Page 27 of Silver Sweet

“Poetic.” Tom tries to smile but can’t. He reaches for his water but doesn’t take a sip as he clutches the glass. He taps his finger against it a couple times. Tension mounts, and I can’t tell what type. “I want this to work out more than you know,” he suddenly says. “This isn’t a hobby to me. This ismy life.”

I nod, starting to feel like maybe I’ve pegged Tom wrong. He might be an egotistical dick, but he’s not a bored trust fund kid who’s expecting to be carried to a platinum record.

His abrupt honesty pushes me to reciprocate. “I want to play in a band, write rock music, perform live—more thananythingelse. The idea that it might never work out, that this is as far as I go, makes me want to puke.”

“Same.” Tom eases slightly. We stare at each other with this acknowledgment. We might’ve foundsomecommon ground.

The urge to die trying.

Then his forearms stiffen, his hand gripping the glass too tightly. He swallows a big gulp of water and sets it back on the table. One readying breath later, he tells me, “Before we go any further, there’s something I need to ask you to do. I’ve been avoiding it. But it’s kind of…unavoidable.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him so nervous that he can’t look me in the eyes. I have no guesses what it could be, but my gut drops when he says, “It might be a dealbreaker.”

6

TOM COBALT

I’ve never struggled so hard withthispart of my life. Asking a friend to sign an NDA, no issue. Asking RJ to sign one kind of sucked, but I wasn’t dreading it like I’m about to be stranded alone on a leech-infested island.

I hate how much Phoenix’s answer to this stupid question will make or break my dreams. I’ve never had to rely so hard on one guy. He has all my hopes nestled in his hands—and granted, they look like strong, capable fucking hands—but I’m still holding my breath as soon as I ask, “Can you sign an NDA?”

He frowns like it doesn’t compute. Awesome.

“A non-disclosure agreement,” I clarify.

He glares. “I know what an NDA is, nepo baby. I’m trying to figure out whyyouwould need one.” His intense eyes shift around the diner, then return to me. “It’s not like you’ve got adoring fans clamoring for your autograph.”

Okay,ouch.

But he’s not wrong. Duke’s on 10th is at half-capacity. The closest occupied booth is taken by my thirty-four-year-old bodyguard, Ian Wreath, who pretends to ignore us while sipping a drip coffee. The mic in his ear and cord clipped to the collarof his pressed button-down are a dead giveaway he’s private security, but Phoenix has paid zero attention to him.

I’ve gathered Phoenix hasn’t realized that guy is actually with me and he’s not just a random New Yorker ingesting his morning cup of Joe.

I’m not pointing him out.

When Phoenix first sat down, the mint and eucalyptus scent wafting off him nearly sent me over an edge. He looks so clean, like he spent half his morning raking his hands through his hair in the shower and scrubbing a washcloth down his body. I’mtryingnot to imagine him naked, butfail.Big fail.

It’s almost annoying that he didn’t show up here with halitosis and B.O.

Good hygiene is a baseline standard of mine, and I should be very fucking happy my new bandmate isn’t a walking garbage can.

Instead, I’m trying to thwart apprehension.

It doesn’t help I’m face-to-face with someone who looks willing to chainsaw me in half. He has this brooding intensity that pulls me out of a slouch. I keep feeling off-kilter around him. Like the ground beneath me is about to quake.

He’s not wearing a black baseball cap today. His dark hair is long enough to hang in his eyes, but it’s cut short around his neck. Mostly, I’m caught on his arms. How he’s threaded them over his hard chest. His biceps bulgeagainst a long-sleeved,tightgray tee, and despite sitting upright, his knees are spread open again.

I can tell. Even seated in a booth.

I’ve been trying not to knock knees with him.

As I drag out the silence, I feel his leg jostling under the table. I like how it rattles the saltshaker.

“Unless I’m wrong,” Phoenix cuts into the quiet. “Your fans are waiting outside. Ready to maul you to death.” His brown-blue eyes are fixed on mine.

He knows he’snotwrong.

I don’t humor that scenario.