Heartthrob Hotel Collection by Tabatha Kiss

Author:Tabatha Kiss [Kiss, Tabatha]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

2

Jonah

A loud rattling noise jolts me out of my sleep. I groan loudly, hoping to quell the bastard sound, but it continues on anyway.

Vrrr. Vrrr. Vrrr.

After a few moments of semi-consciousness, my brain puts two-and-two together and I realize it’s just my phone.

I extend my arm toward the bedside table and knock my knuckles against the bedpost instead.

“Dammit,” I say, cringing as a light pain fires up my wrist.

I raise my head off the pillow and look forward to aim my hand toward the rattling phone.

Mom, the screen reads, flashing a smiling photo of the two of us from earlier this summer.

I hit accept.

“Hey, Mom,” I say after tapping speakerphone and letting it slip back onto the table.

“Hello, my fourth born,” she says, her velvet voice loud and sharp. “Where are you?”

“I’m asleep.”

“Asleep where?”

“In my bed.”

“No,” she says. “In fact, I’m standing outside your bedroom right this moment and you are not in your bed.”

I roll over onto my back. “I’m in my bed at the hotel,” I explain.

“Why are you at the hotel? I thought you were going to be staying here.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. I said I’d be in town.”

“Oh, I see. So, my house is a good enough place for your manager to drop off your instruments and giant amps and whatnot but not good enough for you to stay in. Am I understanding this correctly?”

“Mom…” I choose my words carefully. “I just needed a break.”

“A break? From me?”

Not carefully enough.

“I didn’t say that, Mom. You know not you.”

She drops the sharpness. “From the band?”

“From the band,” I repeat. “From the world and people and pretty much everything for a little while.”

“Jordan mentioned something about you leaving. Are you leaving the band?”

I sigh hard. “I’m not leaving the band. Since when is taking a little vacation to unwind leaving the band?”

“Well, I figured it was just another one of her dramatic meltdowns, but I wanted to check with you first. It’s not true?”

“No. It’s not true.”

“Would you like me to talk to her?” she offers.

“No, Mom.” I laugh. “I’m twenty-four years old. I don’t need you talking to my boss, all right? I’ll take care of it.”

“Good. And when you’re finished being manly and you come over to pick up your guitar taking up space in my house once again, we’ll have dinner.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“When?” she asks.

I rub my tired eyes. “When what?”

“When should I be looking forward to you looking forward to coming over to get your guitar and having dinner with me?”

“I… don’t know. Sometime this week.”

“Can you narrow that down? I’m a very busy woman.”

I hesitate. “… Wednesday?”

“Excellent! Wednesday. I’ll see you at seven. Arrive hungry.”

“Okay, I’ll—”

She hangs up and I grunt with fatigue. There’s nothing in this world more exhausting than keeping up in a conversation with Fiona Botsford.

I roll back over onto my stomach and grab the nearest pillow, quickly cuddling it against my chest for comfort. I’m not sure what time it is nor do I care enough to check.

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