Heartthrob Hotel Collection, page 62
You’re famous!
Famous?
I click the link and the website loads quickly on a blog post dated for this morning.
Criminal Records releases surprise new single, ‘Marla’s Song’
I spin around to Rian again and he smiles beneath wagging eyebrows.
“That’s it for today, class,” Nealy finally says. “We’ll continue this on Monday. Please read chapters twelve and thirteen before then.”
Everyone else instantly stands up to leave but I bend down to rifle through my backpack for my earbuds.
Marla’s Song?
Jonah, what did you do?
My classmates struggle around me, but I ignore them in favor of answering that question. I connect the earbuds to my phone and shove them into my ears before tapping on the link to stream the song, not wanting to miss a second of it.
With eyes closed, I block everything else out to listen for the next three and a half minutes.
It begins with Jonah.
His voice, nothing more, echoing and tempting shivers dance up and down my spine as he sings the lines we wrote together.
It’s our song.
But he named it for me.
A gentle piano fades in behind his voice and I feel my smile creeping in. I picture it all. Jonah standing on stage with his bass guitar and Katrina perched at her keyboard behind him. Knox’s electric guitar joins in, signaling an epic tempo change. I hold my breath with the quiet hum of Addison’s background vocals layered with Jonah’s. I shed a tear with the gentle thud of Bronson’s sticks playing along.
It’s everything I imagined it’d be and more.
As a fan, I’m satisfied. And yet I’m devastated in the best of ways.
How could they ever top this?
It ends as it began with Jonah’s lonely voice and my dancing shivers.
I open my eyes and wipe the tear from my cheek. Another class has already invaded from the hallway and a few strangers gawk at me with curiosity as they take their seats near me. I make a quick wave to show I’m all right as I scoop my backpack off the floor and rush outside.
I keep the earbuds firmly in my ears.
I push play again. And again.
And again.
35
Marla
The bus drops me about a quarter-mile away from my street. I don’t mind it for a moment. The longer the walk, the more I get to listen to this song.
Just one more time.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Sooner or later, I’ll have to stop. I’ll have to acknowledge the outside world in some way, though this last half-hour has been a simple dream I never want to wake up from.
I look up in the direction of my house. My stride slows to half-steps as I spot a lightning blue car parked on the street outside. I pull the earbuds from my ears as I reach the front porch, pausing to take a breath and clear my thoughts before opening the door.
My mother’s voice finds me first. It’s light and airy, complimented by the chuckles of toddlers.
She sits on the couch in the living room, her body language pointed toward the boys’ playpen in the corner. They’re on the floor as usual, Scotty with a plastic truck in his little hands and Dave sitting beside him with wide, amused eyes.
And beside them kneels a man in a black business suit.
Jonah.
I gulp.
“Okay, hold on…” he says at Scotty as he quickly stacks the last few remaining wooden blocks on the top of a two-foot-tall tower. “Not yet…”
The boys laugh in eager anticipation, waiting for the tower to get as tall as possible.
Jonah shifts backward out of the way, the toe of his shiny shoe digging into the plush carpet. “All right. Go ahead!” he says.
Scotty takes the cue and slams his truck into the center of the tower. It topples over and the boys erupt with happiness at the chaos and destruction.
“Again! Again!” they say.
“Again?” Jonah repeats.
“Again!”
He laughs and turns his head toward my mother only to notice me standing here for the first time. His smile digs in deeper and my eyes instantly fall to his dimples like always.
Mom stands up. “How about we get some lunch instead, boys?” she asks. “Give Uncle Jonah a break.”
Scotty and Dave clearly don’t want to but they take her hands anyway and pull themselves off the floor. She guides them toward the kitchen and casts me a purposeful smile as she passes me by.
“Uncle Jonah?” I ask.
“What?” she murmurs. “You want me to call him Daddy?”
I cringe and laugh at the same time. “Please don’t.”
She winks and continues on toward the kitchen.
Jonah rises off his knee and casually fastens the second button on his suit jacket as he moves to face me. I take in the full view of him, from his beanie-free head to the blue and gold tie and perfectly pressed slacks.
He looks just like his father.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” I say. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He waves a hand and glances down the hall behind me. “I haven’t been here long. Thirty minutes tops.”
“And how long have they made you do that tower thing?”
He exhales. “The entire time.”
I chuckle. “Sorry.”
“I used to make Graham do it for hours when I was little.” He smiles. “Should have known karma would catch up to me eventually.”
“It usually does.”
Jonah nods in agreement, taking a moment to allow his eyes to wander. He looks me up and down as his shoulders roll back and his expression shifts.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I admire his suit. “Is this business or pleasure?”
“Believe it or not, it’s business.”
“Business?”
Jonah doesn’t bother repeating himself. He merely slides his hands into his pants pockets and stares at me above that freshly-shaved, square-shaped jawline.
“Okay, then.” I gesture down the hallway. “How about we step into my office?”
The weight of Jonah’s shadow follows me as I walk down to my room. My heart pounds in my ears, effectively smothering the sound of my mother corralling my brothers around the kitchen table.
