Stolen Tyme

by S. L. Ziegler

  “Yep, sure, it’s Xavier Scott at twistedtyme dot com.”

  She pulls out her phone and starts typing away. “Sent. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s no problem. I like to find new talent. Why don’t you come to my studio this week and I’ll let you know what I think, and answer any questions you may have.” I say the words faster than my brain can catch up. My studio, in the basement of my house, one that no one really ever comes to. I hold my breath, partly hoping she turns me down—no way in fuck can I have her alone and not think about ripping her clothes off—and another part hoping she wants to come over now.

  Not for my studio, but for my bed.

  “Really? That’d be perfect. Just tell me the day and I’ll work it out. Thank you so much, Xavier.”

  “My pleasure,” I mumble under my breath. “I’ve gotta get going. Lock, thanks for inviting me. And Naomi, I’ll email you back tomorrow.” Email, call, text, whatever the hell you want, I’ll do.

  “Email’s perfect. I’m going to head inside and shower. It was nice meeting you again, Xavier. Night, Old Man.” She gets up from her chair before placing a kiss on Lock’s cheek, and I pray to whoever’s upstairs that Lock doesn’t notice me checking out her fucking legs.

  As soon as Naomi is through the door, Lock speaks. “Don’t tell her it sucks. If you don’t like it, let her down easy.”

  “I doubt she’ll suck.” And if her singing is anything like her talking, I won’t have to lie.

  Not to her at least.

  I stare off at the stars and listen to Naomi’s lyrics drift through the speakers on my phone. It’s goddamn magical. Her voice is like finely grit sandpaper—light and smooth with a somewhat abrasive delivery. Raspy yet tranquil all mixed together. One of a kind. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time something gripped me this hard.

  Before the last note of the song ends, I send an email back to Naomi. She needs a real demo.

  Naomi,

  I need you in the studio. I’m clear tomorrow morning. Does that work?

  Xavier

  If that day, time, week doesn’t work for Naomi, I’ll move shit around to work with her. Everything’s irrelevant other than getting her in here, in the sound booth where I can see it. The problem is her voice is even sexier than she is. Best friend’s daughter runs through my head. Again.

  That would be perfect, is ten good?

  Naomi

  Right now would work better.

  Ten works. My address is 101 Cole Road, Roswell.

  X

  Oh, not good enough for your whole name? ;) Thanks again for taking the time. Hope my father didn’t have to sell it too much?

  N (I don’t like that as much as X)

  Is this flirting?

  Consider yourself a friend now. I don’t let just anyone call me X, and no, N doesn’t work for your name. ;) Your father only asked for me to help, and I’m not going to lie. I would’ve done it just for him, but after hearing what you sent me, it’s honestly what I want to do.

  X

  I run my hand through my hair. Fuck. Am I too old to use a winky face? Jesus, I’m acting like a damn high schooler. I have a feeling she’s going to be the worst kind of trouble.

  Now I’m excited for tomorrow. Need to get to sleep so I’m ready. See you at ten.

  Naomi (Sticking with the name the dad gave me)

  Night, Naomi.

  X

  Sweet dreams to you, Xavier.

  Only dream I’ll be having won’t be fucking sweet.

  Dammit, I’m screwed.

  Chapter 2

  “Try it one more time, Naomi, and remember, you just have to feel it. You got the rest of it in the bag, but dig that shit out.”

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath, her skin flushing.

  It’s taken all my willpower and every bit of power building inside me since the moment she walked her gorgeous self through my door not to have my eyes glued to her body. She’s wearing another tank top, this time paired with cutoff shorts that barely pass the creases of her ass. And that dark hair down…I am in my own hell not being able to study her the way I want to. They are my own transgressions coming back to collect on unpaid debts. I’ve repeated “off limits” to myself at least twenty times since she stepped into my house, yet each one is a little less believable. I’m hyperaware of every damn movement she makes, of everything she says.

  The split second her mouth opens, I’m stuck staring through the glass.

  She has a fucking gift.

  What I would do for you?

  Seeing you here with me, in my arms.

  It’s in my head day after day, night after night.

  The minutes turn into hours waiting for you.

  Come back to me.

  Because we belong together.

  Don’t leave me with these scars.

  I can’t turn my heart away from you.

  Every breath I take is missing you.

  We can’t be replaced.

  Come back to me.

  I’m out of my chair, clapping like a lunatic, before she finishes the last note. “Now that’s it, Naomi. Tell me you felt the difference,” I scream through the intercom mic.

  “I did…I can’t believe it.” Her smile is so big it can’t be contained and her face beams with pride.

  “We’re done with the studio for today. Come out here and talk about what you want out of this.” I should’ve had the conversation before, but listening to her song play over and over in my mind since last night…it was an itch that couldn’t be scratched ‘til I heard it live, out of her mouth.

  “Sure,” she says, taking off her headphones before walking out of the studio.

  She throws herself down on the sofa right next to me, not paying one lick of attention to the hold she clearly has on me.

