Sticks (Black Addiction #2) (13 page)

I was impressed she hadn’t gone with something lame like Leafy or Walter, let’s face it there wasn’t a lot you could call a plant and it sound cool but she had most definitely achieved that.

“Sar named him, but I concurred. So I’ll take badass by default.” She grinned, another few nibbles on the cracker. “Have you thought about names for us?”

“You mean for the baby?” I asked like a dumbass.

“No, for us because twenty some-odd years with the same name is boring.” She tossed me a look that told me she had made the same assessment. “
Of course
for the baby.”

Well.

Fuck.

My eyes blinked rapidly as my brain short-circuited. And not in the kind of way where I pictured her naked. This was completely different.

“Ummm.”

Nope, still nothing. On second thought, what the hell was my own name? Because at this point that wasn’t flashing front and center either.

“We’re not calling our kid
Ummm
, Joey.” She eyeballed me with a smirk, the slight dig somehow making me feel better I’d had a complete mind dump.

“No, I just mean I hadn’t thought about it. I just figured it was a long time away.”

More like it seemed like an eternity away and the thought of being responsible for naming another human scared the fucking crap out of me.

“It is.” She nodded with what seemed like a huge case of I’m-not-worried; how she had it all together was still a source of wonder. “I was just curious if you had any ideas, that’s all.”

Rather than prove I had no fucking idea, I decided to throw the ball in her court. Considering she was the only one of the two of us who seemed to have a clue.

“What about you? Have you got any ideas?”

“I was thinking Lennon, sort of works for both a boy or a girl.” She smiled like she
hadn’t
just thought about giving our unborn kid the worst possible name ever. I take back what I said. She didn’t have a clue either.

“I’d rather call our kid
Ummm
.” Was she serious? “We are not naming him or her after a Beatle.” Pfft. Like
that
was even a possibility.

“What have you got against The Beatles?”

Jesus. She
was
serious. How much time did she have?

“Dude, they’re like a hundred years old. Their music sucked and they were English. I want our kid to have an American name.”

“They aren’t a hundred years old.” She gave me the eye-roll, head shake combo I usually got when we didn’t agree.

“Their music still sucked.”

Not even she could debate how snore-town their tunes had been.
I wanna hold your hand?
Can someone please give them some testicles and a different cord progression?

“Okay, so
you
think of something.”

Random names pinged around my noggin with nothing sticking. Maybe she had something going with the musician thing. Nothing cooler than sharing your name with greatness.

“What about Tommy if it’s a boy, Lee if it’s a girl.” The Mötley Crüe drummer being one of my first idols.

“Sure, let’s name our kid after a coked-up drummer who has a sex tape. That makes all the sense in the world.”

“Firstly, he might have been on drugs, but he was and still is a fucking kick ass drummer. Secondly, did you see the size of his cock? Mad props to him and his monster dick.” No sooner had the words come out of my mouth than I realized what I’d said. The cold-day-in-hell Kenz was shooting me was also another tip off.

Okay, on second thought, our kid wasn’t getting named Tommy Lee. Like ever. Now I needed to also wash the visual from my mind with about two gallons of bleach.

“Not happening,” she unnecessarily confirmed. “What about something like Chance?”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” She must be fucking with me. Lennon and Chance were her suggestions? “Why don’t we just cut out the middleman and steal his lunch money right now. Because that’s what a name like that gets you. A couple of black eyes too. No, our kid gets a normal fucking name. Oh, and no tricked up spelling either.”

Or hooker names. Or jock names. And no fucking names that sound like a bunch of letters that some sucker believes is the Hawaiian word for purity.

“I believe it’s your turn.” She laughed, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how easily I got annoyed.

“Shit this is really hard.” Thank God we had more time because we were going to need it.

“I hope that wasn’t your suggestion because if it was, I’m putting Lennon back on the table.”

“Ha. Ha. You’re so funny, and no that wasn’t the suggestion.”

God she was beautiful. Maybe it’s ’cause we were talking about our kid but I swear it’s like every day she just got more stunning. I had to remind myself that the fact we were having this conversation was proof I had already been there. And even still, it seemed hard to believe. Max was right to think she would never be with me. Why the hell would she? She must have men climbing the walls to get to her. Thank God our little agreement meant I didn’t have to worry about that for a while.

“You want a cracker?” My silent staring obviously gave her the heebie jeebies as she angled the box toward me, the dry slices of cardboard holding zero appeal.

“And deny you your feast. What kind of heartless bastard do you think I am?” I responded, keeping it tight as to what I was really thinking about.

Not like I could spill now, could I? Not when things were so good with what we had. Besides, we had the kid to think about. No way was I fucking that up.

“The one who’s still wearing no pants. You want to fix that? I really need to keep my breakfast down, I have work to do today.” She pointed to the towel still slung around my waist, my lack of clothes not forgotten, especially not by me.

“Yeah, what are you doing?” I became suddenly interested in what kind of work she had to do. Far as I knew she didn’t have any daytime gigs, and her band wasn’t even close to laying down an album, which ruled out the studio. And call me nosey, but part of me just wanted to know what she did when we weren’t together.

“I’ve got a song I’m working on.” She brushed the cracker crumbs off her sheets before giving me a look of no-big-deal. “I’ve been working on it for a few days.”

“So, maybe I can help. Think of it as our second collaboration.”

I had no idea what I was even suggesting. I’d contributed to the stuff we put out but for the most part it was extra window dressing. The hard yards were always done by Angie and Rusty. It’s what worked and I knew better than to rock the boat. But I had enough theory to be able to put something together if I wanted to, I just never wanted to. Now, doing it with her, maybe it would be a good thing.