“So, I, uh…” I close my bedroom door behind us. “I heard your new song today,” I say.
Jonah’s brow rises, as if that’s not the exact reason why he came out here today. “What’d you think?” he asks, curious.
I extend the moment as long as possible, watching his eyes flush is nerves. “It’s perfect,” I answer truthfully.
“Be honest,” he says, furrowing that brow.
“I am being honest, Jo. It’s more than I ever could have imagined it to be. I really mean it.”
He smiles. “I’m glad you think so.”
“But…”
“Ahh.” He chuckles. “Here we go. Let it out. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it, it’s just…” I wet my lips. “You called it Marla’s Song?”
“We thought it was fitting,” he answers with a nod.
“We?”
“The band.”
“The entire band?”
“We all went back and forth on the title for a bit there but, ultimately, it was always your song,” he says. “Well, our song, but Marla and Jonah’s Song doesn’t roll off the tongue as nicely, so…”
I breathe a laugh. “I don’t know what to say,” I mumble. “Having a Criminal Records song named after me is… overwhelming.”
Jonah smirks. “Then, you’ll probably want to sit down for this next part.” I freeze as he stands even taller somehow. “You didn’t happen to check the metadata, did you?” he asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head once.
“You should,” he simply says.
“Why?”
Jonah doesn’t bother explaining himself. He just stands there, wide and intimidating, until he gets what he wants.
Definitely a Botsford.
I give in and reach into my pocket for my phone. As I swipe and scroll, Jonah sidles closer and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me so he can glance at the screen as well. After a few taps, I navigate to the single’s general information tab.
“Okay…” I say, scanning the page. “Vocals by Jonah Botsford, Knox Benton, and Addison Abbey. Strings by Katrina Benton—”
“Further down,” Jonah interrupts.
“Music by Jonah Bots—”
“Down, down… baby,” he adds, smirking.
I playfully glare at him and swipe down to the bottom. “Lyrics by Jonah Botsford and…” I pause. “Marla Gorchinsky?” I blink twice at Jonah’s sly grin. “You gave me credit?”
“You wrote it. Of course, you get credit.”
“I… okay, yeah, I did a little bit, but…”
“No buts, Marla. You deserve as much credit as I do. Those are your words.”
I open my mouth several times to offer some kind of rebuttal, but I’ve got nothing.
“Marla, you okay?” Jonah asks, his concerned, happy eyes on mine.
I nod. I swallow hard. I die. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. I’m just…”
“Overwhelmed?”
“Very.”
“Well…” He slips his hand into his inner suit jacket pocket and pulls out a few folded sheets of paper held together with a thick paperclip. “It’s time to get the boring bits out of the way.”
“Boring bits?” I ask, eying the papers.
“Contract bullshit,” he says as he steps to my desk. He grabs a black pen from my pencil cup as he lays the papers flat. “No big deal. Just a few formalities with the record label.”
“Oh.” I step forward to stand beside him. “Cool.”
He hands me the pen and points at the forms. “They just need your name here and here, a phone number there, and an address to send the royalty checks to there.”
My pulse skips several beats. “Royalty checks?” I repeat.
Jonah nods, his face stricken by the boredom of dotted lines. “Oh, yeah. And given that this track was inching in on ten-thousand streams on my way over here…” He cants his head, impressed. “In a few months, those checks might be quite significant.”
I stare at him. I stare a little longer. “What?” I finally spit out.
“And once the radio stations start picking it up…” he winks, “that’s when that songwriter credit really starts working for you—”
“Jonah.” I inhale sharply. “What is this?”
“It’s your contract,” he says. “I had our lawyer, Stella, look over it to make sure it was more than fair. You did the work. Now, you get paid.”
Is this really happening to me?
It’s been a constant thought of mine over the last several weeks. From the moment he hopped over the counter to help me and spent hours talking to me — me, of all people — it’s been on an endless loop. Then, the tap on the shoulder. The long nights rhyming and shifting words around to suit the melody. The night we made love.
And now, this?
Is this really happening?
“I’d like to sit down now,” I say.
I slowly lower onto my desk chair. My breaths come only halfway. I begin to feel a little lightheaded as Jonah casually leans his hip on my desk and smiles down at me.
“This is what you needed,” he says. “You can start paying down your student loans. Your mom can hire a nanny to help out with the boys. You can relax and I mean really relax because no one can take this from you, Marla. Not even me. Contractual impossibility.” He picks up the pen again and holds it out to me. “All you have to do is sign.”
I laugh. What else can I do? “This is crazy, Jonah.”
“Only if you say no. That’d be crazy.” He towers over me and smiles, those dusty eyes burning a hole right through me. “Sign it. Then… come back, Marla.”
“Come back?” I ask.
