Induction Day: Book Two in the Butterman Travel Series Read Online Free Page A

tone deflates, as if every ounce of self-confidence and pride has been sucked right out of it.
    I caress his bicep from beneath his black tee shirt, letting my fingers outline the shape of his muscle. “You’re not using now, that’s what’s important. I wouldn’t be here if you were.”
    He angles his body so his eyes meet mine. Serious and pointed. “But I’ve wanted to. Every night I can’t sleep, I’ve wanted to.”
    I nod, clear my throat. I don’t know what to say, so I look away, watch the shaggy-haired singer on stage beside a retro-saxophone player. Then it hits me.
    “You have to get back to recording,” I announce. “Music is your fix, remember? That’s what you told me that first day we met.”
    “We met twice that day,” he says, a far off look on his face.
    I pause, think. We did. But I can only remember one of them.
    He lets out a little laugh. “The memory of it’s so crazy. Meeting present-you from this timeline, just before meeting past-you from a different one.”
    I shrug, like it’s not that big of deal, but I know it is. A day like that can boggle the mind forever, especially for someone not accustomed to time travel. I need to tell my dad about Tristan’s analog recall. It could be dangerous to his sanity.
    His fingers touch mine, his expression changing. “You weren’t too easy convincing that day either.”
    I’m used to a happy-go-lucky gleam in Tristan’s eyes and his superstar grin, but now he’s distant, contemplative in an oddly defeated way. Sends a chill across my skin. I don’t want to know too much about that day he met two different mes. I have enough mind-bending conundrums to deal with as it is, and my brain is still struggling from T-cubing.
    On impulse, I wedge myself into his lap, wrap my arms around his shoulders. “How are your new songs coming then?”
    “Not fast enough, or so my agent says.”
    I’m aware of his body in every way—the strength of his thigh, the warmth of his chest at my shoulder, the damp breathiness from his lips at my neck.
    I ignore the little somersault in my belly. “ Fall is number four on the national billboard, what more does she want?”
    “More hits, that’s what she wants. The new production company she signed me with gave me til January to get out five more singles.” His jaw tenses and he rests it against my shoulder bone. “It’ll complete an album, but I can’t give them shit, you know? They’ve gotta be freakin’ sublime songs.”
    “Okay, so, it’s only the first week of December, right? You said you wrote Fall in one day.”
    “That’s ‘cause I was gifted with inspiration from the rock gods of many moons spent.”
    “No, you wrote it before Woodstock. That’s the whole reason we went back in time to Manhattan. To get that song.”
    “But it wasn’t finished. It was still missing something. And I didn’t have to force any of it, it all just sorta fell into place. Pun intended, of course. They want me to create a collection that captures the entire rock ballad vibe Fall does. But I want more than that—I wanna add in more elements—like that sax we just heard playing. Incorporate different instruments and styles that haven’t been combined before. That’s what I want. I mean, I can go throw together some electronica tracks in my studio and slap my name on it to sell to fans of Fall , but I don’t want that. Everybody’s doing that.”
    I smile to myself, admiring the way his gray-blue eyes light up in in the reflection of the holo-screen. He’s lost in his passion, and totally unaware of himself.
    He continues, oblivious to my stare. “I made a commitment to my fans when I put Fall out into the world, and I have to stick to it. There’s no room for crap.” He pokes a finger at the hollow of my neck, where he traces it lightly, absorbed in his own movement. “Why do you think Fall got so big? When’s the last time you heard anyone sing to acoustic guitar? I’m telling you, there’s