Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Blowjobs? Who did what first?”
“I don’t remember,” he said with a half laugh. “Does it matter?”
“No. I’m curious. I’m having a moment. Like there’s an invisible angel on my shoulder telling me to let go of my ideas about how things are ‘supposed to be.’ I don’t have to be the bi guy who goes out with as many girls as guys to prove he’s masculine. I can be with the person who makes me happy without worrying about the ways I don’t measure up.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. I’m kind of crazy about you. And I’ve been thinking about love songs a lot lately for obvious reasons, but not for me. I mean in a broader sense. For example, I love my mom, but I resent her guilty hold over me. I love my brother, but I’m jealous of him sometimes. I love my best friend, but I hurt him. I don’t know how to do that emotion correctly or purely, you know?”
Gray caressed my jaw, then let his hands roam to my hip. “No one does. We all just wing it, baby.”
“Measures of kindness slip into place and allow us moments of purity…real affection, admiration, friendship. But is that love?”
Gray’s smile dazzled me. “Did you write that?”
I squinted and replayed the question in my head. “Yeah.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks,” I said distractedly. “I read Shakespeare’s sonnets recently. For you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. Do you know the line, ‘It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken…’?”
“It’s Sonnet 116. The one everyone uses for weddings,” he replied quickly.
“That’s the one. You really are a geek, aren’t you?”
“Me? I’m a tough guy. Ask anyone,” Gray joked, flexing his biceps.
I kissed his muscular arm as I rolled sideways, pushing my leg between his. “Hmm. The concept of loving someone unconditionally, without worrying if they’ll ever love you the same way stops me every time. I don’t understand it. I’ve never known anyone able to do it for a sustained amount of time. But every time we see a couple holding hands in the park or sharing an intimate look or a smile, I hope they make it. I hope they’re brave and honest and strong. ’Cause it takes more than hearts and flowers and endless sunshine. I think it’s work.”
Gray lifted my hand and kissed it sweetly. “I think you’re right.”
I noted the sheen of tears in his eyes, but I didn’t press. I didn’t want to make a heat-of-the-moment declaration, but I had one more thing to say.
“I have no idea what love is, but you’re the person I want to be with all the fucking time.”
He gave me one of his signature slow grins, the one that turned me inside out and upside down. Then he pushed the hair from my forehead and pulled me close. “I feel the same way, Jus.”
* * *
I replayed last night in my head over coffee the next morning at the kitchen island. Gray was working out in his gym. He’d invited me to join him and laughed at my deadpan expression before leaving me to consume a fuckton of caffeine and munch on the contraband donuts Charlie left in the pantry. I had a sappy smile on my face as I wrote the final lines to the love song in my notebook. I stared out at the pool, admiring the sun’s glitter-like reflection on the water when a new message from Charlie lit my screen.
The contract is ready for Zero to sign this afternoon at Rourke Studio at four p.m. Everyone needs to be there. Don’t be late.
Holy shit. This was really happening.
A wave of doubt followed my initial burst of excitement. I cautioned myself not to plan Zero’s concert tour yet. We had our first real gig at The Fix, a small indie club downtown next week. The idea of going from zero to one hundred was thrilling, but we had a ways to go. The movie soundtrack credit was a nice promotional tool, not a boost in the limelight. We had to prove ourselves and pay our dues just like everyone else. But I couldn’t help feeling a little optimistic as I texted my bandmates. Maybe this really was our beginning.
* * *
When things seem too good to be true, they usually are. The second we were ushered from the sleek, modern reception area at Rourke Studios into Seb Rourke’s private office, I sensed something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, though. Sure, I was nervous. I’d never been this close to Hollywood deal-making headquarters. At least I wasn’t alone. Johnny and Ky sat on the edges of their leather chairs in the sitting area while Tegan paced the floor, pausing at the end of each lap to peruse the photos and movie memorabilia lining the walls. We’d all dressed in nice jeans with no holes, per Charlie’s instruction, along with button-down oxford shirts. We looked like clean-cut kids rather than a kickass rock band, but I figured Charlie knew what he was doing. After all, he’d grown up in this world, and we were meeting his dad.