  I clear my throat and lean away from her. “Your dad didn’t tell me much other than you wanted to make music, but he said out in New York instead of LA.”

  Naomi glances around the room, the happiness she exuded seconds ago replaced by discomfort. “Mmm. Yeah, about that. My dad doesn’t know what I really want. I’m going to tell you, but please don’t say anything ‘til I grow a pair of balls and tell him myself.” She chews on her lip and waits for me to agree.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. So, no…I won’t say anything.”

  “I don’t want to be a pop star. Never have, that’s not what I see for my future.” Her voice shakes as she continues. “I want to do theater. A certain type. Actually write them. Burlesque shows in particular. And right now, New York is a good place to do it. Vegas would be ideal but getting a name out there in Vegas is even more competitive.”

  I feel my eyes getting bigger. “You what?”

  “I know, but it’s something I’ve always wanted. I did theater in high school and loved it, but that kind of thing doesn’t fit me. Burlesque fits me.”

  “I can see why you don’t want Lock to know.”

  “It’s not stripping.”

  Fuck, now I’m picturing her naked. Dancing. Just for me.

  Focus, you shit head.

  I swallow hard, but my mouth’s so damn dry, nothing is helping. “But isn’t it topless?”

  “I mean…” She sits up straighter. “Some are, but not all.”

  “How the hell did you get into that?” My tone is heavy; she’s too damn good for that.

  She turns her head, and her hair covers her face just enough for me not to see it. “Dad’s partner’s wife, Penny, got me into it. She had to work one day and I was with her. I saw it, fell in love with the music, the storylines, the power it portrays. One thing led to another and she got me a job the day I turned eighteen.”

  “And Lock has no clue?” My heart becomes sluggish as the protectiveness for her consumes me.

  Naomi tightens her hands into fists while glancing up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Not one iota of a clue. I told him where I worked, but he thinks it�
�s only a club. What would my dad be doing in a club?”

  Leaning back against the couch, I sigh. “Shit, that’s something to keep from him.”

  “I know, but you said you wouldn’t tell him. I will, it’s just…he’s…well, him. He had problems when I went on dates, when guys talked to me. I’ll be twenty in a few weeks and he’s still acting like I’m in middle school. Could you imagine how he’d react over this? Please, X, just let me have this for a little while longer. I don’t want to let him down, and it will crush him.”

  “You’re putting me in a hard spot,” I confess.

  “I know, and I wouldn’t if I didn’t think you could help me get there.”

  “That song…you wrote it?”

  “I did. I’ve got this dream. I can’t have anything stand in my way. Long term, my plan is to write, produce, and direct, but I need to gain experience and a name doing it first.”

  “That song is perfect,” I state. Because it is; she doesn’t need experience for it.

  With a slight shake of her head, she disagrees. “I like it, just don’t love it. I think it’s missing something.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It is.” She grins.

  “I won’t tell him, but let me see this performance and I’ll let you know what I think.”

  “Now, that I can do.” Naomi lays her hand on my shoulder, giving me a wink.

  I glance down, getting the first glimpse of her tattoos. “Who did your ink?”

  She pulls her hand away from me, then traces her own shoulder. “Dad’s guy—Liam. He took me to get my first the day I turned eighteen. He said if I wanted it done, it’s going to be by a guy who knows his shit, not some cracker-jack artist.”

  I lower my head to get a better look. “Is that a nest?”

  “Good eye.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Is it?”

  “Not many people get one of those. Does it have a meaning?”

  “Do all your tattoos have meanings?”

  “They do, in fact,” I counter her, raising a brow.

  She rolls her eyes as she giggles. “Yes, it does have a meaning. But, I think I’ll save that for another day. Don’t want to reveal all my secrets right away.”

  “I’m a good holder of them if you want to.”

  “Nice try, buddy. Maybe buy me some frozen yogurt—that’s my weakness. I open up like a bag of chips.”

  “Yogurt, huh? You’re a cheap date.”

  “Did I say date? Because I don’t think that would’ve come out of my mouth.”

  Thoughts of where I would take her on a date run through my head, but then reality crashes in.

  The angel on my shoulder screams, “Best friend’s daughter!” over and over in my ear. But hell, that devil is screaming louder. I must listen to the angel—that damn devil’s caused enough problems in my life.

  “Nah, no dates in our future.” The words come out of my mouth and I hate how much truth flows within them.

  “Nope, don’t think so, either. I should get going, have to get ready for work.” Naomi brushes off her lap, appearing almost as upset about it as I am.

  I stand up, offering my hand to help her. “You want to come over and mess around with the music tomorrow? I’m sure I can find you something in my box of tricks if you want more than one song on your demo.”

  Her hand folds into mine. She’s all soft skin against my rough, callused palms. I hold on tighter, subconsciously refusing to let go. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, finding any excuse for a few more stolen touches.

  “I think I can do that. Want my number?”

  Of course I want her number. But I probably shouldn’t say, fuck yes! “Yep, probably better than email.”

  “What’s yours? I’ll send you mine in a text.”

  I give it to her and she types it into her phone.

