Page 18 of The Rogues

I shake my head. “No, not at all. I just… my bandmates don’t know.”

His brows scrunch in. “Oh.”

“Oh,” I repeat, letting that information seep between us. I’m waiting for him to ask me why, to demand why I haven’t screamed our discovery to the rooftops, but he doesn’t. His eyes just trail over my face, a happy daze over his features.

“You should go out first then,” he says, his thumb still lingering over my lip.

“Why?” I ask.

He groans, his scent still sticky in the air, and then strokes himself over his pants. “I… might need a minute.”

“Oh!” My eyes widen, immediately going to his dark jeans to witness the hard cock straining there. For two seconds, my omega begs me to do something about it. Get on my knees on this dirty bathroom floor and let him use me like his personal toy, but the endorphins are waning, and I know my friends are going to wonder where I am any minute.

“Yeah… you’re right. I should go first.”

He helps me freshen up, pulling my panties back into place and letting his finger slide over the slit of me one more time as I jerk from the sensitivity. He gives an arrogant chuckle, a sound so beautiful it could make doves cry.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, confident, secure. It takes me back, but I nod in agreement anyway.

But the second I walk out the bathroom door, everything comes pouring over me in waves. All day, I had sorted through how this could work with these guys who just steamrolled right into my life, into my career, and that all went out the window the second my scent match touched me. I should feel ashamed, and a small part of me does, but mostly I feel invigorated.

Because that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

SEVEN

As seen in Rock ’N’ Magazine

“This past weekend, it was discovered that Vicious Velvet and The Rogues will be uniting for a joint tour starting later this month, shocking fans everywhere. After the announcement, both bands were photographed hanging out at Crowded Aura, a nightclub located in East Hollywood. A few witnesses noticed the tension between the two bands, stating that there was ‘unease’ between them. One patron at the club even said that Cleo Del Rossi and Cyrus Darlington exchanged uncomfortable words at the bar…”

My eyes roam over the various pictures that the magazine was able to get their hands on, hoping none of them are too incriminating. Someone happened to get a shot of Remi and me before he pulled me into the bathroom, but I think they must have run after they got their shot because there’s nothing else in the article implying a relationship between us, which makes me sigh in relief.

Nicola and Lark seemed to keep their distance, because the only shots shown are between the guys, Cleo, and me. There’s a shot of Jamie and me speaking at the bar, and then a blurry artistic snapshot of Cleo glaring at Cyrus from across the dance floor. Remi is only present in the one of us, and Malaki is shown dancing with Jamie. The last member of the band was not in attendance, it seems.

I look back at the picture of Remi and me, relieved that it looks innocent enough, even if the flush on my face is telling as I look at the tall alpha. Not to mention, I can still feel his hands grazing my skin, his talented fingers strumming me in the same way I bet he plays that expensive bass of his. A shiver wracks through me at the memory, my omega stirring at the thought as she fills me full of yearning. I wish for his lips to touch mine once more, for his syrupy-sweet scent to cover me completely until I can feel the illusion of sticky goodness all over my skin.

Then Jamie enters my thoughts, the sweet beta with the floral scent that I only got glimpses of in my haste to avoid any of them. His sweet smile is scorched into my retinas, our conversation playing over and over in my head.

“You’re drinking champagne.”

“It’s all I have a taste for today. I can’t seem to satisfy the craving.”

An audible gulp echoes in the empty room. He said just a few words, but they boiled me from the inside out.

A sudden, hard knock on my door welcomingly pulls me from my thoughts. I throw the magazine onto the kitchen counter and head to the door, so sidetracked that I don’t even look through the peephole before pulling it open. Dark hair moves past me in a blur, the familiar sweet woodsy scent of saffron filling the air.

“Cleo?” I ask, exasperated.

She strolls into the kitchen and places down a brown paper bag, and my mouth waters. The aroma of the best breakfast burritos in all of Los Angeles fills my apartment and I have to stop myself from groaning.

“Chorizo and egg?”

“Yeah, I thought we could eat our favorite hangover breakfast,” Cleo finally says. “And I wanted to see you. I hope it was okay that I stopped by.”

I’ve already forgotten that the visit is impromptu and wave my hand at her. “Of course! You’re always welcome, you know that.”

The smile that forms on her lips is bright and sappy, and suddenly I feel sixteen again, confiding in my best friend because she always knew what to do and how to make everything better. “Good!” She starts to pull the items out of the bag. “I was thinking we could talk about the tour, really figure out when we can all⁠—”

She stops short, her eyes going to the magazine sprawled onto the counter, its face opened to the story about the club. My body tenses.