Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5)

by Cari Quinn

  Gray laughed. “Okay, fine, but what about the family part?”

  “She is my family, and I’m hers. As for the rest—” Nick swallowed a sigh. “I’m in denial, aren’t I?”

  “Pretty much,” Gray said cheerfully. “You know Lila wants children. Jazz told you as much last Christmas. If you want to marry her, you need to face reality.”

  “I could be infertile.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say that hopefully before.”

  Nick laid down on the bed. Maybe he was being a little overdramatic, but he was alone—other than the infernal cat, Spot, who only seemed to like him half the time and was probably stalking his ankles from under the bed like she normally did—so he was allowed. “Yes, okay, I know Lila wants kids. Someday. In the far off future.”

  “Far off isn’t that far off when you’re ready now.”

  “How do you know you’re ready?”

  A wail sounded in the background and Gray exhaled. “Hang on a second. Dylan bumped his head on the cabinet door.”

  Nick mumbled a response, then hit the phone on the side of his head.

  Dear God, that wasn’t him asking about being ready for children. He might as well trade his boxers in for a thong at the rate he was going.

  Wedding rings and baby talk. Who was he becoming? What had he done?

  Nothing yet, he reminded himself, tucking the ring into his jeans pocket. Putting it safely out of sight. He hadn’t broached the subject with Lila. He’d better find out what her feelings on babies were before he sprung the whole marriage topic on her.

  It wasn’t that he was totally against the idea of children. They could be cute, and there were a few he even sort of liked. Including Dylan, Gray and Jazz’s one-year-old son, and Lexi, Deacon and Harper’s one-year-old daughter. Then there was Axl, his old bandmate Snake’s kid with Chloe, a woman Nick had also, erm, hooked up with back in the day. Way back, when his balls had barely dropped.

  Lila was none too fond of Chloe or her connection to Snake, and that wasn’t entirely Chloe’s fault. She’d been the co-star of some completely innocent pictures that Lila’s stepson had decided to send to Lila to—

  Ah, hell, who even knew why that creeper Michael had sent the pix? Nick had cleared the air with him somewhat over the summer about the whole situation, but he still didn’t fully know the guy’s motivation. Michael had told Lila it was all some misunderstanding born out of wanting to help her. Sure. More like wanting to bang her.

  Nick couldn’t even totally blame the guy. Lila was smokin’, and she was barely older than Michael. Hot stepmother fantasies were a very real thing. Weird and unsettling, but real.

  Nowadays Lila tolerated Chloe—and her baby—coming around, but not well. In the interest of full disclosure, Nick told Lila how he’d given Chloe money to help with expenses, since Snake had once been a good friend. One of his best friends.

  Yeah, his track record with those kind of sucked ass, didn’t it?

  But Axl was pretty adorable, in a squirmy, whiny sort of way. He was almost eight months old, and he’d gurgled something that sounded suspiciously like “Da” the last time Nick saw him, so he’d promptly taken a break from Axl visits.

  Not that he expected the break would last long. It was almost Christmas, and Nick had bought a metric shit ton of stuff for the kid. All kinds of fun toys that he would love. Like a mini guitar, and a basketball set, and okay, so Axl wasn’t old enough to use any of those yet, but in a couple years he would be.

  Boys he understood. Women—even the tiniest members of the species—were like alien life forms. So if he could order a boy child, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He wouldn’t mind a mini Nick. Someone who’d like the same video games, and who would never bitch about him liking pepperoni, sausage, and bacon on his pizza.

  Best of all, he’d probably side with his father against his mother, because Lila already had an unfair advantage on account of being the original Dragon Lady. Nick was always outvoted, just because she was so ultra-reasonable all the time.

  “Sorry,” Gray said, coming back on the line. “He’s got a bump. Jazz is gonna kick my ass for turning my back on him for even a second.”

