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“I have a checking account. But I have some cash here too, so why bother with all that?”
“Yeah, try a bank. They’re awesome.” Gray set aside his guitar and rose to go to the dresser. He grabbed his wallet and shoved the cash inside, then shook his head and grabbed an envelope off the desk. “So much it doesn’t even fit. Damn.”
“Can’t help it if I’m paid, son.”
Gray’s snort made him grin.
“You two are louder than a freight train. Stupid boys.” Jazz yawned and sat up, shifting her grip on her child so that he nestled into her side. “Is that our money?”
“No, that’s my donation to the ‘please buy more birth control’ fund.” Nick glanced at Gray. “Seriously, another one already? Why?”
“I told him we intended to try again later next year,” Jazz informed Gray, who regained a little of the color he’d lost at Nick’s question. “Possibly, if the band stuff works out.”
“What do you mean if it works out?” Nick demanded. “Of course it’s going to work out. The show…shows were just a blip. Simon’s working through it.”
In truth, he wasn’t sure what Simon was working through. His best friend had clammed up after the first botched concert and completely shut down after the second. It grated on Nick that he’d intended to goad Jazz into asking Simon and Margo to come over tonight, because he wasn’t entirely sure his friend would reply to his texts.
That fucking hurt, especially since he didn’t have a clue why.
“She didn’t mean what you’re thinking,” Gray said quietly. “She was referring to touring and album release schedules.”
Nick cleared his throat. He had a hair-trigger response to even the smallest suggestion that the band wouldn’t work out. Forget an actual infant,Oblivionwas his baby. The band had started out with Simon as the lead singer and Deacon on bass and Snake—goddamn Snake—on drums, but he’d been the one who’d initially approached the others. He and Simon had played together practically every day in high school, but forming a band was different. It required a commitment beyond just what felt good and living in the moment.
Eventually Snake had been kicked out of the band due to his drug use, and they’d been down a drummer. Deacon had brought in Jazz to fill that role—over Nick’s strenuous objections—and Gray, in spite of Nick’s assertions that they didn’t need two guitarists.
But they did. Just as they needed Margo’s incredible work on the violin. This lineupwasOblivion. They’d soared higher and achieved more success than he’d ever imagined. He’d be damned if the dream slipped away.
Tonight, he wasn’t thinking about any of that. It was fucking Christmas. For once in his life, he was just going to enjoy his friends and his life. And Lila.
God, he hoped he’d get to enjoy her.
“Do you two always speak for each other now? Next you’ll be finishing each other’s sentences.” Nick shoved his hands in his back pockets. “I gotta wrap shit.”
Jazz lifted Dylan as he started to rouse, murmuring softly to him. “Aww, you’re hungry aren’t you, sweetiepie?” Then she reached for the top button of her shirt. “Sure you don’t want to stay for nursing time?”
There was no missing the gleam in her eyes. Evil woman.
Nick backed toward the door. “You’re lucky your husband doesn’t react the same way to you flipping out a boob,” he said before he escaped.
A pillow hit the door in his wake and he grinned. He seemed to draw that reaction a lot from his female bandmates.
He headed up the hall and faced down the pile of gifts in his bedroom with a heavy sigh. Might as well get to it. He’d be tangled up in tape and wrapping paper for a while.
Wrapping paper. Aw, fuck.
“Hey Jazz,” he called.
A few hours later, all his stuff was wrapped and bagged. Luckily Jazz had a stash of Christmas gift bags, so he’d started shoving things in those. She’d tried to convince him to use tissue paper, but eventually he’d run out so he’d grabbed that morning’s newspaper and started using that for bag filler.
C’mon, who didn’t love the comics? The political articles and obits probably wouldn’t garner any fans, but hey, he was reusing and recycling and that had to be a holiday-worthy endeavor.
He hauled all his packages and parcels downstairs to the collection under the tree. Holy shit, there was a ton of them. They’d be opening boxes all night.
And if Simon got him another gift certificate to the local drugstore with a memo “I recommend ribbed for her pleasure”, he was going to knee him in the nuts.
Nick scratched his chin. On second thought, he didn’t have any condoms left. He might just need that certificate tonight, if some freaking Christmas elves worked on his behalf to get him laid.
Not that he cared about the sex part as much as he cared about reconnecting with Lila. Chick term or not, he missed her. Just snuggling and laughing and kissing her enough that her light apple scent soaked into his skin would make his night.
