Page 28 of Sweet Surrender

Hendrix Wright is definitely not the typical Gizmo type of blond hair, long legs, and a cluster of fake things on her: hair extensions, breasts, eyelashes, nails, fillers, you name it. God love all of them too.

No. She’s the total opposite. Natural with light makeup but that’s it. Her hair is light brown and it falls in waves down her back. Her eyes are hazel, framed with thick lashes. They could be considered oversized, but that only showcases her every emotion. Her skin is pale, which serves to highlight the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the blush of pink on the apples of her cheeks.

And then there’s her mouth. It’s about as sexy as the curve of her ass. Her lips are full and a dark pink, and she has a tendency to bite her bottom lip, which drives me somewhat mad.

“Did I forget something?” she asks when I don’t respond to her first question.

“No.” I pull up to a stop right in front of her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why would I not be?” An unnamed emotion flickers there but it’s too quick to pinpoint.

“That was a lot and unexpected and . . . now that you’ve had a few minutes to decompress without Nathaniel or me staring at you, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I chuckle. “I guess I already said that, didn’t I?”

Her expression softens but her guard stays up. “For some reason this whole past month has been a lot and unexpected so it’s just par for the course, I guess.” She bites her bottom lip and shifts her feet. “Which like I said, is why I guess I said yes.”

“Already getting cold feet?” I tease.

“Isn’t that normal before a wedding?” She smiles and looks down at her twisting fingers. Funny how she was so sure of herself in that conference room but now that it’s the two of us, she seems nervous.

“From what I hear. I’ve never been married before.”

“Me either,” she whispers.

“You sure you’re good with this? With . . . everything?” Without thinking, I reach out and tuck an errant piece of hair behind her ear. It’s something I’ve never done before, but it seems Hendrix has that effect on me. Asking someone to marry me. Chasing after them in garages. Tucking hair behind their ears.

“No.” She laughs nervously. “I’ll be fine. I’m not good at lying. Maybe I should have admitted to that before I signed on the dotted line that come to think of it, wasn’t really dotted, but I’m not.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll stay in our little bubble. You’ll get to do your work. We’re currently writing our next album so that will force me to create more since I’ll be home more. We’ll figure it out. No big deal.”

But it’s a huge fucking deal. A woman? Living with me? Usually they come for the night, maybe stay for two, and then they’re gone. They never live with me.

“I know. It’s just . . . weird.”

I nod. My bandmates are going to lose their minds over this one. They’re going to give me so much shit. Here I am thinking about the change to my life when hers is about to get thrown in a blender and turned on without the top put back on. I fear she has no idea what she’s signed on for. The life I live and the people who demand everything from me isn’t for the faint of heart.

“Thank you,” I say softly. Contritely. “You’re doing me a huge favor. I promise to try and protect you as much as possible from the outside chaos and noise.”

Her smile is brave but she blinks away the threatening tears as she fights the regret brimming in her eyes. “I’m holding you to that.”

Let’s hope I don’t let you down.

That seems to be my MO.

CHAPTER NINE

Gizmo

I drop the drumsticks, and grab the towel I keep close by to wipe the sweat off my face and neck.

“You good with that riff?” Vince Jennings, our lead guitarist, asks the three of us.

Hawkin Play, our lead singer, glances over to him and nods. He has a pencil in between his teeth while he scribbles out the lyrics we just figured out with another one in his hand.

Our fourth and final band member, Rocket, sits to the right of me, his eyes closed and head bobbing as he replays the whole song in his head. He’s good like that. The lucky bastard can play something once and commit it to memory.

“I like it,” Hawke says. “It still needs some tweaking but it has a good feel to it. You fine with it, Giz?”

“You know me, I’m good with anything.” I take a sip from my water bottle. “Anything but that crap we put together last time. That was . . . dogshit.”