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)
Not into relationships.
He is NOT into relationships, Tom Carraway.
I try my best to transcribe this into my frontal lobe so that my brain understands flirting or fantasizing about Phoenix leads to no solid ground. It will be the world’s worst mistake. He is exactly what I don’t want. A bandmate and a fling.
But his face…
I don’t look at his dangerous face. My eyes are on my guitar. My stomach cramping as I keep repeating the words in my head. Not into relationships.
I can feel his intense eyes on me.
“Peeta?” I blurt out. “Really? From The Hunger Games. Like the guy who makes bread in the movie? That’s the one you’re rubbing it out to?”
“You can cry into your pillow later that it isn’t you.” He catches my gaze. “What’s his name? The on-and-off guy?”
“RJ. And no, I don’t know what it stands for.” I nod to his journal. “Are you going to actually write something or are you just drawing hearts and stars in there?”
He folds the journal over his thumb so I can’t see it. “I’m trying to determine if this RJ guy is a good well to pull from.”
“You want to write a song about my situationship?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Heartbreak is a good source for material.”
“He hasn’t broken my heart,” I say firmly.
“Are you going to let him?” Phoenix asks with more seriousness to his tone. “Isn’t that the path you’re riding down, man? Wanting something he won’t give you.”
“So you think I’m an idiot for seeing him,” I grumble and strum an angry hand down the strings.
“Tom, you’ve got to stop inferring what I’m saying and just listen to me.” He grabs the neck of my guitar, sliding it off my lap. He sets it aside. “Come here.” He motions me closer.
Phoenix wants me to sit next to him?
Fine. Yeah. Easy.
I end up at his left, trying to relax, but I’m nervous with anticipation. This isn’t a hookup. Somehow, knowing that we’re not going down an intimate road is making this more nerve-wracking for me.
Our thighs are touching, but Phoenix isn’t looking down. His gaze is cemented on mine as he twists toward me. “This RJ guy? Does he know you want a relationship?”
Why does it feel like this isn’t about the song? It’s almost like he’s…concerned about my dating life. But he just told me to stop inferring, so maybe I’m totally off base.
“Yeah, he does,” I tell Phoenix. “I brought it up once, and he said he wanted to keep it casual. Which is fine. I know what I’m getting myself into. You don’t have to be worried about me.”
“I’m worried about my bandmate not showing up to work because he was crushed over a guy. One-night stands are easier. What you’re doing is messy.”
“If you saw him, you’d understand, dude. Guy’s a twelve out of ten. Anyone with eyes would nosedive into a landfill for him.” I lean over, my shoulder brushing against his chest, to grab my Martin off the pillow.
Phoenix doesn’t stop me.
My pulse is climbing as my arm scrapes against his muscled body. I clear my throat. “And he’s always available. No matter what day or time, if I call him for a quickie, he comes over.”
“Maybe he’s jobless and living in his mom’s basement. Ever consider that?”
I did not. “I…I think he works.”
“You don’t know?” Phoenix’s brows hike. “Tom, you’re not serious. You’re fucking a guy off-and-on for…” He waits for me to fill him in.
“Two years.”
Phoenix looks at me like I’ve lost it again. “Two years. And you don’t even know what he does for a living?”
“My family runs background checks on anyone who spends time with their kids, so he definitely passed that at least.” Shit. I wince as Phoenix starts putting the dots together.
His eyes darken on me. “You did a background check on me, nepo baby?” Wow, the nickname feels super fitting at the moment.
I run a hand through my shaggy hair, holding the guitar on my lap with the other. “Technically, my parents did. They found an arrest, but nothing I’m sweating about. My brothers, on the other hand, might be a little more…” Stop talking, Tom Carraway.
“A little more what?”
“On edge. You’ll have to earn their trust.”
“I’m not earning their anything,” Phoenix growls. “I couldn’t care less what your rich brothers think about me.”
Awesome. “Yeah, okay. That’s your funeral, dude.”
He snatches my guitar off my lap. He sets it aside on my pillow again, and I blow out an annoyed breath. “Why do you keep doing that? At some point, I’m going to have to play to create new music.”
“I’ll give it back to you when we have something to play. Right now, it’s distracting me. You keep strumming it every five seconds.”
Do I?
I bend forward, elbow on my knee. “Why don’t we write about your ex,” I suggest. “The college one.”