Courtship of the Cake by Jessica Topper Read Free Book Online

home?”
    â€œHome?” I began, my fingers snaking up to knead the back of his neck. “I left home broken down by the side of the road last week.” Mean Mistress Mustard was still out of commission, sitting south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Jade and her family had generously made room in their six-person tent for me, and I was happy to take turns behind the wheel for them when we pulled up stakes after each gig. But I felt bad constantly crashing their family time. I knew one phone call back to Jax would remedy the situation, but I didn’t want to have to rely on him to bail me out. “No boyfriend.”
    â€œSwinging the other way, then?” He turned his head to one side and I could see the lascivious grin beginning. “I could see you putting the l-l-lick in lipstick lesbian.”
    â€œSounds like you’re dreaming again.” God, was this guy incapable of sustaining a normal conversation for five minutes? Laney sat like a devil on my shoulder, telling me to give him a good old-fashioned Vulcan nerve pinch. Instead, I worked my fingers up the base of his skull, satisfied when I saw the goose bumps rise on the flesh of his bare arms.
    â€œI’ve got a guy who could probably fix your van. Gimme a few days, okay?”
    I had a feeling Nash Drama was the type to have a person in every port, happy to do or give things to him. I had a feeling he was used to the getting and the doing, too.
    â€œI think you need to get to a doctor,” I murmured as my hands came to rest. An hour-long soft tissue massage was a Band-Aid, at best. I could only give him so much.
    â€œI’ve got you, Doc Ivy. What more in life do I need?”
    â€œYou need a rheumatologist. And quitting drinking might be a good idea, too.”
    He fell silent, and I feared I might have crossed the line. After all, I was—as he had pointed out on his tour bus—the hired help. And the guy had been photographed with a bottle in his hands more often than not, making me wonder if he had an endorsement from the liquor company, rather than the guitar manufacturer.
    â€œThat wasn’t a judgment,” I added quietly. “I’m just thinking if you have an inflammatory issue—”
    â€œYou’re not the first. To tell me.” He slowly came to an upright kneeling position. Resting his chin on his shoulder, he locked his gaze on me.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd I’ll consider it.”
    â€œGood.”
    I moved to the tiny kitchen sink of the trailer before realizing there were no hookups; the taps turned uselessly under my greasy grip.
    â€œSo, what’s the diagnosis?” Riggs wanted to know, barreling back up the metal steps.
    Nash shrugged back into a tight black T-shirt. “She wants to play doctor with me.”
    Cute. “No, I said you need a
real
doctor.” I fished into a dish tub on the counter keeping the beer cold for a few pieces of ice to rub my hands clean.
    â€œThen she suggested we get a room.”
    He grinned, and ducked as I threw an ice cube at him.
    â€œ
No
, I suggested you get a rheumatologist. Obviously you require an interpreter as well.”
    Nash swung his arms back and forth, and swayed from side to side. Hard to do in the narrow confines of the trailer, but apparently easier now that I had warmed and stretched his muscles. “Good
job
, Doc Ivy,” he drawled. I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. “I feel like a million bucks. If you show me your G-string under that cute little dress, I’ll shove a few dollars in to show my appreciation.”
    Unbelievable. “Gee, I think I liked you better when you were writhing in pain.”
    â€œKidding!” he yelled after me as I tripped down the steps and stormed toward catering. Thanks to this asshat and his boo-boo, I had missed half my lunch break. “Come see my three o’clock set. I’m dedicating a song to you.”

Kid’s Play

    â€œJade, can you