Page 33 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
“You grew up in New York?”
“No. We moved to New Orleans when I was two.”
“The Big Easy. Cool. Must’ve been fun to grow up there.”
“I wouldn’t know. We moved to Georgia when I was four. Then when I was six, we moved to Kentucky.”
Nico cocked his head. “I’m sensin’ a pattern here.”
My father could never live in one place more than a few years. Said it stifled his creativity. It was only when I was grown that I realized he used “creativity” as an excuse for everything from avoiding conversations he didn’t want to have to keeping up with the rent.
I avoided his eyes. “My childhood was a little . . . chaotic.”
He squeezed my leg, making me look at him. “That why you don’t have any family pictures anywhere, Kat?”
Talk about sharp eyes. I cleared my throat and
sidestepped the question. “What about you? Were you born here?”
He studied me for a moment, his expression serious. He asked softly, “Family’s a sore spot?”
Less a sore spot, and more a gaping, bloody wound.
I shifted my weight in his lap and focused on the coffee table. Seeing my discomfort at the topic, Nico reached around my back and untied my hands. Then he took my wrists and put my arms around his shoulders. He stroked his hand over my hair. I rested my head on his shoulder, and he began to talk.
“I grew up in Tennessee. Shitty little town, dirt poor. My dad was an asshole. Beat the shit outta me and my brother whenever he came home drunk, which was a lot. Mom left when I was ten. Never saw her again. Got into drugs pretty hard when I was young, got in trouble with the law, spent a while in juvie. Met a kid in there who played the guitar. We got to be friends. Hooked up after we both got out. He taught me how to play, too. Started writin’ songs, playin’ this piece of shit guitar I bought at a pawn shop. Didn’t have much else to do.”
He laughed, but it was hard. “When I hit seventeen, figured I was gonna die in that town if I didn’t leave, quick. So I did. Moved to LA. Lied about my age, got a job at the Pig ‘N Whistle.”
He paused to run a hand through his hair, but I knew what came after Nico got the job.
The Pig ‘N Whistle was a famous restaurant and bar on Hollywood Boulevard. They had open mike nights twice a week where aspiring musicians could take a chance onstage. Nico took his chances, and became a crowd favorite. He could play, he could sing, and he looked like a movie idol. He was spotted by an agent, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Not yet twenty years old, he became a star. That was over a decade ago.
“And now here you are.”
He rested his chin on top of my head. “Yep. Here I am. With you.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling his scent. Here we were.
“How old are you?”
He chuckled. “You didn’t Google me? Not sure if I should be happy or hurt.”
I had Googled him. I’d read two or three lines, then I saw a picture of him and Avery, arm in arm at a fashion event in Paris, smiling into each other’s eyes. I clicked away from the page, and went and made myself a margarita. That had been my first and last attempt at finding out information about Nico Nyx.
Denial. De Nile.
“Thirty-one. You?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Did you want to be a makeup artist since you were a little girl?”
It was an accident. I was so comfortable with him, it felt so right sitting in his arms, I just forgot to lie. “No, I wanted to be a doctor so I could help my mom.”
The moment it was out of my mouth, I tensed. I didn’t talk about her. I didn’t talk about my past. What was I doing?