  There it was, the reality check. The bucket of cold water over his head. Having a boy kid wouldn’t be about playing Halo and chowing down pizza and having someone to clown around with. He’d need to watch the child at all times. He would have to be a psychologist, so he could interpret whatever the kid said and translate it into the truth. He’d have to be a disciplinarian and not a friend. And he’d have to tell the kid important stuff about life.

  Like never start a band with a shithead so-called pal who would screw you over for reasons he refused to tell you ten years down the line.

  Most importantly, he would have to make sure his son knew he would never leave him. Never turn his back on him or think he was less than. He’d always make sure he knew he was loved, no matter what kind of fuckup idiot he acted like. Because of course, he’d do fucked up things. That was part of being a man and growing up.

  And one day, maybe he’d even want to marry a girl and he’d have to ask someone for advice on how to do it. Maybe that someone would be Nick.

  God help them both.

  “Is Dylan okay?” Nick sat up and rubbed his fingers over the box in his pocket. It pressed against his thigh, reminding him of its weight at every second.

  “He’ll be fine. Getting banged up a bit is normal toddler stuff. He’s not even crying anymore, just sucking on a grape popsicle.” Gray chuckled.

  “Food as bribe?”

  “Hey, it works. And you asked how do you know when you’re ready to be a parent. I didn’t think I was the least bit ready. I’d just gotten out of rehab, and I could barely take care of myself. But then Jazz told me she was pregnant, and it was like a whole new world opened up. I had to become better than I was, for him. Because he was worth it. While I was getting better for him, I improved for me too. Loving him and loving my wife gave me a purpose that I guess I hadn’t had in quite that way before.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, sounds emo.”

  It didn’t, not at all, which was what worried Nick most. “I understand the wife part. I get that.”

  “Then you’ll probably get it for a kid too. If you’re meant to have them. Wanting isn’t always enough. Jazz and I have been lucky, but not everyone is.”

  “I have to do it for Lila.” Nick set his jaw. “She wants one, so I have to deliver.”

  One child he could probably handle. Maybe. With some time to think about it and wrap his head around the idea.

  A couple decades might be long enough. Perhaps.

  Gray snorted. “It’s not a pizza, man. Besides, if you’re only doing it to make her happy, you’re better off being honest and explaining to her you just don’t think the dad thing is for you. At least not yet.”

  “I didn’t think the husband thing was for me either, yet here I am.” Nick withdrew the box from his pocket and set it beside him on the tidy navy blue bedspread with little white checks. Lila had purchased it so the room would feel more “manly” for him. Hounds-something or other she’d called the pattern.

  She’d made lots of little concessions for him, including the whole moving-in thing before maybe she was strictly ready. She’d only been divorced for not quite a year. This whole marriage and kid plan might be way beyond her scope. Only one way to find out—an open, honest conversation.

  God, he hated those.

  “Talk to her, figure out if you’re going the same direction. Then you’ll know how you should propose.”

  Gray didn’t say the rest, but Nick heard it just the same—if you should propose.

  “Yeah.” Nick jerked to his feet. He’d taken a couple steps away from the bed before he remembered the ring. He pivoted and grabbed the box, then returned it to its rightful place in his sock drawer. “Thanks, man. And congratulations again to you guys. Hope you’re happy.”

  “We are. Very. Than
ks. You’re still going to sit for us next weekend, right? You and Lila, I mean?”

  “Couldn’t get the part about Lila out fast enough. God forbid I be left alone with a damn baby.”

  “You said it, not me.” Gray’s cheery voice set Nick’s teeth on edge. “Jazz and I have been looking forward to getting out alone together forever.”

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re still in. But the weekend after that we’re heading to New York until after the holidays, so you’re going to have to lug the kid with you if you decide to party for New Year’s.”

  “Did you miss the part that Jazz’s preggo? New Year’s partying is probably going to consist of some sparkling grape juice and watching the ball drop on TV.”

  “So, ah, um, sex,” Nick blurted.

  Gray laughed. “If you need help with that, son, we’ve officially reached the end of the line.”

