I tossed my phone on the bed and got up and took a shower. Then I made black coffee in the little coffee maker and went out to the balcony to drink it.
My room overlooked Marvel Stadium, where I’d play tomorrow. People walked around below like ants in the light drizzle, nothing but glass and wet concrete as far as the eye could see. No trees. Just the smell of damp asphalt.
This hotel was a nice one. All the amenities. Not that I was picky about where I stayed. I could sleep on a couch with my arm over my face. It was just a nice change—and one that came with having a big record label that had assigned me a personal tour manager. Per diems for room service, top-of-the-line recording studios, hefty advances, first-class flights—that I usually gave away, but it was a frill nonetheless.
I blew a resigned breath through my nose. Ernie was right. It was a give-and-take. I’d been an independent musician for so long, I just wasn’t used to being told what to do and how.
I’d have to get used to it.
Sloan still hadn’t texted.
I leaned on the railing and checked my phone again, wondering if it had chirped and I’d missed it. I double-checked that my last text had gone through. It was marked read.
She’d never taken this long to respond before.
When a text came through from Lola with a picture of her licking her nipple, I was doubly annoyed. She had a new number. Again. I’d already blocked the last two. I was probably going to have to change my number since blocking hers wasn’t making any fucking difference.
I deleted the picture, irritated, and decided to go to the gym.
I didn’t have anything on my schedule. I’d actually been looking forward to today, when I’d be free to bother Sloan as I saw fit. It hadn’t occurred to me she’d maybe not be available for that—or interested in it.
Between this, the Lola text, and the call with Ernie, my morning was a wash. I hadn’t realized how much I looked forward to sparring with Sloan every day until it looked like she might stop accepting my challenges. She was funny. I enjoyed talking to her. I also liked hearing what Tucker was doing, though it occurred to me I’d be checking in on him a hell of a lot less if he were still with Monique.
I was tying my running shoes when my cell phone pinged. I tipped the screen toward me and smiled.
Sloan: Don’t think you’re getting two questions just because you missed yesterday.
I kicked off my shoes and got back onto the bed, sitting up against the headboard with a grin.
Jason: Do you have time for a phone call?
The dots started to bounce. Damn, I loved those dots.
Sloan: Sure.
I hit the phone icon and pressed my cell to my ear. “So you’re going to rob me of a question because I was a gentleman and didn’t call you at one in the morning to ask it?” I teased when she picked up.
“Seems to me that a gentleman who really wanted to get to know me better would have found time for a text with his question during reasonable hours.”
“I was very busy yesterday.”
“Sounds like you just weren’t properly motivated yesterday. A text only takes a second. Now I have no choice but to penalize you.”
Her tone was playful, but she wasn’t going to cut me any slack. And was she maybe, just possibly, a little mad at me for not being more attentive yesterday? The thought made me smile to myself. “What can I do to make it up to you? Give me your address and I’ll send you flowers. What’s your favorite kind?”
“Sunflowers. And not a chance.”
“I guessed you might say that.”
“You knew I would say that. So what’s your question?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “What did you tell your friend Kristen about me?”
She groaned. “I think I’d prefer to send you a picture.”
“That bad, huh?”
“If I give you back your forfeited question, will you change this one?”
“Definitely not.”
She let out a sigh and I snickered. Then I threw her a lifeline. “I’ll tell you what, if you agree that our hike with Tucker is going to be a date, I’ll ask you something else. Or you could keep calling it an appointment, and then you can tell me all about what you two ladies talked about yesterday. Or you could send me a picture. It’s all a win for me. I can’t actually decide which option I like best, they’re all so great.”
She laughed. “You are not going to give this up, are you?”
“Nope.”
“You know what? I think I will tell you what I said. Because I said very little, actually. I showed her your picture. I said we’d been texting and talking. And I said you were taking Tucker back. That’s it. You asked the wrong question. You should have asked what Kristen said in response to what I said. That was the juicy stuff.”
“You showed her my picture?” I asked, grinning.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She’s my best friend and we were talking about you,” she said.
“So you agree that having a picture of someone is helpful?”
“I see where you’re taking this, and it won’t work.”
“I have a best friend too, you know. Cooper, the bartender downstairs, would also like to see a picture to accompany my stories about you.”
“Well, Cooper is going to have to help you to think up much better questions, then, isn’t he?”
I put my arm behind my head and grinned. “Make my picture your wallpaper.”
“What? No!”
“Do it, I dare you.”
“No. Tucker is my wallpaper. I like having Tucker as my wallpaper. Unlike his dad, Tucker is well behaved.”
“Well, in all fairness, Tucker’s got a date and not an appointment.”
She laughed.
Housekeeping knocked, and I slid off the mattress to open the door and wave them off, slipping the Do not disturb sign onto the knob. I grabbed a bottled water from the minibar and climbed back onto the bed.
“So what did you do yesterday that had you so busy that you missed your daily question?” she asked.
“I had sound check and rehearsal. Then I had dinner with the group,” I said, taking the cap off my water.
“Oh, you’re in a group?”
“No, I’m a lone wolf. I had dinner with the group that I’m working with tomorrow night.”
“And who’s that?”
I was opening for The Black Keys on Sunday, but for Sloan that was embargoed information. I had officially decided not to tell her who I was or what I really did for a living. I didn’t want it to distract her from getting to know me as a person. I’d learned a few lessons from my time with Monique. I wasn’t going to lie, per se, I just wasn’t going to volunteer things whenever possible.
“You’ve probably never heard of them,” I said. Then I changed the subject. “So my mom’s pretty excited I know The Huntsman’s Wife.”
“Really? Does she use my website?”
“Yes, religiously. I’ve eaten a lot of your food. Where did you learn how to cook?”
“My mom has a catering company. She has a food truck on the Warner Bros. lot. I grew up helping her.”
“And does she serve a lot of wild game?”