Page 29 of Hard Rock Desires
“And now?” I asked. “I have to assume that’s changed.”
“Now I’m rich as fuck,” he said bluntly. “I have more money than I know what to do with.”
“I could sure think of a few things to spend that kind of money on,” I said.
“Like what?” he asked, curious.
“Tuition and books,” I said. “An apartment bigger than the shoebox I’m living in. Paying off my parents’ mortgage and credit cards.”
Zain looked at me out of the corner of his eye with sympathy. I flushed. Even though he’d been poor, too, didn’t mean I wanted him to take pity on me. My family might have struggled a bit with money at times, but we were doing fine.
“A private jet,” I continued. “A secluded island with my own personal cabana boys. You know, things like that.”
“Micah forbid any of us from buying an island,” he said. “A private jet is still on the table, though,” he added. “For world tours and stuff.”
“I can’t imagine how weird it must all feel,” I said. “Everything changing so drastically like that.”
“It’s been unreal,” he said honestly. “I always knew we’d make it someday. We’re fucking amazing, of course we’d get signed, right?” He tossed me a grin before turning serious. “But I never really thought about what would happen once we met our goal. Once we reached the top. All our lives, it’s been about getting there. And now that we’re here…” He adjusted the mirror, fidgeting. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. Like you said.”
Zain shifted uncomfortably, an awkward look on his face. I didn’t think he’d planned on saying as much as he had. Maybe he was embarrassed about spilling his guts, just like I had been after our talk in the alley.
I put a hand on his knee.
“I know how hard it is when things change,” I told him.
He looked down at my hand.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess you would.” He cracked a small smile. “Sorry for unloading on you. I’m supposed to be giving you terrible, tasteless pastries, not whining like an angsty asshole.”
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I don’t mind listening.” It was the least I could do, considering he’d done the same for me.
“If you want to hear all my emo shit, go give our album a listen,” he said. “I wrote about a quarter of the songs myself.”
“You compose music, too?” I didn’t know why I was so surprised. He was a musician, after all. I supposed I’d just assumed he played guitar and that was it.
“We all contributed songs to the album,” he said.
“You weren’t kidding when you called yourself talented,” I said.
“Are you actually stroking my ego?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “Your head is already too big. I’m just acknowledging a fact.”
“The fact that I’m awesome, you mean?” he grinned.
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
When we finally made it out of the traffic jam, Zain zoomed through a few side streets and pulled into another parking lot.
“Ready for another round?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I put a hand to my rumbling belly. “I think I was right when I said that eclair was going to be bad for my stomach.”
“That alone should perk you up,” he said. “When you compare the two, we didn’t even get food poisoning from our own baking.”
“Yet,” I said. “We’ve only made one thing together. There’s still time.”
“Such a pessimist.”
