Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 100441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100441 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“A love song? Eww.”
“Do you know ‘Love Song’ by Sara Bareilles is actually a hate song to her label? So is ‘Harder to Breathe’ by Maroon 5. They take their hatred for the system and write it into a song about love and heartbreak and frustration.”
“So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying tell them to fuck off in a subtler way.” I grab a pen and paper. “What was that first line again?”
“The perfect sound …”
“And then the next one is about image, right? So, the song is clearly about not being good enough or the perception of not being good enough. If we put that in the context of a relationship, what do people want? Are we pronoun-ing this? Are you going to be an out artist right off the bat knowing it could affect debut album sales?”
Lyric looks at me like he’s wondering if I actually asked that.
“Okay, okay. Just checking. So something like about being the wrong type of guy. Someone he won’t bring home to momma.”
Lyric bites his bottom lip. “Are parents really still like that? I mean, my mom didn’t even blink when I told her I was gay. When I told her I was going to be a musician on the other hand … If she had assets instead of a mountain of debt, I think I would’ve been removed from the will that day.”
I avert my gaze. “Trust me when I say there are definitely parents out there like that. Unfortunately.”
“I think the only time my mother would hate someone I’m dating is if he was a musician.”
“Guess I’m out, then,” I joke. Though, it’s not really a joke. “Lucky we decided the whole kissing thing was a bad idea.”
“Ooh.” Lyric takes the pen and paper from me and scribbles something down.
Kissing you was a bad idea.
I’m not your right type of guy.
You spend your days making music
I spend mine getting high.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you, really?”
“I’m high right now.” Then his face falls when he sees I’m not amused. “Dude, it’s a joke. Hardly drink and I say no to drugs, remember? I couldn’t think of anything else that rhymes with guy.”
“We’ll work on it.”
And it’s surprising how easily Lyric and I work together. For the next few hours, we fill our time writing out words and putting them to Lyric’s melody. While he jokes around and tries to slip in lyrics that will never work, he’s also professional. He takes criticism better than I thought he would, and he only fights me on some of my clichéd preferences.
It’s actually fun working with him.
Whenever Harley and I sat down to write, we were at each other’s throats by the end of the session. With Lyric, time flies by, full of both laughs and productivity, and before we know it, it’s two in the morning, and we realize Kaylee’s going to be awake in three hours.
At least she’s managed to sleep through tonight with no more dreams. So that’s a bonus.
“We don’t really have time to lay this down tonight,” I say.
“We’re both going to be dead on our feet tomorrow.”
“Are you going to stay the night?”
Lyric’s eyes widen.
“In the nanny’s quarters,” I clarify. “You’re more than welcome to.”
“Yeah. I’d likely crash your precious car if I tried to drive.”
“How about this. We’ll go to bed now. I’ll get up with Kaylee at five and let you sleep in until you have to go to playgroup at ten, and then I’ll nap after you’re gone.”
Lyric’s so adorably tired he acknowledges the plan with a nod and stands. “Sounds fair.” He drags his feet through the hallway leading to the nanny’s part of the house.
I watch him until I realize I want him to be walking through the other door to my side of the house. Maybe toward my bedroom.
Ugh.
I may be dead tired, but my cock definitely isn’t.
Not while watching Lyric walk away in his tight jeans.
Shake it off, Ryder.
I don’t have anything planned for the next few days in the recording studio, so I leave our mess of pens and paper all over my desk and go the opposite direction, away from Lyric.
My legs are apparently too tired for stairs and trip their way up half of them. I’m tempted to crawl toward my room.
As soon as I’m behind closed doors, I peel off my clothes and get into bed in my boxer briefs.
Kaylee’s going to wake me up in three hours. Four if she sleeps in, which is rare.
Yet all I can think about is Lyric’s smile, his eagerness to work, and the way he’d glare at me when I’d suggest something too mainstream.
He thinks he looks mean and threatening or pissed off, but honestly, he looks more attractive when he’s mad.
My cock is hard, just like it was last night without him even touching me. I went to bed hard as a rock but was reluctant to do anything about it because it would be a mistake.