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“Alright, let’s go commit a misdemeanor together.” He grabs my hand, breaking the moment.
“Do I get to drive the getaway car?” I bounce on my toes.
Cash shakes his head and laughs. “I should be worried that it didn’t take much convincing.”
“I was already wearing black.” I gesture to my black jeans and t-shirt.
“Who’s going to bail us out of jail?” he asks, holding the door open for me.
We both say Bret in unison.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Effort, Pain, Difficulty
“PICTURE THIS.” I position my hands like I’m filming a movie. “In a short amount of time, you won’t have to be in the presence of my magical pussy anymore.” I give him a broad smile.
“I thought it was golden,” Peter says as he drapes his arm over the couch, a cocky grin on his face.
“I’m trying to paint a picture here, Peter,” I retort, emphasizing his name.
Peter laughs but there’s an edge of sadness to it. We’ve been working together for months and are about to bring in his band to record.
I hear Bret groan and turn around to realize he is standing in the open doorway. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He purses his lips and pretends to look down at his clipboard.
“What is that?” I point a drumstick in his direction.
“This?” He wiggles the clipboard in his hand, “It’s a clipboard.”
I turn the drumstick on Peter. “Did we time travel back to high school gym class or something?”
Peter snickers and shakes his head at me. He’s used to my antics by now, and I think I’ve won him over after all this time.
“It’s the schedule,” Bret says defensively.
“Do we like schedules?” I ask Peter.
“Nope.” Peter accentuates the ‘p’ as he plays along.
“Look, you two,” Bret points at us with the offending clipboard, “Do not fuck up this recording schedule,” he warns. “I have the engineer booked; the band is coming in later today, and promotion is already in the works.” He sounds more agitated the longer he speaks.
“Bret, relax,” I tell him smoothly. “We’re professionals.” I gesture between Peter and I, knowing full well we look like a pair of delinquents.
Bret backs out of the room and points at us with the universal sign for I have eyes on you. As soon as he leaves the room, we both burst out laughing.
“Why do you fuck with that poor guy? He looks like he’s about to lose his shit,” Peter asks in between laughter.
“Trust me, he likes it.” I roll my eyes and get up from the piano bench.
“You’ve known him a long time, huh?” Peter asks, tentatively.
“Been with him since the beginning. He managed Mogo, started his label with us.” The mention of the band causes a slight tightness in my chest, but Peter doesn’t notice.
“That’s pretty cool,” Peter replies with a nod.
“Yeah, he should be used to being messed with by now.” I lift my chin in the direction Bret left.
Although it wasn’t just my attitude he had to contend with; it was all of ours, some more so than others. I smile, remembering some of our stellar moments, breaking guitars, broke down buses, pissing off the producers of the MTV Music Awards, starting fights, bailing the boys out of jail… the list could go on.
