Page 33 of Sweet Oblivion

Nash could be so annoyingly responsible when he took the notion. Typically, he saved those moments for my life.

“I’ll deal with my mum when I’m ready.” And I wasn’t ready. Seriously, what was I doing here? “When do we see this Camden Grace fellow you talk about?”

“Early next week. In Nashville.”

“Great. I’ll get to meet him, then.” His lashes were as sun-kissed as the hair on his head. My gaze traced the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked. His eyes widened. “You’re going to the thing at MIT. How long is this course anyway?”

“Six weeks.”

He scowled. “Fuck, Ay. That’s most of the summer.”

I shrugged, pretending his disappointment didn’t bother me. It shouldn’t. We aren’t a couple. He didn’t want to be. “I’m still shocked I was accepted.”

“You shouldn’t be. I told you, you’re really smart.” He clenched his jaw. “I won’t ask you to stay with me again. But I want to.”

“Because your dad’s been all weird?”

Nash shrugged. “I don’t know what’s up his ass. His album isn’t doing as well as he’d hoped.”

I nudged his shoulder. “Probably because you didn’t write the songs.”

He shot me a shy smile that made me a bit woozy. Once Nash realized his impact on me, I’d be totally screwed. “You think the last album was better?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

“Far superior,” I said in a haughty tone, using my most precise British enunciation.

Nash chuckled. “Yeah, me too.” His smile slipped. “Dad’s not much of a songwriter.”

“Why didn’t he ask you to write any of the songs?”

Nash shrugged. “He did, but nothing was clicking for me. Then he holed up with Beanie back in February. Once they started, he never even invited me to the studio.”

Nash wasn’t a fan of Quantum’s drummer. I hadn’t met the guy yet, but from Nash’s stories, he sounded condescending. And that was his best quality.

“That’s okay. You said you’ve been hanging out with Cam, right? Didn’t his last album go gold or something?”

Nash laughed. “Platinum. His first single broke the daily download record for a week straight.”

“And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that song, would you?”

His blush was adorable. I wanted to press my cheek to his, have his embarrassment warm me.

“A little,” he mumbled.

“Well, I can see who has the talent in the family,” I teased.

Steve walked back into the room and Nash straightened away from me, eyeing his bodyguard.

“Nash, my boy!”

I turned to find a tall, lithe man—probably about twenty-five years older than Nash and me—striding forward, a huge smile on his face.

His blond hair appeared disheveled, as if someone had been running their fingers through it. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and the dimples in his cheeks hinted at a sweetness I was sure he used to his advantage with the ladies, which probably accounted for the crazy hair.

“Beanie,” Nash said.

Nash pocketed his phone and fist bumped the other guy, who studied me like my father did—as if wondering if I had any worth. I blinked up at him, straightening my spine.

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