Spotlight (Famous Book 2), page 12
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Well, until then, if you ever need one …”
My chest warms. Damn him. “You might need to stop being so nice.”
“Why?”
“Because that professional distance thing? So not gonna happen if you keep this up.”
I walk away from him before we do something we’ll both regret.
Only, as soon as I’m in the car, I regret not doing something even more.
I can’t help wondering what he tastes like.
If he’s sweet and tender or rough and take-charge.
I shiver at the thought. At either of those scenarios.
I should’ve kissed him.
Ideally, he’d kiss with all tongue and bad breath, and then I’d be so turned off by him I’d be satisfied with ending my curiosity.
Instead, I spend the whole drive home thinking of his big, pouty lips and the smell of his spicy cologne.
I fantasize about how hard he’d kiss. If he’d back me up against a wall or throw me down face-first.
Stop it, Lyric.
I need to forget about Ryder Kennedy.
These blurred lines aren’t good for either of us.
And speaking of blurred lines, my dick didn’t get the memo about Ryder being off-limits. No, it keeps sending messages to my brain. Clear images of Ryder in his bed right now. Maybe staring up at the ceiling and having the exact same thoughts I am.
Even though it’s a fantasy, I can’t help wishing it were real. And even though I know I should stop, I don’t.
By the time I pull into my brother’s driveway and kill the engine, I’m hard as fuck and begging for relief.
My hand unzips my jeans and takes my cock out.
This feels wrong, doing this in Ryder’s car, but it also feels so hot.
Images of Ryder tossing and turning, unable to sleep because his thoughts are full of me, my songs, my voice, keep filling my head.
He’d imagine what it would be like to kiss me. Maybe bend me over his control desk in the sound room.
Comically, while he’d be pounding into me, I’d reach out to hold on to something—anything—and accidentally mess with all the settings. Then the next time he uses the studio and one of his artists sounds like a chipmunk, he’d remember how he’d fucked me and be distracted for the rest of his session.
He’d come find me afterward and would tell Kaylee to keep watching TV or to go play by herself, and unlike real life where we know that wouldn’t last long, she’d do it no questions asked while Ryder pulled me into the bathroom and got down on his knees for me.
His mouth would move over my hard cock, slowly and teasingly, because this is my fantasy world, and we have no possibility of being interrupted by a tiny human and could take as long as we wanted.
He’d want to take his time, go slow, but with him sucking on my hot skin and my cock nudging the back of his throat, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fucking into his mouth over and over again until—
My eyes fly open, and shit. I got so lost in my fantasy, I came all over my hand.
So professional, Lyric.
Really.
About my boss, no less.
Not that he has ever felt that way to me. It feels more like we’re a team than boss and employee. We clicked instantly that day we met.
It’s why I made all the best-friend jokes.
For once in my grown-up life, making friends was as easy as picking a fight and then playing nice.
But essentially, what it comes down to is he’s my employer. I work for him. It doesn’t matter how comfortable I am around him.
Situations like this rarely work out, and legally, it could be a nightmare for him.
When Chord and Brenna started dating, they worked for the same law firm. They had to disclose they were seeing each other to HR so that it could be all tied in a neat, little legal bow and they wouldn’t sue the company if shit went down.
Ryder and I can’t do that. Our contract is between the two of us.
Being with me—even contemplating being with me—would bring a lot of legal hurt on Ryder, and that’s the last thing I want for him.
As the thrill of orgasm fades, it’s replaced with guilt and shame.
Because thinking about Ryder this way is wrong. Jerking off in his car is definitely wrong.
I might need to do the only other thing I can to ensure we keep our distance.
I shouldn’t let Ryder produce my demo, but there’s a lot of stuff about Ryder I shouldn’t do.
Hasn’t stopped me yet.
CHAPTER 13
RYDER
After a long night of restless sleep, and not because of Kaylee this time, I’m convinced Lyric and I have screwed everything up even though nothing happened.
I dread the moment he’s going to walk in the door all morning. I drink three cups of coffee while I wait, and when he finally shows up, I’m a trembling, buzzing mess.
Then he just says good morning in his lazy Cali-boy way with his breathtaking smile, gets Kaylee ready for playgroup, and leaves again.
The first interaction wasn’t too bad, but knowing I promised him we’d be in the studio tonight has me still antsy when they get back.
I stare at my computer without actually working. For the entire day.
I decide to stay in the studio and try to get what I wanted done today in the few hours between them getting home and Kaylee’s bedtime, but it goes much like how the rest of my day has gone—with me thinking how the hell am I going to be able to resist kissing him if I keep working with him.
Yet, when he knocks on my office door, I’m so eager for it there’s no way I can send him away.
I’m excited to make music with him, and it’s possible I haven’t been this excited since I was on the other side of the glass.
“I brought you leftovers seeing as you didn’t make it out of your office for dinner.” He puts a plate of his infamous vegetable-filled spaghetti on my desk.
“Okay, I’m gonna need you to not be so perfect. Thanks.”
