Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“You’re lucky I’m hungry.”
* * *
“Not interested,” I told Chris as I walked by the gathering outside my dressing room a few weeks later.
We weren’t supposed to be at this festival, but the whole thing had come together as an impromptu fundraiser, which meant I was backstage in the middle of Chicago, with about an hour to showtime.
“Noted.”
“Jonas never has this crowding issue,” I said, my hand on the door handle. Pretty sure Zoe broke me, because none of the women even looked appealing. I just wanted them all gone.
“With all due respect, Nix, Jonas never set that precedent.” He lifted his heavy black brows, clearly insinuating that I had.
“Right. Well, let’s change—” The words died on my tongue as I looked down the hall.
Zoe.
She was maybe twenty feet away, talking to the band she’d signed. Her heels were high, but she’d foregone her typical dress for a tightly tailored black pantsuit that cupped every curve the way I wanted to. She smiled at the lead singer, and my heart stopped, then thundered.
That’s not her romantic smile, it’s her professional one, I reminded myself, but it didn’t help. That clawing, insidious little knife in my stomach was jealousy. That kid was barely old enough for the beer in his hand, and he hadn’t earned a smile from the woman I loved. He didn’t know she liked honey in her tea, or that salted caramel ice cream was her favorite. He didn’t know her over-organization was the result of the first man she’d ever loved telling her she’d never be good enough. He didn’t know her favorite pajamas were the panda ones that made her look like a fucking sorority girl at a sleepover, or that her underwear always matched and was ninety percent lace. He didn’t know how she tasted, how she sounded right before she came, and if he did, I was going to kick his ass and break the fingers on his left hand so he couldn’t even strum that little guitar of his.
He sure as hell didn’t know how it felt to slide inside her bare, skin on skin, with nothing between us but my own goddamned walls. That torture was mine, and mine alone.
“You see something you might be interested in down there?” Chris asked.
“More than interested.”
“Thought so.”
I turned my head to find him smirking at me. “You knew. You knew she was here.”
He nodded. “Why do you think Jonas pushed so hard to play this show?”
I looked past Zoe and her band and found both Jonas and Quinn leaning out of their respective dressing rooms, watching. I tilted my head at them and narrowed my eyes.
Jonas lifted his brows and slipped slowly back inside his dressing room. Quinn just grinned and nodded toward Zoe, then stood to watch what I was going to do about her.
Well, I’d always done my best work in front of an audience. I blew out my breath on a long sigh and nodded to myself. Then I strode down the hall like I owned it and came up behind her. The scent of coconuts hit me straight in the dick, and I almost smiled. I wasn’t broken. I was in love.
“Zoe.”
Her shoulders straightened, then rose and fell once before she turned toward me, arching her neck slightly to look up at me. I was indecently, intimately close, and I wanted the baby rock stars behind her to note it. “Nixon.”
Words. I needed words. Quickly. But, fuck, her eyes were the knockout punch, stripping the common sense straight out of me.
“What’s up?” She arched her eyebrows in annoyance. As if I meant nothing. As if I hadn’t made her scream my name so many times she’d gone hoarse that first week. As if she didn’t love me.
“I’m in love with you.” It was easier to say than I’d imagined. Way easier. Effortless.
Her eyes flew wide.
“Holy shit,” one of the baby rockers exclaimed. “That’s Nixon Winters.”
“I am in love with you, Zoe Shannon,” I repeated, just in case she hadn’t understood me across the scant inches that separated us.
“Heard that part.” She did that little head tilt of hers that signaled her inner debate.
“And?” I would have given anything to be inside her head.
“And she obviously doesn’t feel the same,” the drummer replied. “Awkward.”
“No one asked the daycare crowd.” I didn’t look away from the confusion swirling in those green depths for fear I’d lose my chance if I lost eye contact.
“Hey, we’re like, seven years younger than you. That’s it,” another one chimed in.
“The fact that you know that when I don’t even know your names is why you’re the daycare crowd. Now quiet down and let the adults speak.” A smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
“He’s sorry, boys,” Zoe sang. “Don’t talk to them like that.”
“He’s not,” I replied. “They’re protective of you. Is that because you got them into the show, or because they’re immeasurably grateful for you making them fire their shitty bass player?”