me like a bull rider on a bucking beast. Her face is burnt into my mind, my pulse pounding so hard it’s like my heart is trying to catapult out of my chest.
Bret is half-asleep on my couch and I grab his shoulder, giving it a firm jolt. “Bret!”
His phone slides down his chest as he gets up, looking confused. “What is it?”
“I need the jet ready,” I say, my voice hoarse, my pulse racing. “I have to get home to my studio. Now.”
He sits up, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “We’re not supposed to leave until—”
“I need to get home now,” I tell him with desperation in my eyes. “It’s bursting out of me. I gotta get it down.”
“Oh!” he says, suddenly wide awake as I grab my guitar case and open it.
I pull out my Martin D-45 and sit on the bed, strumming a few chords as I hum out some half-formed lyrics.
“That’s good,” Bret says as he goes through his phone. “Is that new?”
I ignore him and keep tinkering, trying to tease out the song. I know from experience that if I don’t seize it immediately, it might leave and never come back.
I have a verse and a chorus cycling through my head when I finally look up a few minutes later. Bret is packing our stuff.
“The car is waiting downstairs,” Bret says, looking thrilled that I’m finally coming up with new material after all this time. “The jet will be ready when we arrive at the airport.”
“Perfect,” I say as I grab the half-empty bottle of Bourbon on the counter. I’m about to take a swig, but instead, I dump it down the sink and toss the empty bottle into the recycling bin.
Bret is staring at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head.
Normally, I’m drained after a show. I usually drink until the voices go away and my eyes close for the night, but instead, I’m vibrating with enough energy to power the entire hotel. The only thing that calms me, focuses me, is the thought of pen on paper, strings under my fingertips, turning this overwhelming obsession into music.
I’ll write a hit song that we can sing together. That will bind Lola to me forever.
And as soon as I get into my recording studio at home, I’ll do exactly that.
By the time my driver pulls onto my Texas ranch, the sun is peeking over the mountains on the horizon. I head straight to the front door and nod in response to the staff’s cheerful good mornings. They leave me alone as I march across the porch and up the stairs to my office. The sun lights up dust motes swirling around my old writing desk. My original beaten-up guitar is on the stand in the corner, calling to me.