were knee-deep in the middle of the third set when I realized why that shrieking fan had bothered me so much—she had curly blond hair.
Just like Ashley’s.
13
ZOE
I scrolled through the latest contract offer with a little more force than necessary, skimming my fingers over the trackpad of my laptop as I sat at the dining room table.
I’d waited six days for Nixon.
Then seven.
Now eight.
He’d been quiet since we’d come back to Colorado, or maybe focused was a better word. He’d been kind, ridiculously courteous, and even conceded to my movie pick without complaint last night. He’d been…professional.
Not once had he brought up the deal I’d made with Ben, or the rather embarrassing confession I’d given him before he’d taken the stage in Tacoma. He didn’t mention the woman with the curly blond hair, or that we’d earned a curious stare by more than one roadie when he kissed my forehead.
Nixon was cool.
Nixon was calm.
Nixon was collected.
I was the one going out of my fucking mind. I was in love with him, and there was nothing I could do about it. My heart had abandoned all logic, all reason, and embraced the complete madness I’d brought myself into.
The grandfather clock in the family room chimed ten, and I scrolled on, mentally formulating the precise rejection for this particular offer. Ben might be proud of me and ready to set me free, but he wasn’t done handing me the grunt work, which was just fine with me, since it wasn’t like I had anything else to do.
Nixon appeared in the doorway and stretched, revealing the strip of his stomach that carried the tattoo, Apathy is Death. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be dying any time soon, because the heat that licked through my belly at the sight of his abs was anything but apathy.
“How much longer are you working for?” he asked, bracing his palms on the doorframe.
“Just about done,” I replied, forcing my eyes back to the screen.
“Is it important?”
“No. Just reading an offer so I can reject it tomorrow.” Something you’re familiar with.
“Okay. Well, I’m going to head up to bed,” he said.
“Good to know.” I could have sworn I saw him crack a smile from the corner of my eye, but it was gone before I looked up.
“Want to come with?” His voice went all gravelly.
“I’m sorry?” I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows.
“Do you want to come to bed with me?” There was nothing but pure intent in his eyes.
“Is that a trick question?”
He stalked forward, his gaze lazily traveling over my baseball tee and pajama pants. “It’s been forty-eight hours.”
I turned in my chair to stare up at him. “Okay, I’ll play your little game. Forty-eight hours since…” What? The concert? Ben’s little reveal? My single-sided confession?
“Since I walked off the stage.” He braced one hand on the back of my chair and the other on the table. “Forty-eight hours and”—he glanced at the clock on my laptop—“three minutes.”
“Aww, look at you, telling time,” I teased, giving his cheek a little pat.
He turned his face and pressed a kiss to my palm, then raked his teeth over the pad of my thumb and swirled his thumb over the sting.
My breath caught. “You have my attention.”
The smirk that played across his face sent my heartbeat through the roof.
“Nixon,” I warned. If this was his new form of getting under my skin, I was going to lose my shit.
“I’m level. I’m steady. And the only craving I have is for you. There’s zero chance this has anything to do with the show, or the high, or even jet lag. I’ve been counting down every single minute since I walked off that stage—hell, from the moment you said you wanted me first. In a few months, you won’t even be on staff, which knocks another barrier out of the way. Therapist said to give it a day, so I gave it two.”
I swept my tongue across my suddenly dry lips. “It’s been forty-eight hours.”
He nodded. “So, I’m asking you again, Zoe Shannon, if you’d like to go to bed with me.”
This was actually happening.
“It doesn’t actually have to be bed.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over mine. “I can adapt pretty easily. This table will do just fine. That wall over there? Even better. We’ve got a few couches, the kitchen counter too. Or I can take you straight down to the floor.”
“Yes, please.” I was going to combust right here in this chair.
“Which