Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
"Wow, what?" I stop myself from rolling my eyes. The picture reveals skin, sure, and Damon is tall and well-built, yes, but the photo isn't erotic in any way. It doesn't even hint at sex.
Of course, my brother ignores my objection. He stays on mission. The same mission he always has, being as annoying as possible.
Was he born with some sort of live-to-cause-trouble gene, or did he learn it from our parents? Well, from Dad. When he's not wound tight, trying to keep the universe—or at least the family and his indie label—in order, he stays busy poking everyone else's problems.
Mom says it's his way of trying to stay in control, that it's easier for him to focus on the flaws in someone else's logic than his own. Which is true. But also a bit more forgiving than he deserves.
Don't get me wrong. He's a great guy, and I've always felt I had his love and support, but I've also always felt the pressure to follow in his footsteps and keep everything in order.
Mom is a little more relaxed and a lot more low-key (she stays out of other people's problems), but she has her own issues with control. Her pre-Dad relationship history is messed up. Not that she's ever shared all the details. She only alludes to them with warnings about picking the right men (always men, even though she knows I like women too), followed by apologies for scaring me, and a of course I trust your judgment, Cassie accompanied with a state that says I do not trust your judgment.
They try, really.
And I love them, I do. It's just easier to feel good about that from a safe distance. Like more than the twenty feet between my bedroom and theirs.
Zack interrupts my trip down family dynamics lane to pull me back into the more immediate problem of my fake relationship with Damon.
"There's some very subtle messaging here too." Zack brushes a dark strand of hair from his forehead. He looks down at the phone and clears his throat, like an actor preparing a monologue. He has the same casual-yet-designer t-shirt and jeans, handsome face, and lean musculature of a guy who plays the love interest on a CW TV show. "BAE is so cute when he's thinking." He looks to me. "You know people stopped saying BAE five years ago, right?"
Of course, I know that! I work with actual teenagers. I'm behind the scenes in the industry that defines what is or isn't cool. Which is weird, now that I think about it. Why are executives my dad's age deciding what teenagers should or shouldn't like? Not just executives my dad's age. My actual father.
When we were kids, Dad spent a lot of time touring. His band was still together. He disappeared from our lives for weeks at a time. I didn't really understand it then, and I didn't understand it was strange. I thought it was just what fathers did.
When Jackson started middle school, he retired from touring and started a small label. He spent more time in the Los Angeles area, but he spent just as much time with his head at work. That's just who he is. He wants to take over the world.
When I showed an interest in music, Dad offered me a job at his company. No doubt, I get a lot of jobs because of my last name, but Dad only signs musicians who write their own material, so he rarely has a gig I can actually work.
Occasionally, a band needs a little extra wit in their lyrics, and… okay, so he's never offered me one of those jobs. But he will. One day. When I've proven I'm as talented as his current roster of writers.
Ugh.
I don't want to talk to my brother. Or my other brother. Or my sister. Or my parents.
I want to work on this project. I'm like Dad that way; I understand the world via my work. I stay in control via my work. I need my fucking work.
People like Zack, who don't feel the need to stay in control, who enjoy causing chaos rather than order, don't get it.
He's still standing there, amusing himself to death. He finds my use of BAE incredibly hilarious for some reason.
"It's a throwback," I say. It's the truth. Mostly. It fits the era of music we're adopting for the first few songs for Bryce. It also happens to be what Frederick called me when we started dating.
"Sure, Cass. Sure." Zack knows the history. After all, Zack was friends with Frederick. Zack is friends with everyone. That's just the kind of guy he is. He has all of Dad's charm and none of his vaguely hidden need to control the universe. "Are you and Damon fucking? Or is it love?"
He slides his phone into the front pocket of his designer jeans, no doubt supplied by our younger sister, Laurel, who works in fashion.