Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
The front door opened before I had a chance to knock and wow…he looked hot.
He wore a ubiquitous black tee, but damn, he wore it well. The cotton fabric clung to his toned chest beautifully. And his sweatpants dipped low on his hips, hugging his crotch like—whoa!
I cleared my throat as I met his twinkling eyes. “Hi.”
Johnny grinned. “Hey. Come on in.”
“Nice place,” I commented stiffly, following him into the empty great room.
“There’s not much to see now, but it will be.” He spread his arms wide, his smile widening with every backward step. “I met with the interior designer today. I think I passed a secret test when I told Ann to do her thing. I have zero opinions about complementary hues and textiles.”
I stuffed my hands into my suit pockets and cast my gaze around the space. It was a blank canvas with high ceilings, hardwood flooring, and gleaming surfaces. The kitchen boasted shiny quartz countertops, a medium-sized island, and high-end appliances and fixtures. It looked a lot like mine, but with a contemporary aesthetic. Yeah, all the same name brands. No doubt it was a coincidence. Designers were like lawyers in LA. They were everywhere. Their styles differed, but there was something about the kitchens that was vaguely similar.
“It’s very nice. Ann and Fiona have similar tastes. Your kitchen looks like a contemporary version of mine,” I commented.
“Did Fiona do your house?”
“Yeah.”
“You guys must be on good terms. She seems cool.”
“We are and she is. It’s not always smooth sailing, but we’ve worked things out.”
Johnny set his hands on his slim hips and nodded. “Great. Want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” He rounded the island and pointed at the fridge, waggling his brows. “I actually have food…and beer.”
“No, I—thank you.”
Johnny stepped away from the fridge and cocked his head. “You look a little intense. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. I just came to get the guitar,” I replied sharply.
We stood a few feet apart like a couple of fighters in a ring, eyeing each other’s weaknesses and strengths. We couldn’t have looked any different if we tried. He had a hip factor I hadn’t aspired to in decades. I admired his talent and confidence, but I sure as fuck didn’t want to be thirty again. My end-of-day rumpled oxford shirt and suit pants were a sort of armor. I no longer gave a fuck about the way I appeared to others. It had taken me a while, but I’d learned to trust my instincts. And I’d learned when to pick my battles.
This wasn’t a battle.
Yes, I had to talk to Johnny about Charlie and ideally get him to agree not to see Clay, but I wasn’t here for that. Even if I were, I wasn’t in a position to make demands. I had to be tactful. Maybe even charming. I didn’t have it in me at the moment. It had been a long day.
And I needed space to mull over the air of layered complications. A guitar lesson, a business deal, and any mention of my ex was a confusing combination. I wasn’t sure who all the players were at this very second, so it was best to keep perspective and prioritize importance. My son came first.
I broke eye contact, intending to apologize for coming on strong, but Johnny let out a beleaguered sigh.
“Fine. Let’s go find a guitar.”
He motioned for me to follow him down a wide hallway, pushing open the last door on the right before turning on the overhead light. Wow. This was unexpected. Sure, it was a basic extra bedroom transformed into a home studio. However, this one was the real deal.
Guitars and basses in all shapes and colors lined the walls. Some electric, some acoustic. A few more were propped on stands near a drum kit or by the keyboard stationed near the window. Persian rugs covered the floor and gave the room a vibrant, homey feel absent in the rest of the house. The used coffee mug sitting on the stool beside a microphone and the discarded socks and sneakers indicated Johnny spent time here.
I wandered to a cherry-red Stratocaster and ran my fingers along the fret. “This is a beauty.”
Johnny plucked an acoustic guitar from a stand, hiking the strap over his shoulder as he glanced up with a wistful smile.
“Yeah, that’s one of my favorites. But this is a good starter guitar. I learned how to play on one like this.” He bent his head to tune his instrument. “Although mine wasn’t this nice. It was a piece-of-shit beater, but I’m still bummed I let it go. Hey, feel free to explore. This will take a few minutes.”
I walked the perimeter, pausing to play chopsticks on the keyboard. I chuckled when Johnny looked up from his strings to roll his eyes.