Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I don’t know why he’s like that. It seems like an awful way to live.
“I’ll be okay, Beckett Joyce,” I assure. “I know you might not trust Phoenix, but I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted a drummer, a friend, a hookup. He won’t hurt me, dude.”
He nods and says a quiet, “You need any of us, just call. We’ll be here.”
35
TOM COBALT
“You’re serious?” Phoenix asks when I call him in my bathroom. I have him on speaker while I wash my face.
“Yeah, I think having sex will help us finish out the album.”
His next long pause has me circling exfoliator more aggressively on my jawline.
It feels like a solid millennium passes before he speaks. “And what if it doesn’t help?”
“I’ve thought about that what if, and I am willing to be wrong.” I bend over the sink basin and splash water on my face. “Don’t you think it’s worth trying anyway?”
“I don’t need a reason to fuck you other than I want to,” Phoenix says. “I’ve been willing to take the gamble, man. I just don’t want you to regret it.”
“I won’t,” I promise as water droplets track down my face. I stare at the phone, waiting for his response. “Phoenix?” My pulse spikes. “I want to, but I’m not going to beg—”
“I’m not asking you to beg,” he cuts in fast. “Come over to my apartment. We can work on the last song here. Okay?”
It’s the first time I’ve been invited there. Nothing Personal is on tour, which means all of his roommates are gone. He has the whole apartment to himself. We’ll have it to ourselves.
“Sounds like a plan.”
I secretly love that he invited me to his place. It’s like voyaging into a whole new aspect of Phoenix I haven’t investigated yet. This is where he sleeps after our late-night songwriting sessions, where he wakes in the morning before meeting up with me.
“Cozy,” I smile.
“You mean tiny as fuck.”
“Cozy and tiny,” I shrug. “You weren’t exaggerating when you said it’s small.” The hallway he led me down was cramped, but nothing could’ve prepared me for his bedroom—which can’t be bigger than seventy square feet. It consists of a full-size bed, a skinny end table, and a closet. Just enough space on the floor for my guitar case.
I pry off my Vans and jump on the gray comforter, just to check out the rainy view. The window is situated above his slated headboard. “You have a fire escape outside your window?” I grin back at him. “You hang out there a lot?”
“Not unless I want to be fined. The building manager, Freddie, is a fucking ass and made me pay for leaving an ashtray on the grate.”
“Seems harsh,” I spin around, plopping down on the mattress. “I have a friend in the Upper West Side who had firefighters called on him, and the citation went to the building manager, who ended up just slapping my friend with a warning.”
“What friend is this?” Phoenix asks while unlacing his boots. “First I’ve heard of him?”
“Yeah. Party friend. Trust fund baby. Eliot and I know a lot of them, being trust fund babies ourselves, but some of them are…I don’t know, super unmotivated? They basically sleep all day, then smoke weed and party all night. They act like Eliot and I are wasting time with our ‘hobbies.’” I use air quotes. “You probably wouldn’t like Sheperd.”
“I probably wouldn’t,” he agrees, hurling his boot aside.
“He’s getting axed off my birthday party invite list. There’s a ten out of ten chance Shep would piss in one of Ben’s house plants.” I bring my knees up and flick open my lighter, trying not to fixate too much on what he’s doing. “So what’d you do to piss him off?”
“Piss who off?” Phoenix kicks away his left boot.
“Your asshole building manager. If he’s coming at you for an ashtray, it sounds vindictive.”
“That’s because it is,” he says. “Ever since Birdie fucked and chucked him, he’s been a pain in the ass.”
My brows spring upward, not expecting that at all. The click, click, click of my lighter fills the brief silence. “How far does the apple fall from the St. Pierre tree?”
He’s rigid. “Are you asking if I would fuck and chuck you?”
“Yeah.” I shrug tensely. “I mean, I know you won’t because we work together, but I guess if we didn’t—”
“That’s not the plan, Tom,” he interjects, eyes narrowed on me. “That’s never been the fucking plan. I don’t want to get rid of you.”
Good to know, good to know. I try to shake off the jittery anticipation of sex. Rising to my feet, I hop off his bed and stand a couple inches from Phoenix. “The plan should be to put my poster on your blank wall.” I smirk and nod toward the muddy-colored brick wall behind him. “Perfect spot for it.”