Page 40 of My Grape Crush
“Who do you have in mind?” I hope it's some mediocre ankle-biter outfit she can say no to without thinking.
“Have either of you heard of Gia Barlow?”
Dani’s mouth drops. I hate how her face lights up and that Sawyer is the cause.
“Really?” she asks with starstruck wonder. “Pop My Cherryis my new favorite band.”
Sawyer puffs his chest out like a proud rooster. “They’re ready to cut a new EP. She shared a couple of tracks, and, I swear, they’re the next Nirvana.”
“You’ve signed them?” Even across the pond, the buzz is out on Gia. Part Italian, all ripper performer, and notoriously uncensored, she’s blasting through life powered by zero fucks.
Before he can answer, Dani’s phone jingles. She glances at the screen and excuses herself, Sawyer’s gaze firmly on her ass as she walks away to take the call. Her dress is something else—black and snug with a hem just shy of appropriate. I wish I could stop staring, but the problem is, I know what’s underneath it.
“Damn, she’s hot,” Sawyer mutters. “Any scoop?”
“Ah, shit, you know what?” I smack my palm against my forehead, playing it up. “Evelyn mentioned a boyfriend.”
“Long-term?”
I shrug, one lie following another. “No idea.”
He continues to scope her out, dispensing the sage wisdom of a career agent who knows everyone has a price. “Nothing lasts forever, right?”
“That’s inspirational,” I snort. “With two marriages dead in the water, you’re angling for a third?”
“Who said anything about marriage? I’m happy with playdates in between eighteen holes with my crew.”
“Worst-case scenario, you can always marry your golf clubs.”
It’s been so long since I heard Sawyer laugh that I forget what it sounded like. A deep, rolling belly laugh that is at complete odds with his dry-as-dust personality.
“There’s an idea,” he says. “Save a ton on the backend, right?”
He smiles, and it takes me a few seconds to name the strange sensation dancing on my skin. Camaraderie? Nah, it can’t be. The earth still rotates eastward.
“JC said Tara came after you hard for alimony.”
“Like a wrecking ball. I never heard the end of it from Dad.” He shakes his head, and I do, at this moment, sympathize. Peter had game in all arenas save for fatherhood. “What about you?” he shifts gears. “Still living the bachelor dream?”
I pretend to stare out at the lake while watching Dani. “More like a nightmare. Fame sucks. Even behind locked gates on an island, my privacy gets violated.”
After a brief silence, Sawyer says, “You never had an easy time bonding with people.”
And just like that, the ghosts crowd in. I overcame my introverted tendencies, but fame has intensified my struggle with relationships. For all the freewheeling spontaneity I project, put me on a raft with a woman I like, and I become thick-tongued and useless.
“That Gia deal legit?” I shift the focus off me. “She’s a huge score.”
Sawyer draws a circle on the grass with his dumb-ass shoe tip. “Between you and me, they haven’t signed yet. But they will,” he insists. “Gia’s a huge fan of JC.”
As soon as he utters the name, all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck bristle to attention. “What does that mean?”
Sawyer drums his fingers when he’s nervous, and he’s only nervous when he’s working up the courage to do something out of his comfort zone. “She’s looking for a new guitarist.”
It takes a lot to forget about Dani and her curves hovering nearby. But my focus dissolves into a pinhole of sharp white rage lasered onto Sawyer.
Is he fucking serious?
“Have you forgotten JC doesn’t play live anymore?” Not that I have to tell him that our middle brother had a mental breakdown from the excesses of touring life. He spent three months rehabbing in my palazzo and swore never to go on the road again.