“It’s just food.” Lyric takes the spare seat next to me. “What are we recording tonight?”
I moan around a bite of pasta, only remembering now that I didn’t have lunch, and I’m starving. “I was thinking I’d like to hear one of your originals.”
I can’t help smiling at Lyric’s terrified face. It’s adorable that he’s nervous, but it’s something he’ll have to get over before he makes it in this business.
“Remember, everything is fixable. Take Cash’s song you love. It was shit before I helped him shape it into what it is now.”
His gaze flicks to mine. “Wait, you helped write that?”
“Ended up cowriting it with him. What? Shocked I can actually write a meaningful song? Check your pretention, Lyric.”
“Can I hear it again real quick?”
“You know you’re still going to have to show off your songs, right? But, sure.” I find the single on my computer and load it up.
When it plays back, Lyric’s intense stare makes my confidence waver a little bit, but I want him to see I’m more than Eleven.
I could have gone solo if I wanted to. It was my choice to step out of the spotlight, and even if Kaylee wasn’t an issue and I were given the chance to do it on my own, I wouldn’t take it.
I loved being part of a group. They were like my family for a long time, and although we’ve lost touch, if any of them turned up on my doorstep and asked for help, I’d give it to them no questions asked. If it weren’t for Kaylee, I’d jump at Harley’s offer to get Eleven back together.
“You cowrote this,” Lyric says, still in disbelief.
“Yup. I’m deeper than you think.”
“That’s what he said.”
I walked right into that one.
Lyric shakes his head. “No way am I showing you my originals.”
“Nice try. You’re not getting out of it.”
“Okay, but can I just say, I respect the hell out of you. I was wrong when I thought the image your label manufactured was the true you, and I think you’re an amazing musician.”
“Aww, flattery will make me so much nicer when I tear your song apart.”
Lyric breathes deep.
I laugh. “You don’t need to worry. Unless you don’t want to hear constructive criticism. Then we might have issues.”
“I’m good with criticism. Though if you call me lazy and cliché, I’ll show you how much of a double standard I have.”
“Hey, at least you were being honest, but no more stalling.” I get one of my guitars from the studio and hand it to him. “Song. Go.”
Lyric clears his throat and starts playing a melody on the guitar. He refuses to look at me as he strums and sings words that are so … Lyric. I try to keep my face emotionless as he plays through his song in case he looks up at me and gets disheartened because I’m pulling the look I want to. It’s not exactly a positive one.
Lyric has this amazing talent, but he’s so focused on sticking it to the man, he’s not seeing the potential of what he could be.
Maybe I’m giving off that vibe because he stops halfway through. “You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it. At all. It’s a very you song.”
“Meaning no one’s gonna pick it up?”
“You hate labels so much you’re singing directly about them. The public won’t resonate with that. But what if you take those feelings and write them into a breakup song? Love is something people always want to hear about.”
“A love song? Eww.”
“Do you know ‘Love Song’ by Sara Bareilles is actually a hate song to her label? So is ‘Harder to Breathe’ by Maroon 5. They take their hatred for the system and write it into a song about love and heartbreak and frustration.”
“So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying tell them to fuck off in a subtler way.” I grab a pen and paper. “What was that first line again?”
“The perfect sound …”
“And then the next one is about image, right? So, the song is clearly about not being good enough or the perception of not being good enough. If we put that in the context of a relationship, what do people want? Are we pronoun-ing this? Are you going to be an out artist right off the bat knowing it could affect debut album sales?”
Lyric looks at me like he’s wondering if I actually asked that.
“Okay, okay. Just checking. So something like about being the wrong type of guy. Someone he won’t bring home to momma.”
Lyric bites his bottom lip. “Are parents really still like that? I mean, my mom didn’t even blink when I told her I was gay. When I told her I was going to be a musician on the other hand … If she had assets instead of a mountain of debt, I think I would’ve been removed from the will that day.”
I avert my gaze. “Trust me when I say there are definitely parents out there like that. Unfortunately.”
“I think the only time my mother would hate someone I’m dating is if he was a musician.”
“Guess I’m out, then,” I joke. Though, it’s not really a joke. “Lucky we decided the whole kissing thing was a bad idea.”
“Ooh.” Lyric takes the pen and paper from me and scribbles something down.
Kissing you was a bad idea.
I’m not your right type of guy.
You spend your days making music
I spend mine getting high.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you, really?”
“I’m high right now.” Then his face falls when he sees I’m not amused. “Dude, it’s a joke. Hardly drink and I say no to drugs, remember? I couldn’t think of anything else that rhymes with guy.”
“We’ll work on it.”
And it’s surprising how easily Lyric and I work together. For the next few hours, we fill our time writing out words and putting them to Lyric’s melody. While he jokes around and tries to slip in lyrics that will never work, he’s also professional. He takes criticism better than I thought he would, and he only fights me on some of my clichéd preferences.
It’s actually fun working with him.
