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)
She shook her head. “You don’t want to see my apartment.”
“I do. I want to be wherever you are.” It was the most honest thing I’d ever said to her.
Her lips parted, and she smiled. “Good. Because I feel the same.”
“Thank fuck.” Every taut muscle in my body relaxed.
“Oh, come on, like anyone has ever told you no.” She picked up my hand and kissed the back of it.
“I’ve never cared enough to put myself in a position for someone to say it.” Did she know everything about me? No. But she knew more than anyone else. That was enough for now.
“We can’t stay here forever, you know. I can’t always tour with you. I won’t be outside your dressing room, fending off the women lined up to take my place.” Her grip tightened.
I leaned across the console and kissed her until we were both panting. “No one else,” I repeated the promise I’d made months ago.
“No one else,” she said against my lips. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I pulled back so I could see her in the dashboard lights. “And we can come here whenever you want. We never have to leave, as far as I’m concerned. Fly to Seattle for meetings, go out on tour, whatever.”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “No, we can’t.”
“Yes.” I looked her in the eye. “We can.”
Two little lines appeared between her eyebrows.
“You know I’m shit at following the rules, and I’ll just buy you a second present to open next week. Merry Christmas.” I looked pointedly toward the house.
She glanced back and forth in confusion.
“I bought it. The house. The land. All of it. Except the bears. Turns out, those aren’t for sale.” I held my breath as she sucked hers in.
“You bought the house…as in, that house? The McClaren house?” Her voice broke.
“We can call it whatever you want, since you’re on the title too. I was going to give you the whole thing, but just in case I fuck this up, I have the legal right to park a camper on the front lawn and loudly beg your forgiveness.”
“This had to have cost millions.”
“A couple.” Three.
“We weren’t even officially together until twenty minutes ago!”
“I didn’t say my attorneys approved of the decision.” I shrugged. “I like it here. I want to know we can come back whenever we want, so I bought it. Merry Christmas. Accept your gift.” Was it always this hard to give a woman a present?
“I didn’t get you anything near this big!” she sputtered.
“You’re welcome.” I grinned, then drove us into the garage and parked. She was still slack-jawed when we made our way inside.
“Seriously, Nixon…” She shook her head, looking around like it was the first time she’d seen it. “This is too much. I bought you a new strap for your Les Paul because the other one leaves a welt on your shoulder.” She sighed.
My chest tightened. “Really?”
She nodded, pursing her lips.
“You noticed the welt.” I pulled her against me.
She nodded again.
“You’re incredible, and I can honestly say that’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever been given.” I dipped to kiss her.
She put a finger on my lips. “Don’t say that until you see it. I had it personalized.”
I grinned. “Oh yeah? What does it say? Nixon? Sex God? Yes, oh yes, please, yes?”
“Not exactly.” She arched an eyebrow, and I waited. “It says, ‘Zoe’s.’”
My mouth dropped for a second, and she laughed.
“Just kidding,” she rushed. “I got you two. That one was the joke.”
“Until I wear it in Houston and you’re the one answering the questions,” I teased, meaning every single word. I lifted her by her ass, and she locked her ankles around my waist, Grinch sweater and all. “What does the other one say?”
She set her lips to my neck, and my grip tightened. “‘Still Zoe’s.’”
We didn’t make it to the bedroom.
15
ZOE
I was blissfully, madly, totally in love with Nixon. Every day, it got just a little harder to keep it in, but I wasn’t about to scare him off when he’d come so far. He challenged me every day, worshipped my body every night, then wrote music in the mornings while I worked.
It was the kind of perfect we knew couldn’t last—hiding away in our little slice of heaven—but we held onto it with our fingernails. Nixon had paid millions to keep it—to give me equal footing in this one space we both owned. But even this house couldn’t prevent the calendar from turning, and February came, no matter how hard we both tried to hold it at bay.
He wore the “Zoe’s” guitar strap I’d bought him as a joke instead of the real “Nixon” one that had been his actual present for the Houston concert a few hours ago, and according to the thirty-seven emails in my inbox, the world had noticed. But hey, he was asleep at my side without a welt. Deliciously naked and weltless.