Page 3 of No More Love Songs

“Tough shit. You’re both going to hear it.”

Maybe not.

Then he goes on before we can offer any more objections. “I say we skip giving the label a preview this time. It’s a courtesy anyway. According to our contract, we’re not required to give them anything until the project is complete.”

“How is that helpful?” Janelle frowns. “So, we wait and deliver an entire album that they’ll hate? What does that accomplish?”

“It buys us time,” he points out calmly. “The album isn’t due for another sixty-five days.”

“We don’t need more time,” I interject even if it does garner me another glare from Grayson. “I’m on a roll. At the rate we’re going, we could knock this thing out in ten days.”

“Which we will,” he says, surprising both me and Janelle. “But then you have to agree to give us thirty days to try and remind you why you fell in love with love in the first place. If we succeed, you have time to put together another record. God knows, you have enough songs in your backlist to throw something together if you have to. Hell, we could make an entire album out of the tracks you’ve only ever performed on tour but never recorded.” He stops for a second, giving us a chance to disagree. We don’t. So far. Then he finishes his proposal, “If we fail and you still choose to be done with love, we move forward with the album we record now.”

His gaze moves back and forth between us, going back and forth repeatedly until one of us finally breaks.

It’s Janelle. “Deal.”

I’m not so ready to commit. “What exactly does reminding me entail?”

“Depends,” Grayson says with a non-committal shrug.

“On what?”

“On how much you’ve forgotten.”

“What if I haven’t forgotten. What if I just know more now than I did before?” I counter.

“Then you get your way. No more love songs.” Grayson turns to Janelle, as if to remind me she already agreed to the terms on her end.

“Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll play your stupid game, but only because I know I’ll win.”

Grayson winks. “That’s kind of what I’m hoping.”

And I get the feeling he doesn’t mean that at all the way I want him to.

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KIT

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“Ari!’ I call her namefor the third time. “Dinner!” I take the last step and reach the landing. Two more steps down the hall and I’ll be at her door. “Ari.” I grin at the sight of her. As expected, she’s sitting on her bed, face in a book, both ears covered by her giant headphones, bobbing her head to what I’m assuming is some tune or another from Hamilton, her current go-to playlist.

Whether she actually hears me or just senses me staring at her, I don’t know, but she suddenly lifts her gaze and tugs her headphones off with a start. “Dad! Did you say something?”

I laugh quietly. “Yeah, I said ‘dinner’.”

She perks up at the word. “Oh!” She sets her book down on her pillow, open and face down, always ready and waiting for her return. “What are we having?”

“Some pasta thing I threw together.” I wave for her to get moving. “Come on. It won’t taste right cold.”

She makes a face. “I like that you think temperature makes a difference.”

“Have I mentioned how much funnier you are now that you’re a teenager?” I say dryly, letting her pass me and lead the way down the stairs.

“Pretty sure you said it this morning.” She turns over her shoulder to smirk at me. “But you know I never get tired of hearing it.”

I tug at a strand of her long dirty blond hair and give it a soft yank. “Shut it.”

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