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With a bleach-blonde model at his side. Not someone like me.
Ignoring that voice, and the ones that chatter over my phone speaker, my eyes refuse to move from the embodiment of legendary as he’s handed a guitar and straps in to play.
As Above’s first number-one hit rings through the little speaker—one I vaguely recall hearing and rolling my eyes at, because who the hell covers a band that’s there—and about halfway through the song, it changes.
Like the shit was practiced, Fin leads the pitch higher than the original and the vocalist tears up the challenge like his life depends on it.
“Holy shit,” I whisper into the phone, pausing on the grinning faces of Finland and some band calledDreadful Souls.
“There’re all kinds of rumors already,” Aurora pipes up from somewhere in the back of Aria’s half of the phone. “Like him offering them a contract kind of thing.”
“Well, I guess they technically could do that now that they’re on their own label.” My shrug moves enough water that I hear some splat on the floor.
Oops.
“Rex doesn’t know anything. I’m the one that showed him the video.”
I grunt and swipe away the video with a new band name burned into my subconscious to check out later.
“That’s cool.” I hear it in my voice before I can stop it. The monotone attempt at not giving a fuck about the conversation, when in reality, I want to ask Fin how cool it was to play with an up-and-comer that knew As Above enough to sell it.
And I want to know how those talented fingers would feel on my skin.
Uggghh.
“Uh-oh,” Aria sighs, her tone changing as she clicks on the phone. “Why are we all ‘that’s cool’and not ‘holy shit, my favorite guitarist’?”
I mumble into the phone, words that aren’t words, because I really don’t know what else to say.
I can’t tell my best friend that I can’t like Fin.
And I certainly don’t plan on telling her it’s all Jeremy’s fault.
And Fin’s fault.
Okay, goddamnit.
And mine.
“Oh, kay.” Air rushes over the speaker. “I’m on my way with waffles.”
“Waffles?”
“Yes,” my best friend hisses as keys jingle over the line and a door closes. “Because I’m hungry, and I’m sure your ass is drinking your dinner.”
“Pffft.Don’t act like you know me.” I scoff and cradle my empty glass to my chest.
“Right …” Aria’s breathless drag of the word has my lips pulling up at the sides.
“Fine. But bring more margaritas.”
“Tequila?” I hear Aria curse under her breath, mention something to someone else, and a door slams on her end. “I’m even more on my way now.”
“Don’t forget the margaritas.”
It doesn’t take long for my best friend to have her new bodyguard banging on my hotel door—which I can tell by the deep thudding that can only come from a fist twice my size—and me dragging my pruning ass out of the chilled water to throw on a robe and answer it.
“I grabbed the shit you use for your back, too.” Aria pushes her way into my room, pregnant belly first, with her arms full of items she dumps on the desk and spins to me.
