Page 29 of From Drummer to Gamer

“What is it?” I retrieved the black card from him. “A credit card?” I raised a brow. “I don’t want it.”

“Keep it anyway. I actually wanted to give it to your brother, but I wasn’t sure if he’d be responsible.”

“It’s wise you didn’t. But I don’t really need this. I can buy a few groceries on my own. I would like to contribute too.”

“Sierra.” His lips drawled my name like warm, dripping honey. “Your brother is my artist, and I intend to take good care of him and, by extension, you.”

I didn’t say a word.

“At least for the groceries.” He sighed. “Please.”

I exhaled. “Fine, only for groceries.” My fingers traced along his name etched on it. “But what if I go to use this and get into trouble? It’s your name that’s on it. What if they think I stole it?”

“I’m sure they won’t. But if it worries you, I’ll call the bank and add your name to it.”

My eyes rounded. “You can’t do that. What if I steal all your millions and buy myself a yacht?”

His lips twitched. “A yacht?”

“Seems like something a rich person would buy,” I mumbled, feeling dumb all of a sudden.

“Not all. But we do have a jet if you want.”

My tone laced with awe. “I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

“Really?” he questioned, eyes gleaming. “I’m sure that will change soon. Your brother will have plenty of shows in other cities.”

I nodded, smiling. “I know he is a clown most of the time, but he works really hard, and he is really passionate when it comes to his music.”

“I think I know,” he said softly.

It was only then that it dawned on me that I was having a conversation with Matty Evans like he was a normal person, forgetting the fact that he was a rock god.

I guess I could do this after all.

CHAPTER 8

MATT

It was around three in the afternoon when I returned home. KORA’s album was finally completed, and now I get to focus all my energy on the label and Raphael.

Instead of a quiet apartment, the loud rumbling sound of the TV greeted me. I came to a stop when a pair of bunny slippers were thrown haphazardly on the floor.

Didn’t I explicitly state today that they needed to clean up after themselves?

A cluttered space fucked with my brain, big time.

I followed the trail of mess to the living room.

Two pairs of tiny feet with pink painted toes poked out from behind the couch. Sierra was lying upside down on the couch with her hoodie drawn up over her head as she munched on Cheetos, watching some Korean drama.

An empty can of Diet Coke lay on the coffee table with a weird-looking doll beside it.

“Hey, Matty.” She waved an orange-covered hand.

“Why are you upside down?”

“It’s good for the brain.”

---