Page 102 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

It was the last thing I heard before sleep claimed me.

Twenty-Two

“Thanks for coming out here, man. It’s been an honor and a privilege.”

I grunted and shook Matthias’s hand. He was new on the scene and spoke to me with reverence and none of the cynicism I’d had at his age.

Oh, to be that young. That wide-eyed and in love with the business.

To see only the gloss and the glitter and not the seedy underbelly.

“Don’t thank me. Just keep putting in the work as you’ve been doing. Because then it isn’t work. It’s play that makes you money.”

“I know that’s right.” He grinned and shook back his blond hair. It was cut in jagged spikes that toppled every which way and caused him to curse a fair amount. “But I know this isn’t your usual bag. You don’t normally work with hip-hop hybrid artists.”

“I absolutely have.” I named three such projects I’d been part of in the past year. “There’s also a collaboration coming up between Ian Kagan and Orion that I’ve been approached about. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Seriously? How amazing is that? Orion is a freaking God. And Ian’s got all the lineage, man.” Matthias tucked his hands under his arms. “He’s my

age. Gives a guy some hope he can break in. Of course my older brother isn’t Simon Kagan.”

“No? Who is he?”

He laughed at my unexpected joke. “Terry works for a soda company, delivering diabetes in a bottle to grocery stores. So, I won’t be getting any help there.”

Feeling surprisingly charitable, I clapped his shoulder. “You don’t need anyone’s help. You’re doing just fine on your own.”

“You mean that? Really?” He pulled out his phone from his jeans pocket and held it out to me. “Don’t suppose I can record that for the hard days when I think I’m fucking crap?”

I grinned. “Instead, give me a call and we’ll set up some studio time. I think with just a few more sessions these songs for your EP will be just what you were hoping for. Assuming you get your collaborator in here.”

He scrubbed the back of his neck, a classic evasive maneuver I recognized all too well. “Yeah, she’s kind of not taking my calls right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“We slept together and I fucked it all up.”

Christ, did I ever understand that one. As I’d gotten a text from Lindsey some time ago that I still hadn’t responded to. I hadn’t even looked at it. We’d been deep into a song, and my mistake had been in not turning off my phone in the first place.

But I’d wanted to know if she contacted me. Right away. Craved the warmth spreading in my chest from knowing she was thinking of me even if I couldn’t respond.

For so many reasons.

“So, get a new collaborator.” As flippant as my tone was, my head—and my heart—was not. For some of us, it just wasn’t that simple.

Sometimes doing the best thing for someone fucking sucked.

Matthias slumped down in the chair he’d just vacated. He grabbed his guitar and strummed a few chords before letting out a long breath. His music was a cross between hip-hop and rock with a few other genres thrown in for good measure, and he was definitely keeping me on my toes.

He sighed. “I just want her.”

“But she doesn’t want you anymore?”

“She’s having my kid and when she told me, I asked her if it was mine.”

The back of my neck itched. Hell, my entire spinal column and torso did too. This was not my area of expertise. I was not Jerry Springer, nor was I gunning for a similar position. As soon as people started discussing baby drama, or ex drama, or drama period, I usually tuned out and reminded myself that I could walk away at any time.

That was a hit or miss strategy, but it worked more often than not.

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