“To me.” He shakes his head. “I miss you. I can’t sit down with my guitar without looking over and hoping to see you sitting beside me. I don’t want Marla’s Song to be a one-time thing, I want it to be an every single day thing. And…” his shoulders bounce once, “if we happen to have sex again every so often, that wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I…” I feign confusion as I flip through the contract pages, “don’t recall reading that in here…”
Jonah snatches them from my fingers and grabs my arm, effortlessly pulling me out of the chair to his level. His left hand comes to rest just beneath my right ear, his digits softly brushing the hair at the back of my neck. “Come back to me,” he whispers. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
I tilt my head, lightly pushing against his strong hand as my fingers curl around his tie. “Wow,” I say. “Your dad really did raise a businessman.”
Jonah smirks and leans in close. “Don’t tell him.”
Our lips graze once, twice, and again before finally coming together in a deep kiss.
As we pull apart, his eyes naturally drift over my shoulder to the pegboard above my desk and his smile tweaks to a glare of suspicion.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I follow his gaze. “What’s what?”
Jonah reaches toward a paper pinned to my board and my stomach sinks as I realize what he’s looking at.
“Wait, no,” I say quickly. “That’s—”
His jaw drops as he snatches the paper off the board. “Is this a—”
“No!” I reach for it but he easily holds it over my head. “That’s not what it looks like!”
“Really?” He smirks. “Because it looks like a Botsford Plaza receipt from a year ago signed by me.”
I cringe. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. That is what it is, but…”
He studies the paper. “Don’t we shred these?”
“Every six months.” I let out a thick sigh. “Last year, Oli gave me a stack to shred and when I went to do it that was sitting on top and, I dunno, I kinda just… took it.”
His smile deepens. “So, that’s why you never asked for my autograph.”
I nod, ashamed. “Pretty much.”
“That’s so rock and roll.” He loops his arm around me again and pulls me in to kiss the edge of my mouth. “I love you.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“You heard me, Gorchinsky,” he whispers. “L-O-V-E. It might seem too soon to say that, but it took me far too long to notice you. I’m not wasting any more time.”
I bite my bottom lip as the words I’ve dreamed of speaking out loud build on my tongue. “I love you, too,” I say.
Jonah kisses my brow. “I know. I’ve always known, in some way.” His expression shifts. “I hate myself for this, but… I wish I could remember the first time I met you.”
“You don’t remember?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
I chuckle. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because you were really wasted,” I say.
“I was?”
I think back, my smile growing. “It was just after midnight and you stumbled in off the tour bus. It was near the end of your second tour, I think. You told me you needed to check-in and as I was getting your key ready, I noticed you staring at me. Like really hard.”
He winces. “Please tell me this ends well.”
“I gave you your key and then… you smiled and said that I had beautiful hair. I said thank you and then as you walked off toward the elevators, I could hear you singing. Down down baby…”
“Really?” he asks, laughing.
“With red lips, a red skirt, and bright red knees.” I pause, feeling the memory all over again. “It was a good night for me, obviously.”
Jonah’s arms wrap tighter around me. “Seemed pretty good for me, too.” He kisses my cheek. “You really do have beautiful hair.”
I chuckle as I tilt my head up. “Thank you.”
He kisses me again, slow and firm. “So, are you busy right now?” he asks. “Or can I steal you away for the night?”
“The whole night?” I ask.
“My bed ain’t gonna keep itself warm,” he says, smirking.
“Mom has a shift soon,” I answer, now with heavy regret. “I’m on little brothers duty tonight.”
“Hrm.” Jonah thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No, that won’t do.”
He spins around with my hand clenched in his and bolts toward the door.
“Jonah—” I say, dragging behind him. “I can’t just—”
We reach the living room and I see the old woman sitting on the couch with my mother. They both go quiet, their laughter cut short as Jonah brings us to a stop beside them.
“We good to go?” he asks my mother.
She waves a hand. “Sure. Go have fun.”
“Wait—” I furrow my brow. “Who is this?”
“Marla,” Jonah says, “this is Milly. Milly was my nanny growing up and she’s gonna babysit the boys tonight for you.”
I look at my mother. “She is?”
“Yes, she is,” she confirms.
“Are you sure?” I ask Milly. “The twins can be… difficult sometimes.”
Milly chuckles. “Thirty years of taking care of Botsford boys.” She makes an okay symbol with her hand. “I can handle twins.”
Jonah squeezes my palm. “Trust me. Milly’s got this.”
My mother stands and gives me a tight hug. “Go,” she says as she pulls away. “And celebrate. You’ve earned this, kid.”
I’ve earned this.
The words sink in and I feel a little weight slide off my shoulders already. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
She snorts. “Tomorrow,” she says with a wink.
I blush. “Mom…”
“Don’t question your mother, Marla,” Jonah playfully scolds me as he pulls me toward the door. “Bye, Angie. Bye, Milly.”
They wave us goodbye, wishing us a good night as we step down onto the porch. Jonah raises my hand to his mouth as we walk. He kisses my knuckles with a sly smile before we make it to his car. I duck inside, gleefully happy to see it. I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to feel this fancy again.
Jonah lowers into the driver’s seat. “Do you have a music preference?” he asks as he turns the ignition.
