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Obviously, I want him.
Obviously.
But obviously, he’s trouble. So much trouble. Like Rosa said, I need to be careful.
We could be discreet. We’re supposed to be spending time together for this album, for writing songs and recording and planning for the tour. There’s plenty of opportunity for us to be alone. We even both have home studios. There’s unending excuses for why we’d be alone together at all hours of the night…
But then I remind myself why Ian is such a bad idea. He’s an addict. Recovering, maybe, but an addict all the same. Like someone treading water in open ocean—if I try to swim out to him, he’s just going to drag me down with him. Eric nearly destroyed me and my career with his addiction. He nearly brought down everything I’ve worked for since I was fourteen. And then he died.
If he had nearly broken me before with his struggles, his death absolutely shattered me. That’s why I haven’t had a new album in over two years. That’s why I haven’t done any performances other than the odd Wish Givers show. That’s why I’ve been out of the limelight and off the charts—because I just couldn’t.
My music is what ended up killing Eric. As much as I love it, I’ve been angry at it all this time. But Ian’s changing that. He’s making me remember how fun music can be. He’s making me remember how good it can feel when it doesn’t constantly fill you with agonizing guilt.
But he’s also a constant reminder of all of that. Of Eric, of his addition, of his failure to overcome it. I see that same haunted look in Ian’s eyes that I remember in Eric’s. That look of someone who’s lost and hasn’t quite found their way yet. Maybe I’m projecting on him. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t really there, but I can’t be the one to help Ian find his way. I have my own way to find. I can’t be dragged down by another person’s problems, no matter how sexy and charming that person may be.
So, I’ll work with him, yes. I’ll even have fun with him and be friendly—after all being a bitch all the time isn’t easy since it’s not really my style. He doesn’t deserve the attitude I gave him this morning. Maybe we can even be friends. Once I let my walls down a little, I re
ally did have a blast with him.
So friends. I can be friends with him. But nothing more. No late-night trips to his studio, no inviting him over to my place, no dinner dates, or fantasies of kissing him. Just friends. That I can do.
Maybe.
Chapter 7
Ian
Even though we’re booked at the recording studio today, I still show up bright and early just to prove that I can. It’s not even seven and I’ve already got a coffee for both me and Chelsea—hers made the way I watched her do it yesterday—and a dozen donuts for everyone. She might try to deny it, but after watching her make a half-syrup coffee yesterday, I know Chelsea’s got a sweet tooth, so I’m feeling pretty good about my chances of getting one of those smiles out of her.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait out in the cold. The security guy here has my name and lets me right up. The managers aren’t here yet, but that’s just as well because there were some things we wanted to work on beforehand anyway. I wait for about five minutes before Chelsea shows up, and today she’s in this little white sundress that’s probably see-through in the sunlight. Of course, I don’t have the benefit of seeing her in the sun at this ungodly hour, but she looks good enough to eat either way.
“Ian Monroe,” she says teasingly, spotting me on the couch sipping my coffee, “if I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you were a morning person, beating me here again.”
I just shrug and hold out her coffee. “What can I say? I’m addicted to my work.” It’s a line that’s been playing pretty well with the press ever since I cleaned up my act, but Chelsea doesn’t seem to go for it. Her smile tightens and turns fake and I’m kicking myself for saying the wrong thing even if I’m not sure what that was.
“It’s for you. Still hot,” I say, waving the cup at her again.
She looks at it dubiously, her eyes squinting at it like she’d be able to tell with those x-ray eyes of hers if I poisoned it. Finally, she takes it and braces herself for a sip. Then her eyes go wide and she takes another hearty gulp.
“How did you—”
“I’m observant.”
“Hmm,” she says, trying to hide a smile as she sits down on the opposite end of the couch. This studio’s only got the one, so of course she’s as far away from me as she can possibly manage.
“Donut?” I whip out the box and open the lid with a flourish. Her eyes go wide and she bites her bottom lip, and I have to suppress a groan because it’s sexy as fuck.
“No… I shouldn’t. There’s a tour coming up if you haven’t heard…” Her mouth says no, but her eyes are begging for it. She just needs a nudge in the right direction. So I wiggle the box.
“Come on, Chelsea, don’t you ever give in to temptation? Aren’t you ever a little bad?”
She glares at me, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it. Those eyes are sparkling behind that fake anger. She snatches a donut out of the dozen so fast that she might be afraid of the box biting her.
“You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“I’ve heard it once or twice,” I say, smiling as I tuck the box away.
As she eats the donut, flakes of sugary glaze fall off onto her dress and she daintily picks them off before licking her fingers in a display that’s going to fuel my shower masturbation for a long time to come. I didn’t think anyone could make eating a donut sexy, but Chelsea Garten has proved me wrong.