  “No, jackass, I mean the whole pregnant thing and sex. Is it like off-limits? Or restricted?” If he was going to consider things, he should have all the information so he could make an educated decision.

  Ah, to hell with it. Soon as he got off the phone with Gray, he’d just order a damn book off Amazon. Something he could read in small bites that wouldn’t send him searching for an emergency script for an anti-anxiety drug.

  “Sex is fine during pregnancy, unless there are special risks or if the woman is uncomfortable, obviously. Why, planning ahead?”

  Nick shut the dresser drawer harder than necessary. “I’m just being a concerned friend. Don’t want you to break a hand or anything right before the band gets back together.”

  “Uh huh. I’m certain you’re just concerned about me.”

  Nick rubbed his thumb along his scruffy jaw. He’d been trying unsuccessfully to write a song for half the day, ever since that morning’s guitar student had trudged home, spirit broken after a stiff lecture on taking music seriously. He needed a shave. Needed to stop thinking so hard about the future, when the sound of the front door being opened meant that it was time to focus on the present.

  “We’ll see you next Friday night. And uh, congrats again. ‘Kay, bye.” He clicked off and tossed the phone in the general direction of the bed before walking out to meet Lila.

  Who just happened to be toting two paper sacks of groceries while wearing icepick heels that immediately reminded him why even going two weeks without sex with her would probably kill him.

  Even her calves were an indescribable turn-on.

  “Let me take those.” He moved forward to snatch the bags and thrust his face down into the first one, right into a round of still-warm bread. “Oh shit, freshly baked? I’m going to come right here.”

  “Not on my kitchen floor you’re not.” She took back one of the bags and set it on the counter, then began efficiently removing items and putting them in their proper places. He set the other bag beside hers and grabbed a stool on the opposite side of the counter, helpless against the urge to just stare like a horny puppy.

  After a year together, this shouldn’t still be happening, he was almost sure. Sex was supposed to become routine at some point. Just smelling her fresh-scrubbed apple scent shouldn’t make him harder than the granite that topped the counter.

  When she withdrew a jug of apple cider, something he knew she had to search out for him specifically and never fully approved of unless it was from her family’s orchard, he narrowed his eyes. Clearly, he’d had his head too far up his ass. Cider meant she was buttering him up before she zoomed in for the kill.

  “I insulted Simon numerous times on Twitter,” he said, which was still better than the other thing hovering on his tongue.

  I want to marry you and I’d like to have a baby—a single male one, please—sometime in the far future, long after I’ve ascertained I won’t have to go without sex for more than forty-eight hours at a stretch. Maybe seventy-two hours if we marathon fuck first.

  He’d already begun imagining being on tour without her, and that sat badly enough. She was Oblivion’s manager, but they’d have a road one for the next tour. Lila would come out for a few selected dates, true. She still wouldn’t be around nearly enough, and the idea of going from city to city without his girlfriend hit him all wrong. They’d be doing an album before another tour, so it wasn’t like he’d have to worry about it for months. Still, he wanted this figured out now.

  Or as close to now as possible, once he drew up his attack plan.

  Bottom line, she should be his wife. He needed to be able to look down and see that gold band on his finger and remember everything he had waiting for him at home. Not that the ring would encapsulate all of that, but fuck, he wanted to make promises to her. Wanted her to make them to him.

  It was just that one male child—who had somehow taken on the visage of a chubby gold Buddha doll in his mind—standing in his way.

  Lila continued putting away groceries as if she hadn’t heard him. While he watched, she took down a skillet and began tearing apart hunks of vegetables—broccoli to start—with a zest he might’ve appreciated if he hadn’t feared the hair from his head might be next.

  “Insulted. That’s the word you’re using to describe the zingers you two clowns have been flinging back and forth for weeks now?” When he didn’t reply, she arched a brow and faced him with a beheaded green stalk in one hand and the fluffy green tops in the other. “Well?”

  “Goddamn, you’re hot.”

