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She already made that real clear. Not that I blame her. I don't want that life for our kid either.
Kitten tried to warn us before we signed with our first label. She told us the industry uses up and spits out artists after they're bled dry. I didn't put much stock in that opinion until I saw it with our last record label.
Kitten offered to set us up with Jamen Jacobs back in the day, but we were stubborn fucks. We wanted to do it on our own without taking advantage of anyone else's connections.
But there are so many laws and regulations you don't even know about until your current contract is about to end.
It's part of how they lock you in. They convince you that your career will be trash by the time you wait out the mandatory holding period.
Jamen did us a major solid by buying out the end of our last contract. He knows his shit, that's for sure. His lawyers went up in there and essentially ate our old boss for breakfast.
That shit would be a little disturbing if Kitten didn't trust him implicitly. It's a bit of a stretch to transfer that trust, but Lyric Sinclair is about the least sketchy person I know. She wouldn't trust Jamen if he wasn't on the up and up. He's also been nothing but good to us.
"I got Baby and Kitten massages," Dex says. He's standing at the edge of the small patio like he's evaluating something.
That fucker. He's trying to figure out the distance to the next balcony.
"I'm pretty sure I could make it. I'd just have to roll to ensure I don't take off the top of my head on the roof," he says, nodding.
"If you jump off this shit you better have a way back on. I ain't risking both our lives to save you," I say, rumbling a laugh.
Dexter swipes a hand through the air at me. "Your muscle-bound ass would never make it. If I ever need a rescue, call Walker."
I'm finishing up rolling a blunt at the table. The view is fucking spectacular. I'm not a huge Vegas fan but, fuck, it has its merits. At least where we are on the strip is beautiful. I doubt I'd want to live in the desert, though.
"Did you say you booked them a massage?" I ask.
"Duh, where do you think Baby is?" Dexter comes to take the seat next to mine.
"Fuck if I know, she didn't answer my text. I figured she was with Kitten." I sigh. "Cannot believe that shit. Can you?"
"The stuff that happened in Austin?" he asks. "Hell no."
Dex grabs a pouch from his pocket and starts crushing up coke.
I blow out a breath to keep from flipping the fuck out.
It doesn't help.
I glare at him.
"You're never going to cut that shit out, are you?" I nod to the table.
Dex frowns. "You said you were done. I said cool. I never once asked you to do it with me, not since you guys quit. What the hell is your problem with me lately?"
"Dexter, we're having a fucking baby," I say, swiping a hand through the air.
I'm gettingreallydisgusted by the way he's acting.
I gave him an olive branch with Love at the show this morning, and he's right back to his old shit.
He acts like an idiot, and I end up trying to parent him.
It's a damn mess.
I didn't sign up to be his fucking mom, and it's getting old fast.
"Yeah, and obviously Baby can't do shit while she's pregnant, not that it stopped my mom," he says, leaning over and checking out his handi work. "It's not like I'deverpull the shit she did."
