Spotlight by Eden Finley Page 0,9

something with music again.

When Kaylee started school, I wanted something to fill my time. My studio is small and not suited for bands, but it has great acoustics for vocals, and that’s what Cash wants for his next album.

We work well together, but it’s trying. He tries my patience and my self-control.

I broke once, and since then he’s been pushing for a repeat.

Today, he’s decked out in tight pants and a button-down that’s basically undone all the way, and the sexy smolder he sends my way while he sings is so not subtle.

Cash is the only person I’ve been with since Kaylee was born. He’s the one selfish act I allowed myself, and I felt guilty immediately afterward.

He was fun, but I can’t be that guy.

I don’t think he’s used to rejection because it was his idea to make it a onetime deal, and when I agreed, suddenly he was interested in making this some sort of fling while we work together.

No, thanks.

He finishes his song and hangs up his headphones.

I end the recording and lean back in my seat, watching as he stalks through the door and toward me. “Dunno if that was the take,” I say. “Felt like you were rushing it.”

“We’ll redo it later.” He doesn’t stop moving toward me.

Mischievous brown eyes lock on mine, but for some reason, all I can see are hazel ones.

I see blond hair in a man bun instead of Cash’s long brown locks.

I shake away the image of the cute guy I met a few days ago. It was weird how that whole day transpired.

What’s even weirder is that I can’t stop thinking about him. I keep replaying his offer to be Kaylee’s nanny and how he could take her to playgroups and give her the attention she needs.

I have this strong gut instinct to hire him, but I’m not completely sure it’s coming from my gut. I think it could be coming from lower than that.

As if answering me, my dick twitches, and it has nothing to do with the rock star in front of me basically offering himself as a sex toy.

“Ry?” Cash asks, and I blink out of the inner argument I’ve been having with myself for days.

“Sorry, spaced for a second.”

“Should I be offended?”

“I’m a bit distracted. Kid stuff.” I wave him off.

“You know what’s good for getting your mind off kid stuff?”

I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. Having sex with you again?”

“See.” He waves his finger between us. “Same page. It’s like, fate.”

“Keep telling yourself that. It shouldn’t have happened the first time. It’s not going to happen again.”

Cash presses his lips together. “This is … weird.”

I laugh hard. “You really don’t know how to handle rejection, do you?”

“I really don’t!” He laughs.

“Look, I like you, and we’re friends, but I don’t date. It’s that simple.”

“This is sex, not dating. I don’t date either.” He shudders.

“I don’t need sex that bad.”

“Okay, now I’m offended.”

I laugh. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay, no, I’m not. It’s just, you can’t get the opportunity for release too often with the kid being home and the world thinking you’re straight. I’m offering no strings attached, and you’re looking at me like I’m offering a plate of your least favorite dessert. You’ll eat it once but pass on it the next time.”

I don’t know how to explain to Cash that my priorities the last few years have all revolved around one little girl, and that everything—including sex—isn’t important in the broader scheme of things.

If it were to get out that I was having sex with Cash Kingsley, out and proud artist, Kaylee’s life would be turned upside down.

“When you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

“Eww. No kids for me. Ever.” He still looks disgusted at the suggestion. “But hypothetically, if in some alternate universe where I did have a kid, I don’t understand why that means you can’t have fun when she’s not here.”

I lean forward in my seat. “Okay, maybe I’ll put it another way. What’s your earliest memory? How old were you?”

He thinks about it. “Maybe four or five? I guess. I remember the old house we used to live in before my dad took off and it became just me and Mom.”

Wow, okay, I didn’t expect him to share that much, but it does prove my point. “Know how old my daughter is? She’s almost five. I don’t want her first memory to be strange men in her face asking if the rumors about her dad’s sexuality are true. I don’t want