Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“You know that saying, in a life where you can be anything, be kind? Well, I’d rather be fucking awesome. All those things people just won’t do because they’re afraid or they’re worried about failure or embarrassment? I want to do them. I want to be brave enough. I want to see beauty in the not-so-beautiful. And the fucks? I want to give all the fucks when it counts and not give them when it doesn’t.” I realize I shouldn’t be talking to my husband about fucks, but it’s not the same. It’s not that kind of fucks.
Dear lord, my face is probably on fire. I whip back around to the pot and stir, stir, stir. In my defense, if I don’t, burning will happen, and I’ve burnt enough crap this morning already.
The beginning of a smile makes my heart flop over when I glance over at Serling out of the side of my eyes. “That sounds like a good way to live.” A beat of silence follows, and then, “How did your parents pick out your name?”
If I had a dollar for every time someone’s asked me that, I wouldn’t have had to get contractually married to get my brother those surgeries, but for some reason, the way Sterling asks gives me pleasant goosebumps. I don’t mind it at all, making conversation with him.
“Apparently, it’s just another form of Waylon, but could my parents take the easy route? No, they could not. They had to go with something wild. I know it’s not a common female name, but whatever. Unisex is in fashion.”
“So are strange names,” Sterling says.
“Is it strange?”
He taps the tabletop with his fingertips, and his smile gets a little bit shy, which makes him look absolutely adorable. “Maybe a little, but I like it.”
“It sounds like wetland. That’s what most people associate it with.”
“That’s funny. Because I associate it with you, and you sound like an angel even when you’re just talking.” At those words, his cheeks turn pink, and he ducks his head. I don’t think he meant to say that, or at least not all of that, and it makes me stir the pot even harder and faster because my heart is racing, and I have to do something to keep from blurting out something silly.
We both fall silent, but sometimes having nothing to say is a huge improvement over giant embarrassing things, saying sad things, or being hecking awkward as all heck.
“I can’t sleep without white noise at night. I used to have a noise machine.” I don’t know why I’m saying this. Maybe because he’s given me so much, and it doesn’t matter that he told it to me like facts and without emotion. I know it hurt—his past. “But then my parents found this new age stuff. It’s just music. Tones and just kind of crazy stuff. I listen to it every single night.”
“I would have pegged you for more soft country.”
“Nah. Nothing with words. If I listen to the words, then I can’t fall asleep. If I know the songs, then I’m going through all the words. If I don’t know them, then I’m focusing on them, and it has the opposite effect of making me tired.”
The mix is finally ready, and I whip it off the burner so it can cool for a few minutes before I add the marshmallows. I don’t want anything to melt down to nothing. I lean against the counter and face Sterling because having a conversation with my back turned to him doesn’t seem very brave. “Are you one of those disagreeable label execs who kind of intimidates the hell out of people?”
“Never. That’s not my vibe at all.”
“Do you still meet with people, or is someone else doing the meeting?”
“I still discover every single artist we sign, and I absolutely meet with every one of them. By discover, I mean every single suggestion goes through me, so I might not make the original discovery. That’s probably taking too much credit or using the wrong word. But I do care. I care about my company, every single person there, and every single artist. That’s another reason why I’ll do anything to hold it together. If my cousins get those shares, they’ll be able to break it up or do anything they want to them, and just because they’re mine, they’ll cash them out in any way they can. And if they can’t find a buyer, they’ll do what they can to make my life miserable, which means everyone who depends on me will suffer.”
“So they wouldn’t sell them to you if anything happened, and they got them?” I ask.
“Oh, hell no. No way in hell, cold day in hell, all the hell, just no.”
“Why do they act that way? Is it because of what you said about your aunt encouraging competition?”