Deftly, he untangled their limbs and managed to climb over the back of the sofa. Sure, he had a crick in his neck, but he’d had the best night’s sleep he’d had in months.
The thought of Pixie going home today was like a kettlebell to the balls. Not only had she accepted what he’d told her about living with the guys, she’d told him she respected him for it. The kinds of girls that had stayed over in the past were more interested in fucking the rock star, and in some cases, rock stars. Groupies who wanted to land them all at some point or another. They never thought to question why the band all lived in the same house.
What if she went home and decided to not come back? Or worse, what if his anger issues scared her away? Wasn’t it a fait accompli that she would leave? Would she give up on him like his nine sets of foster parents had? The only people who hadn’t were Maisey, Ellen, and the men in this house.
He grabbed a piece of paper from next to the fridge and scribbled as more of the song he’d started the previous night came to him.
I can’t write this song without you. What am I going to do?
Dred tapped his pen against the paper. The other words were ideas. Images. Nothing that he could settle into place.
Jordan pushed a cup of coffee across the counter. He’d not even seen him get up.
“You look like you need this,” he whispered.
Dred looked over to where Pixie was still sleeping. Part of him wanted to carry her upstairs and keep her in bed for the day. But he felt the shift in her when they were kissing on the sofa. She’d been right there with him one minute, then something got into her head and she’d pushed him away. He wanted to push her, not into sex because he would never do that, but he wanted to challenge her into understanding what had come between them in that moment so they could address it.
“Thanks.” Dred took a sip. Sure it was manlier to drink it straight up black, but he preferred it sweeter than sweet.
“Did you guys have a good night?”
“Yeah. Almost too good.” Dred replied with a smile.
Footsteps entered the kitchen behind him. “Must have been a shitty fuck given the state of you, all cuddled up on the sofa like you’re still in high school.”
What happened to the stool he was sitting on or the coffee in his hand, he’d never know. Nor would he ever recall the steps he took across the kitchen floor. Because all that mattered right now was choking the shit out of Lennon for his hugely disrespectful comments.
He’d take a night, fully dressed, on the sofa with Pixie over every faceless groupie that had walked through the front door and fucked him senseless.
“Shut the fuck up, Lennon.”
Lennon grinned as Dred pushed his arm further across his neck. “Just messing with you,” he choked.
Dred shoved Lennon into the fridge, causing the contents to shake and rattle. “Asshole.”
“Thanks for the backup, Jordan,” said Lennon, bending over from the waist, winded by the sudden move.
“You dug your own hole.” Jordan calmly took another drink.
It was a long way from the first, and equally as distant from the last, fight the house would see. They fought constantly, always brushing up against the intersection of their tempers and fears.
“Looks like he didn’t dig any hole last night. Wouldn’t be wound up so tight if he—oof!” Lennon collapsed to the floor as his stomach made contact with Dred’s fist. Dred was preparing to pull him up and hit him again, when Jordan stepped in.
“Okay, you owed him that, but it’s done, Dred. And as for you”—Jordan turned to Lennon who was on his knees, winded—“you need to get back upstairs and get ready. Rehearsal starts in half an hour.”
Dred pushed away from Lennon to see Pixie, who had woken up at some point during the interaction and was now sitting up on the sofa, staring at him wide eyed.
“But I wanted to get—”
“No. You didn’t,” said Jordan, cutting him off. “Grab something on your way back down.”
Dred could hear the tap, the banging in the sink, and the sound of the dishwasher door being opened, but he never took his eyes off her.
“Catch you once we’ve got the tunes down,” Jordan said, and Dred heard the footsteps fade in the direction of the stairs to the basement.
Her hair was mussed up, and she pulled the blanket tight around her.
He’d hit Lennon because he made a stupid joke that anyone of them would have made on any other day. But because it was about her, he’d been out of the chair and at his throat, literally, before Jordan had finished his sentence.
There was no clear explanation why Lennon’s words bothered him so much.
Just as there was no explanation for how this woman was starting to mean so much to him.
Chapter Eight
Jars rattling loudly had woken her, and Pixie had opened her eyes in time to see Lennon pushed up against the fridge. Dred, obviously the larger of the two, had him at a disadvantage. But Lennon didn’t look overly concerned. In fact, Jordan was grinning, even after Dred had punched Lennon in the stomach.