“Okay, well, at least I tried,” Johanna sighs, then turns to face Mia. “Who’s this?”
“You remember Mia Alexander,” I prompt.
Her eyes light up in realization and she grabs Mia in a hug like she had done with me.
“No way!” Johanna exclaims excitedly in her almost shrill voice. “Mia! How the hell are you? What are you doing at my brother’s show? I can’t believe it’s been, what, eight years?”
“Johanna, wow!” Mia laughs nervously. “You look incredible. It’s been since high school graduation that I’ve seen you, I guess.”
“She’s here with Rylee,” I add. “They’re staying at the house with us and doing some media work for the band. You’ll still have your room, of course.”
“Ah,” Johanna says, her face shifting and tone icing over as it always does when it comes to Rylee.
“So happy to see you, too, Jo,” Rylee smirks from her position on the couch.
“Well, I have news,” Johanna announces, changing the subject and ignoring Rylee’s comment entirely. “I’m moving to LA! There’s more booking potential for my modeling if I live here. As excited as I am to watch you play, Gray, I’m really here to look for a house.”
“Wow, Joey, that is… exciting!” I exclaim, my eyes widening in surprise.
God help us all.
Johanna isn’t just a force of nature. She’s a category five emotional storm. At least she isn’t expecting to move in with me, but if I could barely handle seeing my sister a few times a year, how am I going to handle having her here all the time? There’s a reason her nickname is Hurricane Johanna; she blows in and out, leaving only destruction in her path.
Chapter five
"Let The Flames Begin" - Paramore
Mia
Iwoke up aching—the kind of ache that lingers on your skin and pulses deep in your core. My mind immediately drifts to the man sleeping in the room next door.
Grayson.
The fact that he’s just a few feet away, completely unaware he’d starred in the most vivid, shameless dream I’ve ever had,makes me feel insane. Not in a cute, flustered kind of way. In arip-the-sheets-off-and-take-a-cold-showerkind of way.
It doesn’t matter how hard I try to shove him out of my head—he always claws his way back in. The way he looks under stage lights—magnetic and untouchable. The heat in his voice when he sings, smokey and low, curling around me like something dangerous. The way my camera adores him. The wayIadore him. The way his gaze lingers—just a little too long. Just enough to make me wonder if I’m imagining it. Just enough to make mehopeI’m not.
I try to distract myself, to think about whatever plans Rylee has for the day. But I can’t focus long enough to remember what she’d said. Not when he’s right there—tattooed, brooding, and carrying his rough voice that makes everything sound like a secret. Not with the look in his eyes that says,I know exactly what I’m doing to you.
Dragging myself out of bed, I stumble into the bathroom. Maybe getting ready will help give my mind something—anything—else to focus on. But as soon as I catch my reflection, I freeze.
I’m already thinking about him again. About what he’ll think of what I look like today. If he’ll even notice.
As I brush out my hair, my fingers linger at my neck—longer than they should. Imagining his hands there again instead. Slow. Certain. Possessive.
I apply my eyeliner with delicate care. Swipe the blush across my cheeks, admiring the color it gives. I even gloss my lips before cursing myself out loud.
I know exactly who I’m doing this for, and it isn’t me.
And I hate it.
I hate how badly I want him to see me. To want me. To get pulled under by this tension between us the same way I’m already drowning in it.
But he’s married, and I’m not the kind of person to go after the guy with the girlfriend, let alone the guy with the wife.
After watching my father leave my mother out of nothing more than boredom and what he thought was a better offer, I never wanted to bethat girl.
My mother, the classy, proud, but kind, Rebekah Alexander, would have lost her mind if any one of her three daughters had decided to go after another woman’s husband. She raised us better. Stronger.
