Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“As a matter of a fact, I’m not. Did Google not tell you that?”
His easy answer, not at all what I expected it to be, threw me for a loop, and confusion lowered my filter even more. “Google just shows you with a bunch of girls.”
“Ohhhh,” he said, laughing. “So, you’ve checked?”
My face would be permanently twisted in a wince of regret if I didn’t think before speaking. But the truth was, I checked more than I liked to admit.
Again, I thought of Sonia and how I never failed to glare at her picture like it would make her any less gorgeous. She even had good taste in shoes, which made me equally envious, and also want to ask her where she shopped.
“I mean, it’s hard to miss,” I said flippantly, trying to backtrack.
“Mmhmm,” he responded with disbelief.
I had some disbelief of my own. He didn’t even hesitate when I asked him about dating, but he seemed awfully close with Sonia when she pressed her lips to his in the photo. They looked awfully close in every photo they’d been in over the last year. It’d been on and off with others mixed in, but still. Interviewers always implied that his love songs were about her, but he never confirmed or denied it.
Had I read it wrong? Was he really single?
Did it matter?
“So, what about you? Any guys in your life?” he asked, pulling me out of my inner revelry.
Warmth bloomed in my chest at his curious tone. Part of me wanted to lie and say yes, but I resisted the petty urge. “Just me, my van, and my girls.”
“Anyone serious before? In college?”
I paused, noting this question held more weight—more than conversational curiosity.
“No. Maybe a boyfriend or two, but no one serious.” Just someone I gave my virginity to and another I wasted six months on. My most serious relationship was with my porn collection I’d take to my grave.
“Cool.”
A silence lingered, and I connected Orion’s belt thinking over what to say next. “Is your dad still in New York?”
“Back in Chicago, but visits New York a lot. What about your mom? Is she still in New York?”
“Yup.”
“And you?” he asked softer. “Are you still in New York, or is home somewhere else now?”
“Yeah. I’m still there,” I admitted like I expected him to narrow down the addresses in all of New York and pop up at my tiny apartment. “Just a small home base.”
“Yeah. I have a home base there, too.”
My heart skipped a beat, wondering how far he was from my apartment.
“Upper East Side. Nothing big.”
I laughed, imagining his nothing big was a whole lot different than my less stylish, nothing big, in an up-and-coming neighborhood.
“I’m sure it’s a shack,” I said dubiously.
“Everything is a shack in New York.”
“Very true.”
“Either way, it’s a good enough place to rest my head and write some music in my downtime.”
“You still write the songs?” I asked.
“Almost all of them.”
That made more sense than I wanted it to. I thought back to all the angry songs from their first album that I convinced myself weren’t about me. Seems like maybe they were.
I wrote more than my fair share of angry songs at the same time. The difference was that I sold them to other bands rather than sing them myself. One of my many business ventures Aiken wanted me to combine with my Instagram business to build a brand.
The thought of everyone knowing the songs I wrote left me anxious thinking about them hearing the lyrics and getting a peek inside my soul. It left me exposed and naked.
I currently used a private LLC to sell my music through online avenues. I took every precaution to protect my identity. Before I left high school, I deleted all my social media, only starting up the Instagram I had now because I wanted to share my art and travels, and someone told me I could probably start selling art on Instagram. I made sure to never show my face and used another LLC for that too. I didn’t want to be in the public eye—especially with any connection to the music world.
I’d done that before, and it had been the worst experience of my life.
The one that had pulled me away from Parker Callahan when I’d needed him most.
The one that had left me yearning for a man who stole my heart and ran away to a life I could never be a part of.
“At least I used to write our music,” he grumbled, interrupting my melancholy.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve…” His exhale carried so much weight even I could feel the pressure of it through the phone. “I’ve been in this writer’s block.”
“Shit. That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. We’re supposed to be working on an album soon, but I don’t have any lyrics to sing. I highly doubt our fans will be thrilled with a purely musical album.”