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)
“Sorry. I’ll be better about picking up the phone,” I promised. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to my friends as much as I felt like I was different here—Nixon 2.0—and I was just as apprehensive of the change as I was protective of it.
“Yeah, right. So, what does Zoe think?”
I took him off speakerphone and lifted the phone to my ear, then leaned around the wall of the living room to make sure she was still engrossed in whatever contract she was currently negotiating.
“Nix?”
I sighed. “She hasn’t heard it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I dropped onto the couch and stared out at the snow-covered Rockies. We’d gotten about a foot last night.
“But…it’s about her, right?” he guessed, his tone dropping slightly.
“Maybe,” I admitted gruffly.
“Nixon, we’ve been friends for a long time, and unless you’re hiding a whole collection of sh—crap somewhere that I don’t know about, you’ve never written a song for a woman.”
Silence filled the line.
“Can I take that as a confirmation?” he asked.
“Not if you’re going to get pissed.” I let my head fall back on the cushions.
“I’m not. I just thought you didn’t…play with women on our staff,” he said slowly.
“Play.” I scoffed at the way he flipped the language around just because he was a dad now. “Yeah, well, I’m not playing. Not with her. It’s…” Serious. Addictive. Perfect. Infuriating. More necessary than air. “It’s complicated.”
“You’re telling me you wrote that song and you’re not playing?”
“If you’re asking if I’m sleeping with her, then that’s none of your business.” What was between Zoe and me was private. It had been two weeks of easy, open communication, no fighting, and the most mind-blowing sex of my life.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Daddy!” I heard Vivi exclaim.
“Don’t repeat that to Mommy,” Jonas begged.
“Mommy already heard!” Kira’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hi, Nixon.”
“Tell Kira I said hi.”
“He says hi,” Jonas muttered. “Look, I’m trying not to be that guy, when you’re obviously happy—”
“Then don’t,” I countered. “She’s only on staff for the next two months. Once we’re through the Houston show, she’s leaving the Hush Note account and taking on her own bands.”
“Oh.” His tone changed completely. “Good for her.”
“Yeah. She works really hard. She deserves it.”
“She does. And when you need advice, call.” There was some more shuffling and the sound of a door opening.
“What makes you think I’ll need advice?”
“Given what I saw at the Tacoma show, I think it’s safe to say that this is the longest relationship you’ve ever had—”
“It’s not a re—” Shit, it so was a relationship.
“And there’s bound to be a few struggles when she’s no longer assigned to be at your beck and call. She’s not like one of the girls milling around the dressing rooms, Nix.”
“I know that!” I snapped.
“Good. I gotta go, but you should play her the song. It’s pretty fu—phenomenal.”
“Thanks.” I hung up with him just as Zoe walked in. She was in jeans and one of my hoodies—which hit her low on the thigh. Relaxation looked good on both of us. “All finished?”
I sat up, tossing my phone on the coffee table to free up my hands. I’d learned fast that she was hands-off during the workday, but once she got through her daily to-do list, which was longer than my yearly one, it was play time.
“Yep,” she said, flipping through the letters in her hands as she came closer. “Just going through today’s mail. Nothing big. Looks like just a few bills.” Her brow puckered. “This is weird.” That was saying something considering she’d been responsible for quite a few unsavory pieces of my mail in the last few months.
“What?” I asked, gripping her hips and pulling her toward me. Everything could wait. I needed to hear her scream my name again in this room. The acoustics were incredible.
“It’s from a law firm, but it’s addressed to you.” She flipped the envelope over, showing the forwarding sticker that brought it here. “Did you get sued again?”
“That was one time, and it was bullshit.”
She lifted her eyebrows at me. “You spray painted that woman’s house.”
“True, but in my defense, I thought it was mine. And I was twenty-three. And drunk.” I leaned back and tilted my head to see the return address.
“I’m not sure that makes it any better,” she teased.
Howell and Johnson, Attorneys at Law. My stomach fell out. It’s not him, just a letter. Not him. Not him.
“Have you ever been sued for paternity?”
But it was in her hands, a thin layer of paper away from touching her—affecting and infecting her.
“Nix?” Her hand cupped my face, and I jerked my gaze to hers. “I was just joking. But…have you? You know? Ever been sued for paternity?” Her brow furrowed, and concern darkened her eyes.
“Hell no. Never been that wasted.” I shook my head. I had to get that letter out of her hands. He wasn’t allowed here. Wasn’t allowed near her.