Maybe I shouldn’t let Kaylee go.
As if reading my mind, Lyric steps forward and cocks his head at me. “This is a good thing.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Maggie reappears with Kaylee. “Okay, we’re ready.”
I’m not, but I try not to show it.
I get to my knees and hold my arms out for Kaylee. “You have fun with Mommy, okay?”
She pouts. “You not coming, Daddy?”
Aww, sweet child. Yes, I will come with you!
“Not tonight, honey,” Lyric says for me.
She looks up at him. “You’re not coming either?”
Lyric shakes his head. “Nope. You get to have special time with your mom, who you haven’t seen for a really long time. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Yeah, but then you don’t get to have fun with us!”
Maggie smirks. “I think Daddy and Lyric will have their own fun.”
Maybe that’s what we have to talk about. Clearly, she thinks something is going on between us.
Kaylee’s green eyes meet mine. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
Lyric chuckles. “I’ll make sure he’s okay. Is that all right with you?”
“You’re on Daddy duty tonight.” She’s so serious about it, and it’s adorable.
Lyric mock salutes her. “I’ll babysit him for you.”
“Good work.”
We watch them leave, and as soon as the front door closes, Lyric clasps my shoulder. “Enjoy having the afternoon and evening to yourself.”
I realize he’s leaving and say the only thing I can think of in the moment. “You’re not going to babysit me? You promised my daughter.”
“Yes, and verbal contracts between adults and children are legally binding,” he says dryly. “It’s not like we pinkie promised, Ryder. Geez.”
Lyric might have a point.
“But …”
“But what?”
“What the hell am I supposed to do with myself?”
He leans against the kitchen counter. “What do you want to do? You have the opportunity to do anything and go anywhere. Well, within reason. Flying to Paris for an hour or two wouldn’t really be worth it.”
I have to really think about it because I haven’t had this opportunity in nearly five years. Maggie’s never had her overnight before unless she’s been staying here and I’ve been with them.
Without Kaylee, all I have is music.
“You could go clubbing, to dinner, to—”
“I want to record you,” I blurt. “I want to do your demo.”
“Out of all the possibilities, that’s what you want to do? Maybe we should have a discussion on the important things in life.”
I step forward. “You still don’t get it, do you? You are important. Your voice is important. And I want to help get it out there.”
“Okay, I don’t think it’s even possible to say no to that.”
I smile. “Good.”
“But—”
“No, no buts.”
“I was going to say I wouldn’t mind going home to shower and get dressed in fresh clothes. I’m still in my stuff from yesterday.”
I eye him up and down—as if I haven’t already memorized every inch of his body in my mind. “You’re my size. Shower here and borrow some clothes.”
Lyric looks a little uncomfortable with that idea, but he agrees to it. “If you’re okay with that.”
“It’ll give us more time in the studio. You think you’re ready for a full recording session? Endless hours of singing the same thing over and over again until we get it perfect? Once you make it big, that will be your life.”
“I’m so ready.”
“I’ll go get you some clothes.” I would invite him upstairs to my room to pick out something for himself, but I don’t trust myself in the same room with Lyric and a bed. Hell, I don’t entirely trust us in the studio together. But there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. If we were to go out somewhere or do something in public, I run the risk of being recognized and stalked by paparazzi, and I’ve already hit my peopling limit for the day. Not only that, but I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Kaylee.
As it is, I know thoughts of her will be distracting, but I’ll be able to mostly block them out if I’m focused on something I’m passionate about.
And Lyric is definitely something I’m passionate about.
His demo, I mean. Of course. Just his demo.
I grab him a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, but then something in my shirt drawer catches my eye, and I can’t resist. I switch out the shirts and run back downstairs, only to find him tidying Kaylee’s playroom.
“I told you to take the day off. You’re not Lyric the nanny today. You’re my artist. And if any of my artists were cleaning my house, I’d be mortified.”
“I don’t mind. Honestly.”
“Here.” I throw him the clothes.
The glare he sends my way is expected. “I can’t record wearing this.”
“Aww, come on. It’s not like you’re going to be filmed. It’s important to be comfortable when you’re recording. It’s long, long, long hours.”
He holds up the offending shirt. It’s from the Eleven touring days, and it has a giant picture of my face with my name underneath it in neon font. “An Eleven shirt? Really? No. I’ll record shirtless if I have to.”
Yeah, that’s not a great idea. “I don’t know how many tracks we’ll lay down if you do that.”
Lyric’s glare doesn’t let up.
“For me?” I give him the same pout Kaylee does when she wants something.
“You get off on people wearing your face on their chest?”
“Okay, wow, way to make it creepy, dude.”
Lyric laughs. “I’m not the one making it creepy! It’s a shirt with your face on it. Like, a giant face.” He holds it up next to me. “It’s not even proportionate.”
“I’m offended you won’t wear it. Aren’t we friends? Best friends if I recall.”
“No, right now you’re my producer. How am I supposed to work under these conditions?”
“Okay, fine. Want me to go get you another shirt, diva?”
He looks contemplative. “The shirt is fine.” He sounds defeated, and I might be a little evil because I kind of love it.
“Great. You go shower while I get everything set up in the studio.”
He wanders off in the direction of the bathroom in the nanny’s quarters, grumbling something about not wanting to become famous because of a song he recorded while wearing a boy band shirt.
“Just think, it’s another perfect anecdote for late-night talk shows,” I call after him.
Lyric flips me the bird.
We’re already having fun. I can’t think of a better way to spend my day off.
Chapter Sixteen
Lyric
I can’t believe I’m wearing a Ryder shirt. Like, for real. What’s worse is it smells like him. That’s not helping me focus. Especially because that means he’s worn it. It doesn’t smell like detergent. It smells like Ryder—a mixture of lavender laundry soap and spicy cologne.