  Pulling out my phone when the ding hits, I see her phone number right there, flashing across my screen. With a damn emoji winky face. That’s when the age difference rears its ugly head. With a damn text.

  “Just shoot me a text when you want to come over. I’ll be home all day.”

  “Done. I work tonight ‘til close so I plan on sleeping late.” Standing on her tiptoes, Naomi slowly places a soft kiss on my cheek. “Thanks again, Xavier. For everything,” she whispers in my ear.

  I turn toward her, our lips mere inches away, and that’s when I see it. The deep swallow in her throat, the short breaths she’s taking in, the flutters of her eyelids. I have the same effect on her she has on me. I edge closer to her. “Just call me your very own secret keeper,” I say against her mouth.

  “I think I like—” The sound of her phone ringing breaks our connection. “That’s my dad, probably checking up to see how it went today.” She hits the red button on her phone, and within two seconds, my own phone flashes Lock’s name.

  Naomi nods to my phone, a smile placed on her lips, yet it seems faked. She seems forced to leave. “You should get that or he’ll keep bugging us. And will you let him know I’m on my way home? I’ll go ahead and let myself out, but call me tomorrow.”

  She hauls her purse off the floor by the door, and as I swipe my phone to answer, I see her give a lingering glance my way, one more time.

  Something is happening between us, except I can’t put a finger on it. I’m scared as hell to dig into it, but I’m even more terrified not to.

  Naomi blows out a deep breath in frustration, rubbing her forehead. “Can I have a break?” she pleads with me over the mic.

  “Sure.”

  I watch her come out of the room. Everything seemed off the moment she walked through the door. All her words are a little strained, her smiles harder. Something wasn’t right.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I told my dad about the stuff.”

  “About?”

  “What I’ve been doing and what I want to do in New York.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Oh, shit is right. I’m sorry I wasted your time, but I can’t do this today. My head isn’t in the game. Is it okay if we pause? Come back tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Why don’t we go get some food?” The last thing she needs is to be alone right now. She seems so lost.

  “I can always go for some yogurt.”

  “Well, let’s go.”

  “Just to let you know, cotton candy and chocolate don’t mix,” I state, trying my hardest not to have them blend together in the cup.

  “I told you. Mine is good. Want a bite?” she offers, holding out her spoon filled with fruit and ice cream.

  “I’m still going with it’s not supposed to be healthy.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me apparently.”

  “My dad always gets his loaded with any kind of chocolate.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. He always ate like shit.”

  “Still does. If it wasn’t for my cooking since I could reach the stove, he’d be huge. Not huge like he is now, but overweight.” She stares off, unfocused.

  I want to see her smile, her true one again.

  I drop my cup down on the table. “Let’s play a game.”

  “Okay.”

  “Fact and question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Easy. I give you a fact about me, and you ask a question about my fact. It all has to be truthful. I’ll start. I can’t ever get enough Mountain Dew. And now you ask a question about my fact.”

  “Okay, why do you like Mountain Dew?” she inquires, squinting at me.

  “Because it’s the only vice I didn’t have to give up in rehab. Now, your turn.”

  “I was obsessed with Twisted Tyme growing up.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “It has to be the truth right?”

  “It does. It’s how the game works.”

  “It was mainly you I was crazy about. I remember you from when I was younger coming around, and then you vanished one day. Pop
s never said where you went. Even though I could tell my obsession hurt him, he always bought me concert tickets every time you were in town and gave me money for the CDs. It’s insane how much money you made off me. Then, three years ago, news broke out about you overdosing. And I don’t know…something in me broke. I threw away everything Twisted Tyme related, and anytime the band was mentioned—you in particular—I got really sad.”

  If she only knew how messed up I was for every concert she went to, every song she heard, she wouldn’t be here with me today.

  I have to clear my throat in order to speak. “I want to spend more time with my daughter, Charlie.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “Her mom, Zoey, is crazy. Your dad knew her, hated her. But it’s not all her fault. For years I was stoned one way or another and missed a lot of Charlie’s life. A shit ton. Forgot what responsibility was. But once I got sober, I came back around. Zoey was remarried by then, Charlie was calling him Daddy, and I was now an outsider. Slowly, over time, I became Charlie’s Pops, but I want more.”

  Naomi takes my hand away from the ring on my finger I was playing with. “I call my dad Pops; it’s a title that only goes to the cool dads. I’m switching the game up. That ring means something to you. I want to know why.”

  “It does. I got it when I was first in LA. I wanted to look like the badass rock star, so I got it. It was a habit for me to wear it, so for twelve years I did. Every day. Anyway, the night I overdosed … I’m not sure what happened, but everything went black, and all of a sudden, I felt a little twist on my thumb, where my ring was. It was the first thing I felt. Like someone or something was spinning it around. Now, I do it all the time. It centers me.”

  “That’s heavy.”

  “Life’s heavy.” I stare down at her hand, still spinning my ring like it’s giving her the same comfort.

  “My nest tattoo is for my mom.”

  “Your mom?” I whisper, not wanting to shock her.