Whenever Harley and I sat down to write, we were at each other’s throats by the end of the session. With Lyric, time flies by, full of both laughs and productivity, and before we know it, it’s two in the morning, and we realize Kaylee’s going to be awake in three hours.
At least she’s managed to sleep through tonight with no more dreams. So that’s a bonus.
“We don’t really have time to lay this down tonight,” I say.
“We’re both going to be dead on our feet tomorrow.”
“Are you going to stay the night?”
Lyric’s eyes widen.
“In the nanny’s quarters,” I clarify. “You’re more than welcome to.”
“Yeah. I’d likely crash your precious car if I tried to drive.”
“How about this. We’ll go to bed now. I’ll get up with Kaylee at five and let you sleep in until you have to go to playgroup at ten, and then I’ll nap after you’re gone.”
Lyric’s so adorably tired he acknowledges the plan with a nod and stands. “Sounds fair.” He drags his feet through the hallway leading to the nanny’s part of the house.
I watch him until I realize I want him to be walking through the other door to my side of the house. Maybe toward my bedroom.
Ugh.
I may be dead tired, but my cock definitely isn’t.
Not while watching Lyric walk away in his tight jeans.
Shake it off, Ryder.
I don’t have anything planned for the next few days in the recording studio, so I leave our mess of pens and paper all over my desk and go the opposite direction, away from Lyric.
My legs are apparently too tired for stairs and trip their way up half of them. I’m tempted to crawl toward my room.
As soon as I’m behind closed doors, I peel off my clothes and get into bed in my boxer briefs.
Kaylee’s going to wake me up in three hours. Four if she sleeps in, which is rare.
Yet all I can think about is Lyric’s smile, his eagerness to work, and the way he’d glare at me when I’d suggest something too mainstream.
He thinks he looks mean and threatening or pissed off, but honestly, he looks more attractive when he’s mad.
My cock is hard, just like it was last night without him even touching me. I went to bed hard as a rock but was reluctant to do anything about it because it would be a mistake.
For the life of me, I can’t remember why right now.
And as I reach into my boxers and try to jerk off to any other image but my nanny, all I keep seeing when I close my eyes is Lyric’s long hair in a bun and his hazel eyes that always seem a little bit mischievous even though he’s one of the most levelheaded people I know.
The scariest part of it all is how I can be so wrapped up in someone when he’s the last person I should be thinking about.
It’s his job to be with Kaylee. To protect Kaylee.
Oh fuck. My hand tightens on my cock, and precum dribbles out of the tip. I want to be the guy to give Lyric everything he wants even though I can’t be.
I shouldn’t be.
Yet the thought of being everything he needs has my muscles tightening, my cock spasming, and cum covering my stomach.
So much for not thinking about him.
CHAPTER 14
LYRIC
Ryder’s supposed to wake me when it’s almost time to go to playgroup, but I wake to the sound of the buzzer for the front gate, and I have to wonder what time it is. Why did we think it was a good idea to stay up so late working on a stupid song? Okay, it’s a good song, but right now staying up to work on it until the wee hours of the morning just feels stupid.
Fuck, I’m tired. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life.
The buzzer doesn’t stop, so I climb out of bed and throw on my clothes from yesterday.
Kaylee’s playroom is empty, and the large house is quiet.
Maybe Ryder took Kaylee for a walk or something and forgot the clicker for the gate.
Sleepily, I make my way to the intercom near the front door and press the button to talk to whoever is incessantly annoying me.
“Hello?” I croak.
“Ryder?” a feminine voice says.
I glance around the foyer. “I … I don’t think he’s here right now.”
“Who’s this?”
“You’re the one buzzing my house. Who’s this?” Yeah, my house. Like, I’m just claiming it right now. I don’t think Ryder would mind. Especially if this is some fan who went on some Hollywood tour of stars homes or something. Though, I doubt any of those come out this far.
“It’s Maggie. Where’s Ryder?”
The name tickles my subconscious.
Maggie.
Oh shit. Maggie.
Kaylee’s mom.
“Come in.” I hit the buzzer to open the gate but immediately wonder if I wasn’t supposed to do that.
Maggie who? I might’ve let in a potentially crazy person because they share the same name as Kaylee’s mom.
My phone is still in my pocket from last night, so I get it out and check my messages. My battery’s nearly dead, but it’s enough to see a message from Ryder saying he called one of the playgroup moms who slipped him their number the other week to find out where playgroup was today.
Wait, he’s taken Kaylee to playgroup?
I reread the message, catching the end where he tells me to take the day off.
I can’t help wondering if this is his way of saying we should back off. That maybe we should step back.
From recording.
From being friends.
The doorbell sounds, and it breaks my train of thought.
I stare down at myself and know my hair is a mess and I look ratty. For some reason, I want to impress this woman.
She’s Kaylee’s mom, and I’m … Kaylee’s nanny.
Just her nanny.
Remember that, Lyric.
I open the front door and come face-to-face with Kaylee from the future. Her green eyes, dark hair, hell, even her scowl is like Kaylee’s when she’s mad.
