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Himself included. When he wasn’t on the road, he was usually producing or writing with someone else. There had never been a reason to take time off before. Now, there was Izzy.
And then she was understanding as hell.
He was the one that felt hemmed in by all the bodies in his fucking house. Namely because he wasn’t getting alone time with Izzy. They squirreled away in the bathroom for privacy, but even he was getting tired of shower sex.
He wanted to have a lazy evening where they did nothing but eat Chinese food, watch action movies, and have wild monkey sex. He’d only caught onto her love of action movies because she was always sprawled out in the living room with his bandmates. While he was working, of course. He couldn’t forget that part.
Most of the time it was Christian and Zeke keeping his streaming accounts well-used. Now he could add Izzy to the list. Not that Logan had time to sit with the animals, or his girl. And when she wasn’t watching movies with the idiots, she was getting cooking lessons from Julian and Emerson.
All of them had adopted her.
Hell, every single one of the fuckers would steal Izzy in a hot second. He knew that because he’d had to make the threat of ripping their hearts out on more than one occasion.
That and they might have been watching a marathon of Game of Thrones, so he’d been inspired by the carnage.
It had been six weeks since he and Izzy had come back to Winchester Falls and the band had arrived soon after. They were so close to zipping up the production side of the album. When he needed to lay down a correction on a track, he had all of them there to cut backup vocals, a new bass line for one of the new songs he’d changed for the fourth time, or adding another layer to the guitars.
Having all of them there was very convenient to the process.
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And yet he still wanted to toss every one of them outside and down the mountain. It was mid-March. They wouldn’t die of hypothermia anymore.
Probably.
He rolled out of bed and took a shower, then followed the voices to the kitchen. Isabella stood at the island counter in her morning workout gear. She wore perfectly suitable yoga pants that covered her from hip to calf, if you didn’t take into consideration that the skin-tight screaming purple material showed every curve and line of her perfect ass. And the tight crisscrossing top also covered her completely.
Hell, she even wore one of her little shrug sweaters over it.
But still…she was in the middle of four guys showing them how to pipe a design on freshly baked cookies.
Zeke held up two cookies that had baked together and were obviously breast-shaped.
Izzy laughed and reached over with her bag of icing to accentuate the nipples that were already there—probably Zeke’s handiwork—a little more. And they loved it, egging her on for additional jewelry on said nipples.
Instead of unleashing his surly mood on their fun, he headed downstairs to the studio. Soundproofed and quiet, he was tempted to stay down there and lock the damn door. He sat at his control deck, booted up his Pro-Tools, and cued up the song he’d finished the night before. He listened to the track with fresh ears. Their label had sent a producer to see if he would move Logan along.
The same producer that he’d worked with three years ago.
For the album he hated.
There was no way he was going to allow that sound onto this album. He’d sent Trent Wagner back before he could even clear his gates. Fuck that. He had enough time in at the label to buy some leeway.
If the album tanked, he’d have to play nicey-nice and do a Christmas album or something. But he wasn’t going to compromise any of the songs he’d written alone, or with the band. Not this time. Not ever again.
He was tired of worrying about what was trending, or what would be trending if the stars aligned on the third Tuesday in September. He just wanted to write his damn music and tour.
Even if the touring took him away from Izzy.
He needed the stage. And he also needed to find a way for the stage to be his own again, not a vehicle for Aimee’s mindfuckery.
Pushing that thought out of his head, Logan focused. One track moved into the next. The songs were grittier than he usually turned in. Slick overproduction would sterilize the sound and kill the mood he was going for.
“Damn. That sounds awesome.”
Logan looked over his shoulder. “Ready to work finally?”
Zeke sat next to him. “Your girl makes baking fun, what can I say?”
