Twisted(59)
“I’ve spent my life scrapping for everything I have. I don’t expect you to get that, but you don’t turn off a lifetime of having to protect your own interests overnight.”
Gray didn’t respond.
Nick swore under his breath. “Fine, yeah, it’s our band, until you fuck up and the others find out. I’ve kept your secret this long because of Jazz. She doesn’t deserve to find out that you’re a cokehead from me. Besides, she’d never believe it.” He tapped his foot on the floor in time to the ashes he drummed into a leftover mug on the side table next to his chair. “But Simon would believe me, and so would Deacon. Once he finds out, you’ll be on a bus to rehab so fast that your guitar will spin.”
Gray knew very well why they’d kicked their former drummer, Snake, out of the band. That opening in the lineup was what had led to him and Jazz being invited in. Well, invited, sort of. Deacon had wanted them, Simon hadn’t cared and Nick had been vehemently opposed.
Sounded just about right.
“Jazz is a smart girl,” Nick said, dangling his cigarette between his knees. “If you don’t quit that shit you’re into soon, she’s going to find out. And if you kill what’s between the two of you, I’m not going to step back twice. Fair warning.”
“I hear you.”
Nick hauled in a breath of smoke then puffed it out before crushing the cigarette against the side of the mug. “I hope you do, for her sake if not your own. She thinks you hung the fucking moon, man. Don’t prove her wrong.”
Gray nodded and thought of the text he’d received from Cricket an hour ago between texts from Jazz. He’d fought not to even look at it, for it not to matter. But that crawling-ants sensation under his skin that crept back when he went too long without a hit made him weak.
He’d cut back. He’d get the money together and start slowing down. It’d take some time, but he’d wean himself off it. Hell, if he had to smoke more pot in the meantime, even that was better. But he couldn’t have Jazz and the coke.
He shouldn’t.
“I’ve got it under control,” he said softly, struggling to block out the text he’d sent to Cricket.
I’ve got some of your money. I just need more blow to tide me over. Then once I’m back home, I’ll get you the rest of your cash. Promise.
Nick stared at him for a moment before crooking his fingers. “Let me see what you’re working on.”
“It’s not ready for—”
Nick kicked the coffee table back into place, then grabbed the notebook and slumped back into his chair. He read the page of lyrics silently, lifting his brow at the end. “Well. That’s not what I expected.”
“I’m still working on it.” Gray couldn’t stem the defensiveness in his tone. “I haven’t written much in a while.”
“What’s it called?”
“I don’t have a name for it yet.”
Nick dug a pencil stub out of his jeans pocket and crossed out something. His brows knitted together as he wrote and scratched out more. He drummed his fingers on the notebook spine and scribbled again.
“What the hell are you doing to my lyrics?”
“Ever heard of collaborating? That’s what I’m doing.”
“That song wasn’t meant for collaboration. Especially not with you.” Jointly writing a sex song for Jazz veered into weird-as-fuck territory.
For the first time since he’d arrived, Nick smiled. It was more of a smirk, but for Nick, it might as well have been a beaming grin. “If you didn’t want to offer it up, you shouldn’t have been fiddling with it when we’re supposed to be coming up with material for the album. Besides, this has single potential.”
Gray swallowed his protests. “You think so?”
“Hell yeah. Simon will be all over this. I’ll prove it to you.” He pulled out his cell and started typing, probably inputting some of the lyrics from Gray’s song.
It didn’t take long for Nick’s phone to light up with text after text. Nick read them silently, his smirk deepening. “Yep. Simon’s on board,” he said, tucking his phone away.
Gray gripped his knees and leaned forward. “Really? What did he say?”
“He wondered why it took us so long to write an ode to eating pussy.” Nick tossed the notebook back at Gray. “By the way, ‘Sugar Kiss.’”
Gray was too busy scanning the changes Nick had made to the song to hear him at first. They weren’t bad. Actually, he’d refined some of what Gray had come up with on his own, tightening it up and making it pop. He’d also reorganized a couple of lines, but it was still Gray’s song. Just better.