Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Our personal lives have been splashed over the covers of tabloids for years—some of the stories true, most fake, but if this got out, it would be ten times worse.
I can see why Harley and Ryder keep quiet.
“Do you have any plans to get back with the band?” Mom asks. “The news is saying—”
“The news picked up on a story where Denver, Blake, and I were messing with Harley. They think it’s a big PR stunt and we’ll announce the reunion soon, but we haven’t really discussed it as a group yet.”
“Where do you go from here? Are you staying in LA for a while? Everything has died down here now they know you’re back in California.”
That’s good. I hate that they think they have the right to harass my family. My sister has young kids, and it’s not fair to scare them like that.
“I think I’ll stay. At least for a few months. Denver’s doing this reality TV show, and I’ve been writing some songs while he’s at work. I’m not sure about Eleven yet, but the plan is to see if we can all be in the same room without wanting to kill each other first.”
“And can you? Or is this phone call about to take a dark turn? Oh God, you didn’t kill poor Denver, did you?”
“Did I ever tell you you’re not funny?”
“My child would never do such a mean thing.”
“I don’t know if I want to go back to Eleven,” I say.
After the other night, we’ve agreed to at least give it a try and meet with Harley, but there’s a part of me that thinks going back to Eleven is almost selling out. Or admitting failure. Then again, when you have hardly any money and moved home to be with Mommy, I guess I can’t really say I’ve been even remotely successful on my own.
“As long as you’re happy,” Mom says. “Follow your heart.”
My heart is only leaning in one direction, and that’s toward Denver. If any of the songs I’ve been writing are anything to go by anyway.
When Eleven was together, Harley and Ryder wrote most of the songs because the label wanted poppy and light. They wanted happy songs. A lot of what I’d try to write back then would be too angsty with an angry tone to it. There are breakup songs that make you sad, payback breakup songs that are empowering, but mine were … a little dark. Too depressing.
The lyrics I’m coming out with now make heartache feel like love, and Denver is my muse.
I hear the front door open, and Denver walks into his living room looking happy. “Mom, I have to go, but talk soon?”
“Love you!”
No sooner have I hit the red button to end the call than Denver’s pressed against me.
“You’re home early,” I say.
He inches his mouth closer to mine. “I have some news.”
“Yeah?” My phone beeps, and when I look down, I see a missed call and a voicemail message from Cameron.
“What does Cameron want?” Denver asks.
I snort. “I had lunch with him today, and he’s full of ideas on how to get my career back off the ground. Big hint—it involves you and the other guys from Eleven.”
“You didn’t tell me you were meeting with him.”
“I didn’t know. He called me this morning after you’d left, telling me I just had to go to lunch with him because I’ve been back in LA for how long and didn’t tell him?”
Denver laughs. “Oh, guilt trip for the win! That’s so him.”
“What’s your news?”
“How would you like another big fat check from Fandom?”
“Depends on what I’d have to do. If it’s become a contestant, I might have a conflict of interest. I’m kind of sleeping with one of the judges.”
“Are you now?”
“Yep. Alondra Casey has moves for a woman who’s almost fifty.”
He playfully shoves me.
I grip his shirt and pull him back against me. “Nuh-huh, you’re not getting away that easily.” I bring our lips together, and he tastes like Coke.
Our tongues tangle, and before I know it, we’re panting into each other’s mouths and pawing at each other’s clothes.
The wild ride we’ve had over the last week where we’ve been fooling around only gets better and better each time we’re together. Granted we’re still on handjobs and blowjobs—well, more accurately, I’m still on handjobs—but Denver’s mouth on my cock is my new favorite thing. I haven’t gone there yet even though I really want to. I want to make him feel good, but there’s so much pressure to be good at it that I’m worried I’ll choke and gag and yeah, that’s not sexy at all. I’m worried I won’t like it, and I don’t want to hurt Denver’s feelings by being all “Yeah, no thank you.” Then I think of other things we could do, and I half think I’d rather have his cock in my ass than in my mouth.