TWENTY-SEVEN
As Jason washed the dishes as quietly as he could, he racked his brain to work out what he'd done wrong this time. He'd made dinner, and Xan had liked it, so it couldn't be the food. He was even doing the washing up, so it couldn't be that, either. He'd let her read without interrupting her.
He still had all his clothes on, and he hadn't played golf, slept with anyone, crashed anything, broken anything or thrown up. Yet.
But even on his best behaviour, he'd still f****d up somehow.
"Are you angry about what I said to Gaia?" he asked.
No answer.
"Or that I'm here with you instead of recording my next album?"
In Xan's dark corner, bedsprings creaked. "I don't care about your career, or whether you ever choose to record another song. I don't care what you say to your
