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)
11
NIXON
I tapped my phone and the display lit up. 3:23 a.m. and I had yet to sleep, not that I really wanted to anyway. I knew exactly what I’d see if I managed to drift off.
Nix, will you teach me to play guitar?
Maybe the insomnia was actually a gift at this point.
The house was silent as I tossed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. A few months ago, I would have had options—someone would have been awake and ready to kill a few hours. Hell, three a.m. used to be prime time. Now, Jonas was in Boston with Kira, Quinn was in Bozeman with Graham, and I was in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, with a woman I shouldn’t touch, wouldn’t talk to, and couldn’t get out of my mind.
Yeah, being sober was great.
Maybe some of that tea would help with…something, anything at this point.
I didn’t bother with my flashlight as I headed for the door. I’d been up in the middle of the night often enough to know the layout of the room with my eyes closed at this point.
My breath caught as I opened the door.
Zoe was asleep on the hallway floor.
It wasn’t like she’d fallen asleep by accident either. She’d brought her pillow and blanket from her room. She’d chosen to sleep here. Chosen to keep watch—or at least use herself as an early detection system for my possible escape.
I raked my hand through my hair. What the hell had I done to this girl? Shutting her out this week had been a last-ditch effort to shield her from the utter wreckage I would no doubt leave in my wake if I got much closer to her, and yet all I’d done was drive her to sleep on the fucking floor.
I dug her out of the cozy nest she’d built herself and lifted her into my arms. She was out cold. The woman didn’t do anything half-assed, including sleep. Damn, she felt good in my arms.
A good man would have carried her back to her bed and tucked her in.
I carried her to mine instead.
Her hair fanned out over my pillow as I got her settled, and I smiled. Tomorrow morning, my pillowcase would smell like coconuts and Zoe, which was more than fine by me. I pulled the comforter over her beautiful curves, making sure her soft skin was covered from the nape of her neck to the tips of her toes. It got cold around here at night.
My instincts told me to climb in and warm her with my own body. To pull her close and hold tight. To stop pushing her away and instead, savor each second I had before I inevitably fucked up a relationship I wasn’t even in. She was only here, putting up with my shit, because she was being paid to be. And still, I couldn’t slow the rate of descent as I spiraled toward her, caught up in some unrelenting force that kept us on what felt like a collision course.
Zoe was strong, but she was also tender, where I was a mess of thorns and barbed wire. Getting tangled up with me could only end one way for her. I wouldn’t just ruin her reputation, I’d ruin her.
I sank into the winged armchair as she roused slightly and adjusted the blanket. She didn’t wake completely, just burrowed a little deeper into my pillow and sighed with what sounded like contentment.
I envied her ability to sleep so restfully almost as much as I was determined to protect it. I hadn’t slept a full night in over a decade without some form of self-medication. As penance went, I’d gotten off easy.
Nix, will you teach me to play guitar?
God, that little girl had shredded me tonight. It wasn’t that their faces looked the same, because they didn’t. But that hair had stopped me dead in my tracks, and when she asked me to teach her… My stomach curdled for the hundredth time since dinner—or lack thereof.
Why the hell had I gotten a chance to play when she didn’t? It wasn’t fair. It would never be fair. I’d taken one look at those guitars tonight and all I’d seen were the moments she’d been deprived of. Moments she deserved way more than I ever did.
The sun had turned the wall a dusky shade of pink by the time I checked my phone again. Six fifteen. Thursday, October second. We had to leave for Vegas tonight, followed by the Tacoma show. Not sure who the hell had booked that one, but I must have been drunk to agree to it.
Shit. We had a show tomorrow, and I’d just thrown out my eight best guitars.
Thursday. Trash pickup day.
“Fuck,” I muttered, rising to my feet and grabbing a hoodie from the top of my dresser. Did I want to play? No. But I wasn’t about to blow a show and make Quinn and Jonas look like assholes either. All of this would be for nothing if I didn’t get my shit together and play, which meant I needed to get out to the curb before trash pickup.