  She made a sound that bordered on a snarl but her lips twitched as she turned away to offload her vegetables and dump oil in the pan. So he risked life and limb to come up behind her to sniff her hair and circle his arms around her waist. “I know, I know, I’m not supposed to notice anymore. I can’t explain why I do. It’s probably because of these.” He bent to skim his hand up her ankle. “You wear these torture devices to make me salivate.”

  “I wear them because they’re business-appropriate. And get back up here.”

  “Sure you really want me to? You know how much I love getting on my knees for you.”

  She made another noise in her throat but there was no missing her smile now. “Later. We need to have a discussion without involving sex.”

  “Why?”

  “God, you’re impossible.” She turned on the burner, tossing in more broccoli along with some pre-chopped pieces of red and green pepper from a store-bought package. “I’m having a meeting with Donovan on Monday about the band.”

  The thread of tension in her tone made him stop admiring her ankles. He leaned against the stove beside her, his gaze trained on her face. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Because of the shit I stirred up with Simon?”

  “No, because it’s almost time for the band to come back from hiatus and I’m in no position to objectively manage other bands along with Oblivion.”

  “Says fucking who?”

  “Donovan.” She held up a hand as she effortlessly shook the broccoli in the pan with the other. “Don’t go nuts on me. He’s right, and we both know it. There’s a conflict of interest.”

  “So what? What if we were more than living together? Then what? You’d probably not be able to manage Oblivion either, because Lord knows you might give me special favors over the rest of the band. Which is patently false. You’d be more likely to give the rest of the band the favors and lock me in a closet somewhere.”

  She’d gone quiet, and he hated that. That over-thinky expression came into her eyes, and he knew she was hurting. Or worrying. Probably both.

  “What can I do to help?” Before she could answer, he moved closer and tucked his face in the crook between her neck and shoulder. And that was only partially so he could inhale more of her scent. Damn, apples were arousing. “Not post shit on Twitter that makes your job harder. Got it.”

  “You know, if you keep taking the words out of my mouth, it makes it harder for me to remain properly peeved at you.”

  “Ha. You’ve been properly peeved at me for a while. Don’t think I don’t know you didn’t hate fuck the hell out of me th
is morning on the bathroom counter.”

  “More like annoyed fuck. My irritation with you has yet to rise to hate.”

  He turned his head and ran his nose up the side of her neck, just for the thrill of making her shudder. “Guess I gotta step up my game, because that would be goddamn hot.”

  “Your game is upped enough. I can feel it against my hip.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Then stop wearing those heels and tempting me.” He flicked his tongue along the crevice beneath her earlobe.

  She sucked in a breath. “You’d be surprised. I wore heels before I ever knew you.”

  “Back in the dark ages.” Because it would be all too easy to just bend her over the stove and work himself into that luscious slit between her legs, he backed away and braced his hands on the counter behind him. “So, I repeat, what can I do to help?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, a blond curl falling over one eye. “What’s your angle?”

  “Call me Smokey the Bear, because I don’t want to set shit on fire while I fuck you against that stove.”

  The blush that heated her cheeks was twice as sexy when combined with her slitted eyes. “Distractions never work with me.”

  “My sore tongue begs to differ.”

  Her flush deepened for barely an instant. “Yeah, well, your sore fingers should stop doing the walking on your phone. Save any rude comments you have for your bandmate for when everyone in the world isn’t watching.”

  “I didn’t realize anyone would pay attention,” he muttered.

  “Really? Still?”

  “It’s been almost a year. Does anyone even still give a shit about Oblivion?” Pushing a hand through his hair, he stalked back and forth behind her in the space between the appliances and the counter. He’d paced the hell out of the carpet in the bedroom too.

  What he needed to do was frigging relax.

  “Yes, they do.” She stopped dumping vegetables in the pan and turned down the burner before shifting to face him. “The reaction from the fans to your sniping should’ve proven that to you.”

  “It’s been so long. We’re still a relatively new band.”