Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Do you have plans here in New York?” the host asks.
“Not many,” Harley says breezily. “I’m in the middle of writing songs for my next album, so I’m out here looking for some inspiration.”
“So you’re not out here because of the rumors?”
It’s brief and covered quickly, but I see it—the fear in Harley’s eyes as if the show has worked out his secret and has put him on the spot right now in front of an audience, because this question doesn’t follow the usual script.
“What rumors would those be?” He pulls off the coy act well.
“That there’s a band who has a show at Madison Square Garden tomorrow, and that you might be in attendance.”
Harley smiles. “Eh. I might be stopping by a certain concert that’s happening tomorrow night.”
The audience cheers.
“Singing with Radioactive?”
“Maybe.” He nods. “But you know I can’t tell you top secret information.” He nods faster. “But let’s just say, anyone who was lucky enough to score tickets to the show are in for a treat.”
“And you’re the treat?”
Harley laughs. “Duh. Look at me.”
On anyone else? I’d say that line was cocky and … well, like Kanye. On Harley? He has this way of making it sound self-deprecating, and it’s cute.
Once the interview is over and Harley leaves the stage, he lets out a loud relieved breath and falls back into moody Harley mode.
I want to reach for him. I want to massage the tension out of his shoulders. If we weren’t in public and didn’t have the five-foot-nothing Jamie hovering by us, I might’ve done it. It’s probably for the best I can’t.
On the way back to the hotel, I have to say something. “Do you hate New York?”
He looks at me as if I’m crazy. “What?”
“Do you hate New York? You’re all grumpy.”
“I’m fine.”
Sounds it.
We drop Jamie off at her room and then go to ours. I clear his bedroom but then pause before letting him in.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just … exhausted. The media circuit is always mentally draining. Seeing Jay is going to be shit, so I know I’m not going to get the sleep I need. My throat hurts, and I need to sing live tomorrow night, so I’m trying to rest my voice.”
I wonder if there’s more to it, but it’s not like I can force it out of him. “Okay. I’ll stop trying to get you to talk.”
He slips into his room, and I go to the other bedroom in the suite.
Like him, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to sleep. I imagine him in his room, tossing and turning, rumpling the sheets as he tries to get comfortable.
He’ll end up on his stomach, one leg out of the sheet, his arms under his pillow, and drool on his chin.
That’s how he’s looked the few times I’ve woken him up since working for him.
Eventually, I do sleep, but I think I only get a couple of hours. I didn’t close the curtains in my room, so I’m awoken as soon as the sun rises and brightens the city.
I check on Harley, and yup, he’s in the exact position I thought I’d find him in. Sneaking back out of his room so I don’t wake him, I take a look at what they have in the suite and find a range of teas and coffees on top of the minibar.
He said he has a sore throat, so I pick the lemon tea and make him a cup.
It tastes gross and makes me wince, but it should help.
When I take it into Harley’s room, he’s now awake.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” I ask.
“Nah, I was kind of in and out. I don’t think I fell into a deep sleep the whole night.”
“I brought you tea.” I place it on his bedside table.
“You brought tea,” he repeats. “For me.”
“You said your throat hurts. It’s lemon.”
Harley sits up and reaches for the cup. He takes a sip and gags. “That’s lemon? Tastes like piss.”
“Do I want to know how you know what piss tastes like? I’m not really into kink shaming, but I do have my limits.”
He just about chokes. “Thank you. For the piss water.” He takes another sip and winces. “Okay, can I double-check you didn’t piss in here?”
I laugh. “You don’t trust that I already took a sip of it?”
“If you did, you never would’ve given it to me.”
I take it from him. “I did, but if you still don’t trust me.” I take a gulp and swallow it down, forcing my face to remain impassive. “There. Now stop being a baby and drink your piss water.”
“Just when I thought you were being nice to me.”
“I’m always nice to you.”
“Need I remind you—”
“I tackled you one time!”
“Never going to live it down,” he sings.
“At least you’re a bit perkier today.”