Page 33 of These Wicked Hearts

“Apartment eighty-two.” Atlas looks back at me, his dark brows furrowed. “I’ll be back by eleven.”

I walk around him and join my friends. I have no idea if he’ll come to my apartment, and I have no business meeting up with him like this again, but I can’t let it go. I just need one more night. One more taste to get him out of my system.

One more time to get Atlas out from under my skin.

EIGHT

Gage

I’ve been pacing around my apartment for nearly two hours now. I don’t like this. Maybe he’s not going to come. Maybe I read it all wrong. I don’t know what to do about this. After the initial shock of seeing him in the crowd, all I’ve felt since then is this need. The same need I’ve felt for days, ever since I left his apartment.

It’s embarrassing to admit how many times since we hooked up that I wanted to go down to his apartment. Just one more taste. I’m lucky we had a lot to do to prepare for our final show or else I may have done something crazy like knocking on his door. We’ve been on tour for nearly six months now, and I’m ready to never go on the road again.

It was Declan’s idea to have our final tour stop be Norfolk, our hometown. Chen and I still live here—or at least have homes here, though Chen likes to spend his downtime in Seattle—but Jesper and Declan spend their time off in New York City.

And then there’s me, stuck in a city that’s treated me well. I don’t want to leave. When we’re recording, we all stay with Declan and Jesper. Those moments are my favorite. They remind me of when we were just four foster kids with a big dream and little resources to see them through.

We have three months off now. I was strict about that. Three entire months off. No meetings, no recording, no fan events. Nothing. Just me and my silence while I decide my next move. I still don’t know what that is, all I know is I can’t keep going like this. I love music, but the music industry is a monster. Looming and scary. Put there to suck your soul dry and spit you out.

Okay, enough of that. I have one more night with Atlas and I won’t waste a second of it. I shouldn’t be this hung up on him, but who can blame me. He’s beautiful. That’s it, I’m just really attracted to him.

After Atlas and his friend were escorted out, I left as soon as I was allowed. I showered in my dressing room, and I showered again when I got here. Then I thought about what I wanted to do with him. Or to him.

A knock pulls me out of my thoughts, and I walk over in three eager strides. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this. That’s all. It’s an excitement I can’t make sense of. And I don’t want to. I don’t care if this makes sense.

I open the door. He’s now wearing a loose sleeveless blue shirt displaying those delicious arms and ridiculous superhero tattoos. He looks at my bare chest. “How do you wash all that shit off?” I grab the hem of his shirt and pull him in. “And your hair. It was like, black.”

“Temporary dye. It’s more like a gel. I have special soap that cleans off the body paint, and my hairstylist uses this mask to clean my hair.

“This is insane. Like insane. You’re a rock star,” he whispers, as if it’s not just the two of us. “I banged a rock star.”

“Actually, this rock star banged you.” I don’t want to talk. I just want to fuck.

Atlas walks into my apartment, looking around. “Your voice is amazing. Do you write your own songs? Wait, no, Knox told me, your keyboardist also, right? That’s crazy. How do you even come up with ideas for songs? I’m not very creative, but I’ve always admired artists. Creating something out of nothing. Another reason I love comic books. I love the art. How do people even come up with that shit? It’s incredible.”

“Ah!” I snap my fingers. “I just remembered.”

He turns to me, big blue eyes blinking back at me. “What?”

“How fucking annoying you are.”

He rolls his eyes. “The word you’re looking for is quirky.”

“Well, get your gorgeous quirky ass in my bedroom.”

“Wasting no time, huh? I just walked in the door. Maybe I don’t feel like putting out.”

I stare at him flatly.

“Yeah, j k.”

“Did you just say j k?”

“So, like, how long have you been in a band? I’ve never heard of you before, I don’t think. Maybe I have. I don’t really pay attention to celebrities. Not that you’re not great, you are, it’s just⁠—”

I groan, loudly. “Atlas, please stop talking.” But then I think of something. “Wait. Now that you know what I do, I want to know what you do.”

Atlas grins. “Not telling. Not my fault you were reckless.”