Was that as ridiculous as itsounded? I had no idea. My head was still light, and I wanted to curl upagainst Fox’schest again and let him hold me until it was all better.
Which wouldalsohavebeen a terrible idea.
Better not to make decisionswhile I was still recovering. I needed some time to get my brain unscrambled.
Rest would be good for me.Maybe…maybe if I took a break, I could come back to this tomorrow with a clearer headand a stronger game plan.
That was better than puttingout a bad album, wasn’t it? Better than releasing something that wasn’tmy best work. Ithadto be. Uncle Vincent would have agreed. Lucy wouldagree.
I twisted the cap on thelemonade open.
Fox was right. And he wantedto take care of me, and no one ever did that. What harm could it do to let him,just this once?
“You sure you don’t mind mehanging onto you for dear life on the way back? I could take a cab.”
“I don’t mind,” Fox said,laughter in his voice. “You did well for a first time. We’ll have you wantingyourownbike by the endof the week.”
“I kind of already do,” Iadmitted. “And you’re right. We should go home. No point in rushing myself andnot doing my best work, and I should have more time than I need to finish this,anyway.”
Fox beamed at me, and I knewI’dmade a good choice. I wanted his approval, and getting it felt like having theclouds part and the sun shine down on me after a miserable New York winter.
“I’m always right,” Foxquipped, and it sounded like the kind of thing he said a lot. Not in anarrogant way. I got the feeling he was the kind of man who wouldn’t sayanything he wasn’t sure about. Who thought before he spoke.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, goingback to sipping my lemonade.
Fox stood. “I’ll go explainto the others that you’re heading home, if that’s all right?”
I watched as he stretchedhis arms high above his head, linking his fingers and pushing his joined handstoward the ceiling until something cracked.
His shirt rode up, revealinga half-inch strip of pale stomach, a deep furrow between his abs and the musclethat ran over his hip, and the barest hint of a dark treasure trail.
My mouth went dry, but Icouldn’tquite make my brain tell my hand to lift the lemonade so I could take anothersip.
“Umm,” I said, looking up athim, struggling to remember what he’d said. I was too busy imagining running mytongue over the perfect plains of his stomach to focus on what he wassaying.
Something about… telling theothers?
That sounded like a goodplan. I didn’twant to have to justify myself to anyone, even if I knew they wouldn’t fight meon this.
“Sounds good. I’ll waithere?”
“I’ll be back before youknow it,” Fox responded with another one of his fond little smiles. I couldhave gotten addicted to those.
He patted me on the shoulderbefore he walked away, and I could still feel the warmth of his hand even asthe door to the recording booth swung closed behind him.
EIGHT
FOX
Quinn moaned as he took abite of his third slice of pizza, eyes falling closed as he chewed, a satisfiedsigh escaping him once he swallowed.
Pizza had been a mistake.
Not for Quinn—he was havinga great time—but forme.
If I’d thought the way hedevoured a peanut butter cup was bad, this was torture. He was having the timeof his life, and he didn’t seem to mind that he was being very,veryvocal about it.
Not only vocal, but outrightobscene. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips glistened, and he was sitting soclose to me that the heat of his body was sinking into mine.
