Page 131 of Red Hot Harmony

“Can we agree on some other form of address until I’m at least fifty?”

As she sashayed toward the terrace to check on the status of her birthday dinner, she said in a sing-song voice, “Someone in this house feels old.”

“I wonder who?” Malik barked from the couch, where he was lounging with his new girlfriend, Talia, and his best friend, a.k.a. Snowflake Martinez.

The TV was on and violent sounds of the football game spilled through the downstairs area and crashed with the music coming in from outside.

I tore my gaze from the article I’d been reading and stared at the people gathered in my back yard.

The sun was about to dip beyond the horizon and everything was tinged by the soft golden glow.

“Is that the interview?” Frank asked, padding across the room, barefoot.

Hotshot had gotten awfully comfortable in my house lately.

He’d been holed up in my music room with Ally all afternoon, working on some secret project they weren’t ready to share with the world yet. I didn’t deny the fact that, at times, I was a little bit jealous of their newfound camaraderie, but now that we were one, big blended family I’d been learning to share and not be an asshole about it.

“Yep.” I handed Frank the iPad and pushed myself up from the chair with every intention of checking the chicken I’d left on the grill fifteen minutes ago. “But I didn’t get to the part where you go all righteous. I can only take Robbie’s drivel in small quantities.”

He quickly skimmed over the text, smiling to himself and shaking his head. “Yeah, his writing is ridiculous.”

“Ya think?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Picked up that stupid habit from Ally.“He calls you a titular rock idol.”

“Huh?” Frankie-boy’s expression morphed into one of a confused mushroom. “What does that even mean?”

“I don't know. Ask your wife. She’s friends with the guy, right?”

Everyone in the music business knew the owner ofPulse Nation. The magazine had been a long-time competitor ofRewiredand Cassy used to piss boiled water whenever she was in the same building with Robbie Dodd.

But that didn’t stop us from letting him run an exclusive on our little brainchild, Equilibrium Records.

“I think she has more important matters to attend to right now.” Frank set the iPad on the nearest table and gestured toward the terrace, where Mrs. Blade was at the prep table, juggling a knife and a lettuce head and managed to look very lost while doing so. She’d never learned how to cook and still lived on coffee and energy drinks and whatever Hannah created.

Not everyone was as gifted with turning vegetables and meat into delicacies as yours truly.

Who would have thought the guitar wasn’t my only talent?

“Better take that knife from her, Frankie-boy, before she accidentally stabs someone.” I grinned at him as he made his way outside to assist his wife in making a salad while Yanneth, Camille, and my soon-to-be monster-in-law were working on the dessert in the kitchen.

In return, Frank flipped me off and joined Cassy, Harper, and Ally, who disappeared into the pool house the moment her godfather tried to get her to peel an orange.

The front door was wide open and I heard the familiar purr of an engine as it approached. Camille’s old man had brought his Vette, and Roman had persuaded him to go out for a test drive.

The two had been gone for hours.

I walked outside and watched the car roll past the gate and into the empty spot next to Ally’s shiny, brand-new Mazda, which Camille and I had given her for her birthday.

Obviously, my first choice had been an expensive muscle car because I loved Ally to death and I wanted her to have the best, but due to my limited experience with raising a teenager, I hadn’t considered other factors. Like safety.

So after a very lengthy conversation that included a round of hot sex with my future bride, we’d decided on something a little less flashy.

Hence, the Mazda, a perfect starter car for the rising heavy metal star.

We’d taken Ally to the dealership yesterday right after school and spent the entire afternoon driving the new vehicle around the neighborhood and blasting music.

By the end of the evening, I’d had the worst headache ever from all the screamo stuff she’d made me listen to during our adventures.

“How’s that chicken coming along, son?” Camille’s father, who kept insisting I call him Alfred, asked as he climbed out of the passenger seat.

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