Risky Rockstar: A Hero Club Novel, стр. 38
ME: Hey. What’s your cure for writer’s block?
I hit Send and immediately regret it. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m supposed to know what I’m doing, Instead, here I am admitting I can’t cut it on the second song.
The jumping dots appear onscreen, and I bite the skin around my thumbnail.
KADE: When you find out, let me know. I keep making so many changes, my app is glitching.
Relief hits me, and I take a large gulp of wine. Looks like I’m not the only one keeping ridiculous hours and struggling.
ME: I guess trying to write a song together while not actually being in the same room isn’t as easy as we thought?
More jumping dots appear, and I get a small thrill out of the fact that he must be watching his phone and waiting for my answer like I’m waiting for his. But no sooner do I get the thought than I push it right out of my mind.
I take a deep breath and type the words before I chicken out.
ME: We could remedy that? Want to come over and we can work on this together?
I can see his avatar appear on the bottom left, but it takes a full five minutes for him to answer. I start on the skin around my other thumb as I second-guess myself. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to mix business with pleasure and he doesn’t know how to let me down easy.
I start typing.
ME: No pressure, I just thought we can get a jump on things. You can bring the band if you don’t want to leave them out?
I hit Send and stand, pacing through the arched double doors that lead to my wraparound patio.
The dots appear, and I talk myself out of downing the entire glass of wine.
KADE: Kevin won’t mind me being there?
I blow out a breath. Of course he’ll be concerned about Kevin: it’s the middle of the night, he doesn’t know Kevin, and he doesn’t know about the arrangement, so it makes sense he’s worried he’d step on Kevin’s toes. More of the guilt that’s been swarming in me all night plagues me now as I realize I’m not only misleading my fans, but I’m also misleading Kade.
ME: Not in the slightest. He’s with a friend right now.
KADE: OK, great! Ping me the location and I’ll be there in an hour.
I send off my address and look around my home. It’s neat as a pin except for the discarded pages from my notebook. I’m not a neat freak by any means—the only reason my house is tidy is because I haven’t been here much lately—but I’m happy I don’t have to mad scramble to get things orderly. I glance down at my outfit. Maybe I should change. I shake my head. No, this isn’t a date—it’s work. I do, however, put a bra on.
Forty minutes later, Kade buzzes from my gate and I walk to the kitchen to let him in. My hands get sweaty, and I can feel sea monkeys jumping in my belly. Why am I feeling this way? I place my palms on the kitchen island and breathe in a few short breaths, telling myself I have nothing to be nervous about, this is just work.
That’s it!
Chapter 16
Kade
I pull up to Hayley’s impressive villa, and suddenly I’m not sure this is the best idea. It’s nearly 1:00 a.m., not a reasonable time to be over at someone’s home—especially if that someone is in a relationship and the guy’s not home. Sure, Hayley had invited me over and this was to work, but any gentleman would’ve come up with a reasonable excuse to decline the invitation. The problem is, I’m no gentleman, and my desire to see Hayley outweighed my common sense.
The dreams I’ve been having of Hayley nearly every night since we collaborated have intensified so much I should either have hypothermia from all the cold showers or no skin on the bottom of my feet from all the running. After thinking of Hayley while jacking off the other night, I felt like a giant dick and vowed to never do it again. Which is why I shouldn’t be here. I told Hayley I’d blown up my app, and I had. Writer’s block is a thing when you aren’t writing what you are compelled to write. But what I’m compelled to write should never be voiced. I don’t have any right to think it, let alone write it down.
I’m about three seconds away from turning around and leaving when my conscience grabs me by the scruff of the neck and slams me against the steering wheel of my truck. It reminds me that I’m a grown-assed man and can control myself around Hayley for a couple of hours. It also reminds me that leaving now would be something I can’t explain to Hayley, and it would be rude.
I turn off the engine and reach into my back seat for my guitar—I prefer songwriting using my keyboard, but that’s a bit cumbersome to bring along—and head up the landscaped path, the sound of the waves breaking gently on the shore doing nothing to calm my nerves. I clear my throat and rub a hand on my jeans before knocking on one of the double arched doors.
It’s only twenty heart-thudding-in-my-throat seconds before Hayley opens the door. When she