The Boy Next Door

Jayson grinned and handed me a to-go mug. “Hangover cure,” he said, winking at me.

I stared at him for another minute, then decided that I was too hungover to hang on to some semblance of pride by lying that I was fine. I wasn’t fine. I was so far from fine that I was willing to try almost anything.

“Drink it,” Jayson coaxed me. “It’ll help, I promise. I swear by it.”

I shook my head and then took a hesitant sip. I grimaced at the flavor. “What the hell is in this?” I asked, barely managing to swallow it down.

Jayson grinned. “You don’t want to know,” he said. “But I’m not just fucking with you, it really will help.”

I seriously doubted that, but there was something in me that was touched by the fact that he had gone out of his way to bring it over to me. He genuinely did seem to care.

“What are you doing here?” I finally asked.

“I wanted to figure out a drumming schedule that’s going to work for both of us,” he said. “I know that you have to go to work soon probably, and I had some stuff I need to do today too. This will be quick, though.”

I frowned at him, wondering at his change in attitude. Maybe last night had made some sort of an impression on him. Or maybe he’s just not the asshole you originally thought he was, and he was only being defensive because you were kind of bitchy when you went over there.

I stepped back to let him in, leading him toward the kitchen. I took one more sip of the disgusting hangover cure and gagged, putting the cup down on the edge of the counter. “Not gonna happen,” I muttered, grabbing a coffee mug and pouring myself some of the dark elixir. “This is my hangover cure.”

Not that I’d ever really needed one before. I had gotten drunk a few times in college. I wasn’t that much of a good girl. It hadn’t been a ton of fun to actually be drunk, though, and I generally stopped before I hit my limit.

Jayson was grinning when he turned back to me. But his expression quickly turned serious. “I’m used to drumming whenever I feel like it,” he said. “I respect that you have a normal job, though. I was thinking that maybe we could reach some kind of compromise. I’m willing to pay for noise-canceling headphones so that you don’t have to listen to me.”

He said it like it was a done deal. Like it was the obvious solution and like I would be unreasonable if I tried to argue with him.

“Why should I be the one to change my lifestyle because you’re used to drumming whenever you feel like it?” I snapped, putting my hands on my hips. Whatever good feelings I might have had about him, they were gone now, just like that. What an ass. “I’m used to living in peace and quiet.”

“Well, maybe you should have thought that before you moved to LA from wherever the hell it is you’re from,” Jayson said, folding his arms across his chest, now equally annoyed.

For a long moment, we stared one another down, neither of us willing to give an inch. I couldn’t help but feel that the tension between the two of us was one of the hottest things I had ever experienced.

7

Jayson

I stared down at Leah. I had to admit, it was definitely a turn-on to hear her stand up for herself like that. She definitely had an attitude about her, but on the other hand, there was something sexy about a woman who could fight back.

She finally shook her head, looking away first. “Look, I respect the fact that drumming is your job,” she said. “But I work more hours than most people do. I don’t have a nine-to-five; I frequently have more like an eight-to-six. Sometimes more, depending on the week. I need my sleep to keep my brain fresh.”

“So what, you think your job is more important than mine?” I gritted out. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but I was sick of people who wrote me off because musicianship wasn’t a “real” job. There was a part of me that knew that people like Mark and Carter were part of the problem. I worked hard, though. I practiced and kept myself in shape and sat down to write lyrics even on days when I would much rather be doing something else. And playing music paid my bills.

Leah sighed and shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said. “Just, I moved here because of my job. I need to take it seriously or else I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” She paused. “Anyway, I can’t exactly sleep in noise-canceling headphones. They’re not comfortable. And I don’t want to listen to music or anything like that. I want peace and quiet. Can’t you do something to make your drums quieter? Or rent a studio or something?”