Fuck.
Shake it off, Lyric.
Alex appears at the side of the stage with another drink.
I cheers him and down it before kicking into my next song which is marginally better.
The stage lights are hot, and I sweat through my shirt.
By the time I’m halfway through my set, I’ve forgotten all about Cash. Maybe that’s because Alex appears every few songs with a new drink for me.
I should be strong enough to turn them down, but yeah, that’s not gonna happen with where my head’s at.
And then when I finish up my last song, I realize how much of a blur the whole performance was.
I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol or adrenaline.
I’m wobbly on my legs as I leave the stage and head for my dressing room.
Backstage, the room spins.
It’s the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.
I grip the edge of the counter and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get the room to stop spinning.
“Hey, man, you were great out there.”
I turn to find a blurry Cash standing in the doorway. “Uh, thanks. I was … kinda shaky.”
Cash smiles. “Stage fright?”
“Nerves.”
His smile widens. “About lil ol’ me?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m kinda wondering how you’re still standing. I’ve never had that much to drink onstage in my life, and that’s saying something because the guys are always telling me to cut back on the scotch. And beer. Tequila. Sometimes vodka.”
I nod, but that makes the room extra spinny. “Complete honesty, I don’t drink much. Like ever.”
My eyes lose focus on Cash as he splits into two people and my vision goes wonky.
The two Cashes step forward. “Hey, are you okay?”
I stand up straighter. “I’m fine. Totally cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.”
Only, I’m not cool.
Nowhere near cool.
I feel it happening. The vomit rising.
My gut churns, and my throat seizes up.
There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
And that’s how I end up throwing up all over my idol’s shoes.
Chapter Nine
Ryder
I’m the biggest moron on the planet because I know how Cash operates. He’s smooth and charming, and he’ll use Lyric, then disappear. The only reason he wanted a repeat with me is because I didn’t want one with him. He’s emotionally stunted.
I feel like my warning to Lyric wasn’t loud or emphatic enough.
Lyric says he’s looking for a boyfriend, and Cash certainly isn’t boyfriend material.
On the other hand, Cash is good about being up-front about that stuff, and Lyric’s a grown adult. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants.
I’m also a grown-up who’s allowed to do whatever I want, and I want to throw a Harley Valentine-inspired hissy fit over Lyric and Cash going on a date. So screw you, smarter, more levelheaded version of me and let me have my moment.
The worst part is, I haven’t heard from either of them all weekend, and I’ve spent the whole time wondering what they got up to on their date.
Cash messaged me on Friday to make sure it was okay, and I couldn’t exactly say no. He already suspects I have a thing for Lyric, and no way am I admitting that aloud to anyone. Especially Cash, who’d most likely try to play matchmaker and screw up a really good thing between Kaylee and Lyric.
“Daddy!” Kaylee’s voice pulls me off the train of thought I’ve been on for almost two days. It always leads to imagining Cash on his knees, but not for me. Then it turns to replacing Cash with a vision of me, staring up at Lyric as he stands above me.
Wait, what was I doing?
“You’re putting a hole in the paper!” Kaylee yells.
Oh. Right. Coloring.
I glance down and yup, there’s a hole where I’ve colored over the same spot over and over again.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Why aren’t you good at this? You’re old.”
I laugh. “Thanks, bub.” Who knew twenty-seven was old? “Daddy’s distracted.”
“Are you thinking about ants?”
I screw up my face. “Ants?”
“Yeah, because I told you how blind ants can still smell their food.”
“They can?”
My daughter pulls a face that lets me know I’m about to get in trouble. “I told you this!”
She was talking about ants?
“Sorry. Distracted. Still. Uh, again. Anyway, what’s this about ants?”
“Do you know some animals eat their babies? How yucky is that?”
“I could eat you.” I lean over to nibble her shoulder, but she pushes me away.
“Don’t eat me! You’re not a fire ant!”
I’m so confused. “Fire ants?”
“They do eat their babies. But normal ants don’t.”
“How do you know so much about ants all of a sudden?”
“Lyric gave me books to read. Said they’re on the curr … curwicklium for school.”
“Curriculum?”
“That’s what I said.”
Of course it is.
Speaking of Lyric, I glance at the time on my phone and find he’s fifteen minutes late. He’s never late.
So, of course, my mind goes to him spending the weekend at Cash’s place because he could. He doesn’t have a kid stopping him from doing that. He’d be at Cash’s disposal.
I’m about to call to check up on him when I hear the front door open and close.
He strolls through, looking a little tired but no more than usual.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was backed up because of an accident. I tried to call, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”
I glance down at my phone. “What?” The little moon icon is displayed at the top. “Shit. I had it in do not disturb mode.”
Sure enough, when I switch that off, my phone lights up like a Christmas tree with messages and missed phone calls.
There are a few from the label and from Cash.
I stand. “I’ve gotta get to work.”
Part of me is thankful I don’t have time to ask about his date, because now that I’ve seen him, it turns out I don’t want to know.
The phone calls were to tell me Cash has rescheduled his session for today which means I’m going to see him.
Lyric is going to see him.
I don’t know if I’m ready to see them together.
They’ll both be in work mode, so surely they won’t, like, be unprofessional or anything. Then again, I know firsthand Cash’s version of professional mode.
All day, the imagery in my head doesn’t stop. It’s the same images I’ve been thinking about all weekend. They always start with imagining Cash and Lyric together and always end with me replacing Cash in the scenario.
I palm my cock through my pants, willing it to stop.
I think about going upstairs to jerk off. If I don’t, there’s a good chance when Cash turns up for his recording session this afternoon, I’ll take him up on his insistent offer of a repeat to release all this pent-up sexual frustration. Or I’ll punch him for going on a date I told him I was totally okay with.