Page 29 of Silver Sweet

You don’t work well with others, Tom Carraway.

Just go solo.

What are you doing?

We could kill each other before we ever finish an album. Phoenix could run out on me just like Warner did.

The day he quit…I’d never felt that low in my life.

Fear tries to rust my bones. “You really think that’s a good idea?” I ask, tearing apart the straw wrapper into tiny pieces. He’s bouncing his legs so much, the pepper tips over. Neither of us rights it.

“I don’t see a better one.” Phoenix dusts the pepper granules off the table. “Look, it’s not like I’ve ever been in the creative trenches with another guy either. But Jeremy didn’t put us together thinking this would fail.”

We’re going to be spending every waking minute with each other, aren’t we?

It’s terrifying yet…alluring, and it’s impossible for me to run away from a challenge, even one that might test my limits. I don’t just want to succeed.

I want toexceed.

“Okay,” I say. “You’ll have creative input. And the second condition?”

“I’ll sign the NDA if you sign one from me.”

I frown. “Why? You don’t need one.”

“Not yet. But four or five years down the line if our band is famous, maybe I will. And I’d like this partnership to be equal. If I sign one, then you sign one.”

Our band.

Partnership.

Four or five years down the line.

Equal.

His words make this feel real. I like that he’s thinking about the future. I’ve had drummers come into The Carraways just to leave like it was a stepping stone to a bigger band. One with more potential.

“Deal.” I nod. “We’re 50-50. Equal partnership. I’ll sign an NDA.”

Phoenix relaxes backward, then our server appears with our breakfast. I cut into my strawberry waffle with a fork and knife, sensing him observing me the same way I’m scrutinizing him.

He seems like an ordinary dude. He likes ketchup on his breakfast potatoes. He isn’t dumping half a gallon of salt on his eggs. I don’t need to worry about my drummer keeling over from high cholesterol. So far, the most unusual thing about him is that he ordered black iced coffee when it’s freezing outside.

The prolonged quiet unsettles me, and as I shift into a slouch, my leg bumps against his leg. I’m about to apologize until he nudges mine backward with his foot.

“You were in my space,” I point out, though I sit more upright so my traitorous face will stopflaming.

“You want a warning next time I touch you, prima donna?”

“You could start with an apology.”

“Sorry I didn’t kick you harder.” He stabs a potato.

Yep, he’s still an ass. “I could be averse to touch. You could’ve just irreparably traumatized me.”

“Ohsorry.” He lets go of his fork, the silverware clattering loudly in the diner. I try not to smile. “Do you need me to wear a hazmat suit too? Should I fuck off to Australia with the kangaroos? Will that be enough space for you?”

I give him a middle finger. “I appreciate your willingness to comply with my boundaries.”