Free Lead by Kylie Scott Page B

leaving him was like having my heart dug out with a plastic spork, but what could I do?
    He paused. “What?”
    “I mean … I’m tired and I work very hard. You think dealing with your fan mail is easy?”
    “No one asked you to deal with my fan mail. You took that job on yourself.”
    “Well, I can’t just follow you around all day doing nothing. I need mental stimulation.”
    With an exasperated sound, Jimmy jumped up in an overly athletic fashion. Show off. I bet he was amazing in bed. No, forget that, he’d be a selfish lover, too busy staring at himself in the mirrored ceiling to see to the business at hand. Between my legs just needed to calm the hell down.
    Little lines appeared between his brows. “Explain to me how checking out pictures of chicks dancing around in their underwear is mentally stimulating for you. I need to hear about this.”
    “They’re not all like that. Some of them are quite nice and just want a signed picture of you or a ‘thanks for contacting me, glad you liked the album’. You were ignoring them. It was rude.”
    “Management can deal with them. And if you’re tired, go take a nap and get out of my face with your weirdness.” He looked at me like I was dwelling on the wrong side of the insane asylum walls. Fair enough, really.
    “Fine.” I jabbed at the keyboard, shutting the laptop down. “I will.”
    “Christ, you’re moody lately. Worse than me.”
    I barked out a laugh. “Jimmy, did you just actually make a joke at your own expense?”
    The side of his mouth curled up the tiniest bit. Good god, was that a flash of dimple? My pulse rocketed like it was the Fourth of July. I fucking loved dimples. They were so lickable, so divine.
    “Lena,” he growled.
    Instantly, I got wet. “Sorry. I just … what is that?”
    I stopped and sniffed at the air. There was a strange smoky smell in the room lingering beneath the musk of Jimmy’s sweat and the remnants of his cologne. I thought my imagination must be playing tricks on me, but no. My heart sunk to the depths of my chest. As signs went, this wasn’t a good one.
    “What’s what?” he asked.
    “The cigarette smell.” I stood, wandering around the table. “It’s coming from you.”
    He sat back on his haunches. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “It’s also coming from your jacket.”
    His gaze jumped to the item of clothing in question, left hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. It was a gray all-weather one, nothing fancy though I bet it cost a bomb. Perfectly suitable for skulking about outside to have a smoke. He licked his lips, eyes suddenly cagey. “Lena…”
    “You’ve started smoking again, haven’t you?”
    “Don’t require your permission. I can do what I like.”
    “Then why have you been hiding it from me?”
    He jumped to his feet, brushed off his hands. “’Cause it’s none of your business.”
    “Guess again, bud. You and your health is exactly my business.”
    Hand extended, he reached for the jacket. Sadly, for him, I was well ahead of the game there. I clasped the coat to my chest, rifling through pockets one-handed. It couldn’t have been going on for long. Still, I should have been paying more attention, been on it the minute it began.
    “Give it to me,” he said, tugging on a stray sleeve.
    I liberated the gold cardboard box from a side pocket and held it behind me, out of his reach. “No more, Jimmy. You’ve worked so hard to get healthy, you are not losing ground now.”
    “You going to bitch at me about drinking coffee next?” He tossed the jacket aside, well riled up. His damp hair hung in his face, eyes flashing fury. “It’s just the occasional fucking cigarette. I’ve given up everything else. Hand them over, Lena.”
    “You know you shouldn’t be smoking. That’s why you look so guilty.”
    “I do not look guilty,” he said, voice terse and face guilty as all god damn hell. “I’m a grown man and I repeat, this is none of your