Page 69 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

“…just plain irresponsible. The rules are in place for a reason and…”

Lyric was listening. Really, she was. But she’d only stepped foot into the common area thirty seconds ago, and Henry had been lying in wait like a parent waiting to discipline their teenager after breaking curfew. If he’d had a spinning office chair, Lyric would bet hard cash he would’ve spun around with his fingers steepled, disappointment painted on his face like fashion’s hot new look.

The fridge snapped shut with a soft suction sound, and she carefully poured a dollop of cream into her coffee.

“Do you understand where I’m coming from?” Henry finished.

Lyric let his rant rest in the air between them as she sipped her first taste of caffeine.

She turned to face him. And almost wished she hadn’t. The only thing he was teaching her this morning was that early morning Henry made her stomach flutter and her resolve was not as strong as she’d first thought. It wasn’t the short beard dusted like pepper across his cheeks. It wasn’t the early morning rasp. It wasn’t even the messy, finger combed dark locks that stood out from the crown of his head. It might have been the loose fitting flannel pajama pants and the plain shirt. But mostly it was the randomly dispersed works of art staining his skin. And the two nubblins that framed each nipple, only visible when he strained the shirt across his chest.

Pulling her gaze from the broad expanse of his chest, she met his gaze bravely. “I understand as tour manager it is your job to manage everything tour related, and therefore artist related. I just don’t see how my sex life falls into that category.”

“What?” he questioned, head cocked back as if she’d slapped him. She knew he meant business when he pulled the glasses off his nose. All of the careful professionalism he blanketed his words in unraveled as he growled, “Lyric, I don’t give a fuck who you… fuck. The rule you broke was the communication rule, for god’s sake. I didn’t know where you were, no one did. I mean, at least you had enough sense to have a buddy, but something tells me neither of you were paying much attention to your surroundings.” His cheeks flushed with frustration.

Properly chastised, Lyric sipped her coffee, seeking refuge behind the lip of her mug. When she lowered it, Henry hadn’t disappeared like she’d hoped, and the words that crawled up her throat were the wrong ones.

“Aren’t you the manager of the tour, not me?”

His eyes darkened, and her skin prickled like she’d walked into a thunderstorm.

“I didn’t mean that,” she blurted. “Sorry.”

Silent, he arched one brow, and that was almost worse than if he’d chastised her again.

“I’m under strict orders from Andi to not only make sure the tour runs smoothly, but to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Why else would I be on this bus?”

“Because… the label’s cheap? You wouldn’t fit anywhere else?” she guessed, ignoring the guilt sneaking up.

“Nice try,” he retorted drolly. “Just try to make my job a little easier. Don’t make me hunt you down.”

Lyric blinked as too many R-rated images flashed through her mind.

“Ri-ight,” Lyric said, dragging out the word and giving herself an extra second to focus. “Is there room on your calendar to pencil me in at eleven thirty-five for a dick appointment? Or should I just text you beforehand to let you know?”

Sadly, he didn’t rise to the bait. “A simple, ‘Hey, Henry, I’ll be back in thirty,’ would suffice.”

“You’re just… no fun,” Lyric remarked, and sat on the couch with her coffee.

“I’m plenty of fun,” he argued. “But I also have a job to do. Lots of them, actually, so any help would be appreciated.”

Any argument Lyric could possibly conjure burned away in the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “Okay. Communicate better. Got it.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if she wanted to give Henry a heads-up every time she was going to have sex.

Lyric shook herself. She wasn’t going to have sex, because the mistake with Emerson was just that—a mistake. It wasn’t going to happen again. Frowning, she stared across the table at Henry and nodded, though his attention wasn’t focused on her at all. He was tapping the screen on his tablet, as if typing an email. “I’ll let you know before I wander off again.”

He seemed content with that and didn’t stop her as she retreated to her nest, sneaking past the others who were still sound asleep.

Lyric held her coffee close as she sank into the cloud soft mattress, shoving pillows aside and digging her notebook from under her pillow.

The notebook was stained with more than ink. It was bent crooked with years of frustration, the leather discolored with tears and sorrow, the pages folded with regret and flattened before being creased again. She turned past the pages overfilled with emotion until she landed on a blank one.

Blank slate. That’s what she wanted.

She couldn’t turn back time, couldn’t redo the day before no matter how much she wanted to. But she could take all that regret, all the worry and anxiety, and she could pen it into the page, tattoo her emotions onto the paper and then forget them.

Just thinking the word tattoo brought to mind the dark ink that covered Emerson’s left arm, the one he’d covered her mouth with to muffle her cries.