I pick up my tea, eyeing her over the rim. “I’ve never seen his dick, but I’ll call it ‘Ode to PrettyAssholes.’”
This time neither of us can stop thelaughter.
“You need to get laid,” she says once we’re both breathing again. “If only so Carly stops calling you that stupid nickname. There are a lot of guys who’d love to help youout.”
“I’m not having sex to spite her.” I narrow my gaze. “Besides, you don’t give a shit about my sex life. You’re going to Italy for aweek.”
Her smile melts away, and I cock myhead.
“Wait, why do you look as if that Americano is your lastmeal?”
“It’s the last third of the semester. Exams are coming up. Debate team needs to be prepping for state. I need to hand in this essay,and—”
“And you’re going to be in Tuscany, drinking Chianti and flipping us off while your dadworks.”
Pen sighs. “Promise you’ll keep me up to date. The most exciting things always happen when I’mgone.”
* * *
“This is fucking impossible,”a low voice grumbles as I make my way through the back hallway of our house after parking in the six-cargarage.
The sight greeting me in the cavernous kitchen is the biggest rock star in the last two generations bent over a high chair, feeding my almost-seven-month-old half sister. Judging from the amount of baby food on the tray and Sophie’s face, my dad’slosing.
“Shouldn’t she be sleeping by now?” I drop my bag on the island big enough to host a dinnerparty.
“If I could’ve gotten some damned food into the kid, she wouldbe.”
Jax Jamieson can rock stadiums, produce multi-platinum albums, charm new stagehands, and cut down aggressive reporters with astare.
Apparently, he’s met his match in Sophie. With her chocolate eyes and full head of dark hair, she can barely sit up but is capable of yanking Dad around as if he’s dangling on a cord like one of her zoo-animal-shapedsoothers.
“Think I was this tough to feed as a baby?” I come up next to the high chair, folding myarms.
My dad pinches my side. “Seems like you ateenough.”
“Oh my God! You can’t say that to teenage girls. Every pamphlet saysso.”
“I gave those to the band toread.”
We joke about it, but the truth is he wasn’t there when I was a baby. He didn’t even know I existed when I was Sophie’sage.
My birth mom was someone he met during his early days touring when he was swept up by the lifestyle. He was still a teenager. He says she wasn’t a hookup but refuses to talk about how it all wentdown.
Once he found out, he decided I should live with my aunt Grace and her husband until I was older. You might expect learning your insanely successful rock star uncle is actually your father would be agift.
Itwasn’t.
I’m beyond fortunate. I’m reminded every time I volunteer at one of the shelters in Dallas or pore over research for a civic policypaper.
Still, it can’t erase the feeling I’m missing somethinginside.
A necessary component that’s irreplaceable, that no amount of money canfix.
“Come on, little hellion,” Dad murmurs. Sophie lets out a wail and slaps at his hand hard enough to send prunes flying onto hisface.
“You look like a crime scene victim.” I take the spoon from him and ply Sophie with little coos. The kid is cute when she’s not wailing. “Dad, do you want to watch a movie tonight? You’re way behind on yourMarvel.”
He grunts. “They make one every damned month. But tonight, I need to get a couple guitar tracks worked out for a project. You seenTyler?”