Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(26)

Margo heard the deep chuckle. “You love my big hands for more than lower back massages.”

“Those hands are why I’m the size of the state of Texas.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful. I always liked basketball. Now my wife is carrying around one.”

“Try beach ball.”

“Perfect beach ball. My beach ball.”

Margo gripped her small pillow. She didn’t want to stand up and interrupt Deacon and Harper’s sweet dialogue, but it was hard to hear it. She’d never had that.

The baby thing she’d pass on—no aliens coming out of her body, thank you—but the rest...

Margo couldn’t even imagine a man talking to her like that. Simple adoration lingering in his tone, indulgent pacification of a pregnant wife’s distress, and most of all, closeness.

Relationships were hard when she was in practice mode all the time. The Boston Philharmonic didn’t have a huge season so she was constantly on call for studio work. She could have taught, but she didn’t have the temperament for it.

So instead of looking for someone to spend her life with, she was usually trying to beat out the other violinists in the orchestra, as well as the ones in her field.

The orchestra was often used for scores, but they didn’t need all the chairs filled like they did for a concert. It was specific to what the movie music director needed or what the producers and studio needed for album work.

None of it was guaranteed, and the entire business was contingent on a résumé that was constantly out of date. And her own reticence to put herself out there.

These were the only moments where she wished for something more, when she heard the soft murmurings of a male voice and the answering flirty byplay of a woman.

She didn’t even know how to flirt back with a man like that. For God’s sake, Juliet had gotten all the flirty genes and doubled down with them at some cosmic blackjack table.

The only men Margo had been involved with had been hand-picked by her mother and father for social functions. She’d had the rare hookup in college, but music had been her focus for as long as she could remember.

And where had that gotten her?

Replaced in the one job she’d been tailor-made for.

She pressed her fingertips against her eyes. No. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. It was time to go in and get ready to go.

To forget about how unsettled her future was. She had some time to figure out what she was supposed to do. Her parents were in Europe for their annual trip and weren’t focused on her career.

She peeked over the half wall to the next balcony and caught Deacon drawing Harper back into their room. The way he drew her close even with her rather large belly in the way made Margo look away.

That was a man that wanted to put his hands on his wife no matter what.

She’d never really wanted that before. Saying goodbye was a fact of her life. Small projects didn’t allow her to stay in one spot, until the season started. Then it was too much togetherness, too much competition.

Too much hate.

Some of her contemporaries flitted in and out of beds, but she hadn’t wanted a part of that. When the undercutting was as prevalent as the talent, it took the desire away as far as she was concerned.

But seeing these people who honestly loved each other under the snark and the music was different. She wasn’t sure she liked how it made her feel.

Jazz and Gray, Harper and Deacon—both of them married and pregnant. It seemed incongruous to the lifestyle, but they made it work.

Everything about them as a band shouldn’t work.

Maybe that was why she got sucked in every single time she lifted her bow to play with them. Some magic fairy dust that only existed when she was in their sphere.

And now she was being fanciful. So not like her.

Maybe the fairy dust was more like PCP, she mused she rushed through a shower and plaited her hair in a travel braid. She glanced around the room and made sure the last of her sister’s left-behinds were packed as well.

A knock on her door had her snapping out her bag and sliding her violin case down the double barrel handle.

“Shuttle for the trip to the airport in five!”

The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t one of the band or Lila. Maybe one of her assistants.

She opened the door to find Gray and Jazz racing down the hall, her sparkly purple hard-sided case to Gray’s jet black with red racing stripe.

“Hey! Preggo handicap.”

“You only want a handicap when it suits you,” Gray answered and double backed to take her case and steal a kiss. “Hold the elevator,” he called down the hall.

Nick slapped a hand over the sensor. “C’mon, my favorite duck.”

Jazz stopped in the middle of the hall. “Carry me.”

Simon came out his door and stopped in front of her. “Piggy back for Miss Piggy.”

“I should smack you for that, but I want the ride.”

Gray stood at the elevator. “That’s truly pathetic, Mrs. Duffy.”

“It’s a long corridor,” Jazz said and draped her arms over Simon’s shoulders.

“Must be desperate times if you’re willing to ride on Simon,” Gray said and crossed his arms.

“Well, my husband doesn’t love me enough to carry me,” Jazz said with a pout.

Margo tried not to smile at their antics, but they were like a bunch of puppies tumbling around and on each other.