Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Hey, you said I couldn’t be a drunk idiot,” he pointed out. “Not that I had to be completely sober. And besides,” he added with a flourish, already popping the bottle open. “It’s cider.”
“Cider?”
“Good ol’ fashioned sparkling apple cider,” he said.
There were four champagne glasses on the coffee table in the living area, along with an ice bucket made for champagne. Our suite attendant had filled it just in case when he’d delivered our dinner. Aleks poured two glasses of the amber gold bubbly liquid before he put the bottle in the bucket and handed one of the glasses to me.
It was like he was looking at me for the first time.
He’d barreled in so quickly, severing the space and commenting on my security team. But now, his dark eyes dragged the length of me from my heated neck all the way down to my bare, pink-painted toes. His nostrils flared a bit as his gaze lazily trailed back up to meet mine, and he tilted his glass in my direction.
“Cheers,” he said. “To a brilliant album debut performance.”
I smiled, clinking my glass against his and taking a sip. The cider was crisp and sweet, and I found I was much happier to have it in my hand than a glass of champagne. The last thing I needed was to wake up in the morning with a headache.
“How in the world did you even know this existed?” I asked.
“That would be an Otis special.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Otis is my neighbor. Prickly old man and a season ticket holder for the Ospreys. Not sure how it happened, but he’s sort of become like a pet. He just shows up at my place sometimes, eats, brings me treats, settles in for conversations that can last all night.”
“I think that’s called a friend, Aleks.”
“You know I don’t have friends.”
I flattened my lips, pinning him with a look that told him I hated that little fact about him. We both knew Aleks could have friends, if he wanted. But it was him who was prickly.
“Anyway, he’s the one who introduced me to this.” He held up his glass. “Have to say, I thought it was shite the first time he made me drink the stuff, but it grew on me.”
“Kind of like Otis did, it sounds.”
“Oh, he grew on me, alright. Like a fungus.”
“You like him,” I said with a knowing smile.
“He’s tolerable.”
“Maybe I’ll meet him one day.”
“Oh, God. He’d be hitting on you within sixty seconds.”
“Good. I could use someone hitting on me.”
Aleks smirked at me then. “What, my forehead kisses weren’t enough for you today?”
“That was fake,” I reminded him.
“I almost got in a fight for you. That wasn’t fake.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. You were an absolute caveman.”
“The Internet seems to love it,” he pointed out with a grin.
“I better warn your coach. Your head is going to be too big to fit in your helmet soon.”
Aleks let out a loud bark of a laugh, and then I was gesturing to the kitchen, telling him to help himself to any of the provided food. It was hard not to laugh as I watched him tear through the snacks like he was a kid on a field trip with a free mini bar in his room.
We fell into easy conversation when he returned with his haul, Aleks kicking back on the couch while I sat in one of the leather chairs opposite him. I asked him how he liked living in Florida and what his new team was like. He asked me about the new album and what songs I was most proud of.
Before long, we had almost finished the bottle of cider, the time creeping past midnight and into the early morning. New York City was still bright with life outside the windows, and even though I knew I needed to get some sleep, I didn’t want to. It felt like being a kid again, like Aleks had snuck down to my room after Mom and Dad went to sleep so I could tell him gossip and he could pretend not to care while we played Uno.
“That was pretty intense today,” Aleks said when he poured the last of the bottle into our glasses. “All the fans, the screaming, the flashes from the cameras.”
“Like you don’t get that, too.”
“I do,” he said, handing me my freshly topped-off glass. “But not like that.”
I shrugged. “It’s not too bad. I’m used to it, I guess.”
“Does it ever feel like too much?”
I frowned, considering. “Sometimes,” I mused. “But I asked for this, you know? I dreamed of it. Prayed for it. This is what I’ve always wanted, and only a tiny fraction of musicians ever get to experience this. It’s a privilege.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to love every aspect of it,” Aleks pointed out. “No way in hell do you find it fun to have horrific names screamed at you from crazy fans.”