The Happy Ever After Playlist (The Friend Zone #2)(13)

The next morning, Tucker woke me up at 7:30. That was another good thing about Tucker, he got me out of bed. He always wanted to be let out before 8:00 and he made sure I knew it. After I took him out, I couldn’t ever get back to sleep, so I stayed up and started my day. I used to sleep until noon, sometimes later. I liked the earlier routine. It gave me more sunlight hours, and the sun perked me up.

To my surprise my phone vibrated at exactly 9:00 a.m. It was Jason.

I wondered if he’d waited until 9:00 on purpose, so he wouldn’t text me too early. It made me smile to think he’d sat there watching the time, waiting for the exact moment it would be acceptable to text.

Jason: You up?

Sloan: I am. Your dog doesn’t sleep in. What time is it there?

Jason: 2:00 a.m., Thursday. Just got back to the hotel. Wednesday there, right?

Sloan: Yup. Late night for you.

Jason: Rehearsing. So who came over?



He was fishing. I smiled.

Sloan: My best friend, Kristen.

Jason: Did you talk about me?



I blanched. Then I panicked. How was I supposed to respond to that? Yes, we talked about you? My best friend advised me to climb you like a tree in search of your nuts? And then we talked about my vagina? Of course I was going to lie. But I was too guilty to think up a believable one on the fly. I was weighing my responses when another text came through.

Jason: You totally talked about me.



My thumbs jumped into action.

Sloan: I did not.

Jason: Liar. If you didn’t talk about me, what did you talk about?

Sloan: I may have mentioned you in a casual, very platonic way. Briefly.

Jason: Did you tell her about our date?

Sloan: It’s not a date.



It wasn’t. Right?

Jason: What would you call it?



I put my palm up in exasperation.

Sloan: An appointment.

Jason: Huh. How do I get it switched to a date?

Sloan: You don’t.



I chewed on my thumbnail. The dots jumped, and I waited to see what he had to say in response to my rebuff.

Jason: When I tell my friends about it, I’m calling it a date. You can’t stop me. There’s literally nothing you can do about it.



I laughed. This guy. He did not lack confidence, that was for sure.

I decided, in the spirit of keeping my promise to Kristen, to give him something small.



Sloan: I’m 26.

Jason: Another freebie! I’m 29. What high school did you graduate from?



I smirked. He was sneaky.

Sloan: Nice try. Then you’ll Google my yearbook and figure out my last name.

Jason: I’ll tell you my last name if you tell me yours.

Sloan: Nope.

Jason: It’s a really great last name.

Sloan: I’m sure it is. Not gonna happen, though.

Jason: Truth or dare?

Sloan: No.

Jason: Spin the bottle?

Sloan: No!



I was giggling now.

Jason: Monopoly???

Sloan: Yes, I will play Monopoly with you someday.

Jason: Now things are getting exciting.



He wasn’t wrong.





Chapter 7





Jason





? Talk Too Much | COIN


The massive time difference between Melbourne and California was fucking with me. I wish I could say I was jet-lagged, but the real issue was that I had to put off texting Sloan so I didn’t wake her up in the middle of the night. Poking her had become my new favorite pastime.

We’d chatted and texted on and off all day Thursday, my time, but I got slammed the whole day Friday with rehearsals and sound checks. She’d sent me a picture of Tucker and I’d shot her a one-word reply. After that I didn’t get a second to breathe until after dinner. At 7:00 p.m. Australia time, it was 1:00 a.m. for Sloan.

When I woke up Saturday morning I felt for my phone on the nightstand. I typed in my message, barely awake.

Jason: It’s a new day and I get a new question.



The jumping dots didn’t appear, and when the phone rang in my hand, it was Ernie.

“Good morning, Down Under. I’m guessing by your context clues that you haven’t checked your email today?” I could tell by the wind coming through the phone that he was in his coupé with the top down. “I’m going to need you to not lose your shit. It’s a fifteen-hour flight to Australia and I can’t be there to chokehold you off a ledge.”

Fuck. I sat up in bed and put him on speaker. I opened the email and took one look at the attachment and shook my head. “No. I write my own lyrics. I sing my own lyrics, Ernie.”

“I know. I know you do and this is a giant load of steaming horseshit, but we talked about this.”

“We talked about someone else writing my music?” I squinted at the screen. “What the hell is this? It looks like a pop song. They rhymed sweetie with teeny. I’m not singing this crap.”

A horn blared through the phone, and he told someone to go fuck themselves. Ernie drove like a madman. “Look, you need a strong crossover hit. I like indie rock. It’s nice to listen to while I smoke a joint when I’m hiding from the wife, but that stuff doesn’t go platinum. If you wanna get Don Henley famous like you said you wanted to, crossover hits for mass market is how you do that.”