Book 1 - Page 44 (1/2)

“What about the music? What would you say had the biggest impact on your sound growing up?” the doc.u.mentary guy presses.

Lucas looks deep in thought, though I have a feeling he’s just pretending. These questions have more than likely been asked by hundreds of reporters in more scenarios than he can count. “My dad. He was a huge Metallica fan. I—uh—may have been in a Metallica cover band with Sinjin and Wyatt once upon a time ago.”

Metallica. I c**k my eyebrow at him and he gives me a shrug and a grin.

The limousine slows down to the crawl necessary for residential communities. When we stop, pulling to the curb of a brown and white bungalow, a woman who looks like a pint sized version of Kylie comes out onto the porch, smiling brightly.

By the way she hugs Lucas, pulling him fiercely to her and burying her face into his chest she’s either been prepped by the doc.u.mentary creator as well or Lucas goes home just about as much as I do. I’m leaning towards the second and wondering what kind of past he has here. By the obvious affection he has for his mom and the adoration he showed when talking about his dad in the limo, I don’t think he feels anything other than love towards his parents.

“Where’s Kylie?” she asks as I take off my beanie and sungla.s.ses and take a seat in their cramped sitting room on the piano bench. “Is she at the hotel?”

“She had an emergency trip to take care of in California,” Lucas explains easily. He winks at me. “Don’t worry, Ma, she’ll be here for Easter.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. His Georgian accent seems to magically appear when he’s with his mom. Plus, I think it’s s.e.xy as h.e.l.l that he’s almost 29 but respects his mother enough not to tell her his sister is partying in New Orleans.

Mrs. Wolfe is just as kind and charming as Kylie, speaking to the camera with a natural ease as she boasts about her kids. Lucas’s dad shows up halfway into the filming. He’s got on a sweaty golf s.h.i.+rt, but he hugs me when I introduce myself as Kylie’s temporary replacement.

“She didn’t send any of that champagne, did she?” he teases, and I force a grin.

The mood in the Wolfe’s home is happy, easygoing, but I find myself withdrawing. I have to remind myself that I have Gram, that my grandparents were just as wonderful as anyone else’s parents, as I witness Lucas interacting with his folks.

Somehow, I manage to keep the feeling of jealousy at bay.

When we leave, both Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe give me a hug goodbye and embrace Lucas. “Before I forget,” his mom says, stopping him before he gets into the limousine. “Sam’s been trying to get in touch with you. Said it was—”

“Already taken care of,” Lucas tells her, his voice tight, rude. His face is drawn into a harsh frown as he hugs his mom one last time. Whoever Sam is, I bet money he’s one of those things keeping Lucas from coming to Atlanta regularly.

Sam is Lucas’s version of my Rebecca.