Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
The victory in my chest isn’t a cannon blast. It’s not boisterous or smug.
It’s red-hot and enthralled. I crave to touch the fire against his cheeks and disintegrate.
He’s avoiding my eyes now.
I sit in front of him, giving him enough space that our knees don’t touch.
“Big ho! Big ho!”
Phoenix looks at me beneath his dark lashes, then tips his head toward the bird cage. “Any truth to that?”
I adjust the guitar on my lap. “You’re asking if I’m a slut?”
His brown-blue eyes rest on me in a stronger beat. “You can hook up with whoever. I’d just like to know if it’s going to be a thing, seeing as how we’ll be spending most of our time together.”
A thing.
I understand his worry. I’ve shared it. “I’m dedicated to the band, not to getting laid.” I’m sensing that Phoenix will also prioritize The Carraways. I strum a chord on my guitar. “I have a better question. Who’s the bigger slut: you or me?”
His dark gaze is back on the journal. “If you’re asking for my body count, I don’t know. I don’t keep count.”
“That just means it’s high enough you lost count, dude. Like counting to ten isn’t that hard.”
He uncaps his pen with his mouth. Is he doing that on purpose? Using his mouth. My eyes are drawn to his pink lips when he mumbles out, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
That question fists my cock. It shouldn’t turn me on when it’s clear he’s asking because it’s relevant for the band. I’m not an idiot. I want to verify the same thing about him. For. The. Band.
“You think if I had a boyfriend, I’d let you sit on my bed?” I ask in disbelief.
He spits out the cap to the pen. It falls on my comforter. “I’m just your drummer. Not looking to hook up with you.”
“Yeah, I know that. But maybe my boyfriend wouldn’t love the idea of another gay guy as hot as you—and three years older than me—being in my bedroom alone with me.”
His brows do this weird crinkly cinch thing. I think he’s going to comment on me calling him hot before he says, “Maybe your boyfriend should trust you…unless you’re a cheater—”
“Whoa, absolutely fucking not.” My fingers dig into my guitar. “I would literally cast myself into a violent sea over causing someone I loved that type of pain. Even if they deserved it, that’s not the type of revenge I’m into.”
He pushes his hair out of his face. “Same.”
Is it possible we’re actually more alike than we are different? I loosen my grip. “Maybe my boyfriend is protective of me. He wouldn’t appreciate you asking me about my body count.”
Phoenix glares. “You asked me that.”
“Did I?” I smirk, feigning innocence. He rolls his eyes, but they land on my hands as I play a guitar riff. “Bitch” by the Rolling Stones. My fingers move along the fretboard, pressing down strings while I pick others with my right hand.
“Where’s this protective boyfriend?” Phoenix asks. “New York, Philly, Antarctica?”
“Hypothetical boyfriend.” I squeeze the fretboard and the sound cuts out.
“So you’re literally single,” he says in this dickish tone.
“Yeah. I’m single. And you’re clearly not in a relationship because there’s no sane person who’d date Raisin Bran.”
He holds up two fingers. “Two exes.” Then he puts one finger down to flip me off.
I almost smile, but my stomach is a washing machine. Churning. I don’t understand why. “Recent?”
“One from high school. One from college. They each lasted a couple years.” Based on the clench of his jaw, I’m guessing things did not end amicably with one or both.
“Should I be expecting an angry ex on my doorstep?”
“I wouldn’t let him get five feet near you.” His voice is almost a whisper, but I hear him, even over the squawking cockatoo. He taps his pen repeatedly against his journal, looking me over. “How many do you have, nepo baby?”
“None,” I answer honestly. “But not for lack of trying. I’m just extremely picky when it comes to who I even hook up with.” I stare at my guitar strings. “I’d love to have a boyfriend even if it went south one day, but the guy I’m on-and-off with isn’t into relationships.”
His frown darkens. “Are you currently on or off?”
“Off.” I feel more exposed, and I play a few more chords on the guitar before eyeing him. He’s watching me intently. “Any current hookups?” I ask. “Guys you think about when you jerk one out in the shower? Other than me, of course.”
He glowers. “It’s not you. That’d be Josh Hutcherson circa The Hunger Games.” He doodles in the margin of the journal. “I don’t have a friends-with-benefits or anything. These days, I just meet someone at a bar, fuck, then never see him again. I’m not into relationships.”
Not into relationships.