“Thanks, Joey but I work better by myself.” She laughed shooting me down without even a second thought.

“Then look at it as practice, me doing my part for your personal growth,” I offered, thinking maybe there was more I could offer than just the song.

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a color by number kind of song, Joey. Sometimes the adults need to do their thing.”

Ouch. Seriously? Sure we threw names back and forth and while I knew I didn’t have a fancy piece of paper on my wall like she did, I wasn’t stupid either.

“You could still toss some ideas around, I’m a good listener.” I tried a different tactic, hoping she’d see there was more to me than what she knew.

“It’s really not ready to share. Besides, you’re a
drummer
. I don’t need to hit things today.” She laughed, completely oblivious to the burn she’d just given me.

It’s not important
, internally I argued. She was going off past experience and the Joey Shaw from three months ago would not have thought sitting down and writing a song was a good time. So I couldn’t be pissed at her that she hadn’t gotten the message it was something I’d now consider. Which up until five minutes ago I hadn’t. Clear as mud, right?

Besides, it’s not like she was saying
no
to me but was sitting there writing with Rusty instead. She said she works better alone. It’s not personal, just personal preference, and I shouldn’t be pissed because she wanted to work solo. Hell, some songs Angie wrote she wouldn’t even let Rusty play with until she was done. And those two did everything together. I should let it go, maybe revisit it some other time down the track.

“Drummers do much more than hit things, string plucker,” I volleyed back, sticking to what we knew. Yeah. It was better this way.

“String plucker, really?” The
is that the best you can do
, not needed.

“Fine, I’ll put my pants on and go.” I threw my hands in the air dramatically, slightly annoyed I had no reason to stick around. “My talent isn’t appreciated here.”

“I’m going to grab a shower.” She gave me a quick squeeze on the arm, her cue I was overstaying my welcome. “Thanks for staying over. Maybe call me later?” A goodbye-you-can-go-now if ever I’d heard one.

“Yep, cool. Take care,” I said, like I was waving off a great aunt.

Maybe The Beatles weren’t the only ones who needed to find their testicles; I should probably jet before I made an even bigger fool of myself.

“Catch you, Kenz.” I grabbed my clothes and shoes from her bedroom floor and walked out to the living room.

And after a quick redress and dumping my damp towel in her laundry hamper I grabbed my keys, my phone and headed out the door. The goodbye made easier in that she’d already moved into her bathroom. I tried not to think about her being naked in the same spot I had been. Or that a few footsteps in the right direction would put me in the same location.

Fuck.

I needed to get out. I threw my body into my truck and hightailed back home, the distance hopefully cooling the burn.

“Everything cool, bro?” Max was in his usual spot; in the kitchen with a cup of java in his hand.

“Yeah, all sorted.” I tossed my keys and phone onto the counter while I got myself a cup. “We are not fucking other people. That’s the rule.” I took a sip of the caffeinated goodness before continuing. “Sorry for bailing on you and Rusty last night. We can do it again sometime soon.”

“No need to apologize. I’m glad you worked it out.” Like the stand up that he was, he didn’t make an issue of it. The dude always had my back; yesterday had been no exception.

“You really did me a solid yesterday, saved my ass from making a big mistake.” I didn’t even want to think about how shit would have gone down if I had gone home with Rochelle. Bad. It would have been very bad. And I saw that now even if it had been Max and Rusty who had pointed it out. Thank fuck for that.

“That’s what friends are for, Joe. Don’t get too sentimental on me.” He cupped my neck and gave it a shake.

“Seriously, dude.” The words of gratitude I’d given him not even close to being enough. “Anytime you see me going off course, just hit me or something.”

“Joey, you are going to be fine. Give yourself some credit; you are going to be great.”

Yep. I definitely had lost my balls somewhere. Max proved how good a buddy he was by ignoring it, another reason why he was my best friend.

Thankfully my phone chimed with an incoming message before I went full Oprah and started bawling like a baby, the text hopefully being from the girl I’d just left. The preview of the message visible in screen lock.

“What the fuck?” I stared at my phone like the message was in Chinese.

“All those dick pics finally catching up with you, huh?” Max laughed, dumping his cup in the sink with no idea on what I was dealing with.

“No, it’s a message from some douchebag I don’t know.” I reread the message again wondering if I had just misunderstood it. Or like the second time around the letters would leap of the screen and suddenly divulge some other meaning.

“Well what does it say?” He tipped his head to the phone, not having the same perspective as I had.

“
Got your email. You’re amazing and I’m really into it. Let’s make the magic happen. Dom
.” I read out loud the same message I’d scanned at least ten times since it landed on my phone.

“He sounds like a nice guy, you should invite him over.” Max laughed, thoroughly enjoying that my latest fan was a dude. Not that there was anything wrong with that, I just didn’t play on that team.

“Why the hell won’t my phone unlock.” I continued to press my four-digit code but got nowhere, the shaking screen taunting me in its denied access.

“Did you forget your pin number again?”

That had happened one time, not like I made a habit out of it. I stared at the screen for a beat before I suddenly realized the answer was really fucking obvious.

Like staring me in the face.

Literally.

“Ohhhhh.” I smiled; glad the mystery had been partially solved.

“What?” Max asked once again out of the loop.

“This is Kenzie’s phone.” I turned it in my hands to show him the screen locked picture of her and Sara smiling broadly behind the glass. “I must have picked up hers by accident.” In my agitation over the message I’d completely not noticed.