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Using those pearls in the dirty, deviant ways he’d devised would just be a bonus.
He could hear voices down the hall, carrying from their in-house studio. Deacon’s deeper tone mixed with Jazz’s light, happy laughter and the ubiquitous plucking of Gray’s guitar. The guy toted his instrument around even more than Nick did. After a second, he heard Simon and Margo’s laughter, and a sharp excited sound that probably belonged to Harper and Deacon’s daughter, Lexi. Unlike Dylan, she seemed to do more than cry and nurse. Not much more, but a little.
The heavenly smells from the kitchen meant Harper had been in residence for a while. His wrapping must’ve taken longer than he thought. Only one voice was missing. But he had to be sure.
To give himself a little distance, he drew out his iPhone and started recording just before he stepped into the studio. He’d take a few clips and upload to Periscope. That would serve a dual purpose. Lila tended to officiate everything—it was just her way—so he knew she hadn’t arrived yet. Having the phone in front of his face would hide his inevitable disappointment, the last thing he wanted his bandmates to see. They’d probably razz him, and he wasn’t in the mood.
Besides, back in the early days of the band’s success, he and Jazz had been Oblivion’s social media crew. They’d teased and tweeted and Facebooked the hell out of everything. Uploading a few short vids to Periscope of Oblivion’s fan-damn-tastic Christmas would prove to everyone that they might be dysfunctional, but at least they were a family.
The band wasn’t breaking up. It wasnevergoing to break up, if he had anything to say about it.
“Say cheese,” Nick as to the group of them as he moved into the studio doorway.
There was a bit of grumbling under their breaths, but in no time, the band was hamming it up for the camera while Nick narrated what he was witnessing. Mostly laughter and insults and the occasional air guitar, in Simon’s case. Turning on a camera was the surest way to make his best friend not act like a dick.
Maybe he should just start recording every conversation he tried to have with Simon. Then the bastard would be forced to stop freezing him out.
Dressing the babies in Christmas outfits was an inspired touch, Nick had to admit. Their female fans would eat that stuff up with a ladle. Dylan was wearing reindeer antlers and some green footie pajama thing while Gray nudged his rocking bassinette with his foot and played Elvis’s “Blue Christmas” on his guitar. He was singing to go with it, but no one seemed to care except Dylan, who stared owlishly up at his father as if he couldn’t understand why he was being subjected to such torture.
And during the holiday season, no less.
“Can’t you see you’re tormenting that child?” Nick said to Gray, who kept strumming and singing. “He’d rather hear me sing that, and that’d be painful.” He bent close to Dylan and smiled triumphantly as the baby’s eyes swiveled toward him. “See, you like me better than your old man, right, kid?”
Dylan screwed up his face and started to wail so violently he nearly dislodged one of his antlers.
Little fucker.
Gray started to laugh. “Your talents lay elsewhere. Like oh, in getting special piercings, maybe?” He waggled his brows.
Nick frowned and drew back, then shot an accusing glance at Jazz. “You know what they say about loose lips, Edwards.”
“Duffy now,” Jazz said in a singsong voice.
“Benedict Arnold Edwards-Duffy, spying on personal, private conversations, I might add.” Nick turned away, intending to aim his iPhone at the biggest camera hog of them all to get the spotlight off himself.
Simon didn’t bother waiting to be tagged, however. He just took over.
“Piercings, you say? This one wouldn’t even get his ear pierced in high school.” Simon jerked a thumb at Nick. “Highly doubt he can handle anything more intense.”
Nick narrowed his eyes and lifted his phone right up to Simon’s smirking face. “Not letting Tony Peterson pierce my ear with a stapler in high school showed my wisdom. I’m pretty sure he hit your brain when he did yours.”
“Wuss.” Simon tightened his arm around Margo’s shoulders. “So whatcha gonna get pierced, Nicky boy? Your nose? Your eyebrow? Your lip?” He leered. “Or maybe you’re gonna aim that needle farther south. Better be careful, you don’t have a lot of room to work with.”
“Here we go.” Margo poked Simon in the side. “Don’t start a pissing contest.”
“Don’t need to. He’ll never do it.” Simon’s boast made Nick frown. His best friend didn’t know what he would or wouldn’t do.
Sure, Nick wouldn’t even consider it, but Simon didn’t know that. Jackass.
“You didn’t hear him. He was teasing his girl—” Jazz broke off and cleared her throat before rushing toward Deacon to pry Lexi from his hip. “Gimme that baby. I just wanna squeeze her pretty cheeks.” She spun toward the camera and held out Deacon’s daughter, who was wearing a red-and-white onesie and a band with springy candy canes protruding from her head. “Look at her! She’s so precious.”
“Aww, that’s my little Lexi.” Simon plucked her out of Jazz’s hands, kissed her forehead and returned her to Deacon. “I wanna hear more about Nicky’s teasing. I know he wasn’t serious, because he can’tgeta girl. Everyone knows that.”
Nick was reasonably sure Simon was trying to cover for Jazz’s slip, since Nick was in theory the only remaining single member of Oblivion. He was supposed to remain that way, if their management at Ripper Records had any say in the matter. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be sleeping with their rep at the record company.
But as things stood now, he wasn’t. He hadn’t touched Lila in a week and a half. He could count down hours if pressed. So Simon’s taunt burned more than usual, and he reacted with typical sense.
“I might not be able to get a girl, but I can get my dick pierced.”
