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“Oh my God, Jules. Ryan Knox was flirting with you. Like, actually fucking flirting with you,” Alyssa squeals.
His parting words to me didn’t seem like flirting. In fact, it felt more like a warning.
Chapter Four
Ryan
It isn’t often that someone surprises me these days. The people I deal with are so predictable it’s exhausting.
Not including my bandmates and manager, the only other people I am surrounded by are either on my payroll or want to fuck me. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes the latter is a scenario I take advantage of, but it doesn’t make for an exciting dating pool.
Meeting Juliet, the publicist who enjoys calling me on my shit and isn’t intimidated by my fame, is the most exciting thing that's happened to me in quite some time.
Toss in the fact that she’s stunning and has an absolutely delicious body with mouth-watering curves, and you can bet your ass I’m intrigued.
When she turned on her heel, I got a whiff of raspberries and vanilla, it must be her shampoo, and it took everything I had not to follow her out of the venue. The only thing that stopped me was the understanding that she wasn’t like the typical groupie that graced the presence of the Chaotix boys. She’s different.
She isn’t the kind of girl you pull backstage for a quick fuck.
She’s the girl you take your time with, the kind that makes you work for her attention and affection.
“Knox!” My bandmate Gareth calls out from across the room. He wriggles his eyebrows and cocks his head between the two women standing on either side of him, and I know all too well what that means.
I look back toward the exit, my mind still swimming with everything I’d like to do with Juliet’s smart mouth.
“Not tonight,” I finally mouth to Gareth.
There is no way I could end my night with anyone else’s lips wrapped around my cock.
Gareth shrugs and puts an arm around each woman, leading them out of the room and towards one of the SUVs waiting outside.
Someone is going to have a good night.
I pull out my phone and tap a few times on the screen as my feet take me out the back doors and into the breezy night air. You don’t realize how stuffy a concert venue is until you step back into the world.
The cars are lined up against the curb, and flashes of bright light begin to break out across the darkness.
“Ryan! Ryan! Over here!”
I raise a hand in the air and wave toward the row of paparazzi snapping photos. They’re annoying as hell, but just like any of us, they’re just trying to make a living. I remember those days when the only shows we played were in dive bars, and the only payment was a few free pitchers of beer.
I take my time getting into the back of the SUV; the least I can do is give them some decent shots. I'm well aware a good photo could mean the difference between making rent this month or facing eviction.
I also know that the shot they undoubtedly got of Gareth and his dip into the land of double trouble will fetch a pretty penny.
The driver gives me a tight smile when I slide into the back seat, and he wastes no time pulling out into the street. We ride in silence, and I’m thankful for the peace. It’s a welcome change from the environment I just left.
I pull out my phone and tap on the screen until a list of every local Public Relations company in the state appears.
I click through each one and navigate to the pages that display headshots of the publicists on their payroll, growing more frustrated with each dead end that doesn’t lead me to her.
There are only two options that seem plausible.
Either the firm she works for is too small for a souped-up website, or she lied. I’m more inclined to think it’s the first option. She knew too much and was too quick on her feet to have bullshitted that entire conversation.
“Going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?” I mumble under my breath.
“Sir?”
