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“Can we get new ones? Tilt your head left. Other left. Little more. There we go. You have lovely skin. Do your freckles go all over?” Jamie waggled her brows and made me laugh in spite of everything.
The door opened again and Jamie swore as I wrenched my neck to look over my shoulder. Not Cooper. Instead, our gigantic bassist Oz strolled in with Zane. And behind them was Lord freaking Lewis.
“Ah, fuck,” Jamie muttered, trading her concealer for a wrapped tube of Bonnie Bell purple mascara. “I’ll be quick.”
“Purple?”
“Look, it’s still wrapped at least.”
“Will I get an infection because it’s ancient?”
“Hush. It’s retro. Hey guys,” Jamie said brightly while she motioned for me to look upward. “Hello, Donovan. Back so soon from Britain? Didn’t I hear you had some bigwig powwow?”
“Ms. DuCaine. I wasn’t in Britain. We have these lovely things now called telemeetings.” He shut the door behind him and quickly surveyed the table. Only one seat was open now—the one Cooper had vacated. “Where is Mr. Dallas?”
The door opened behind Donovan and he stepped aside to let Cooper in, now carrying two Cokes. “Donovan,” he said easily as he sidestepped him. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” He slid one of the bottles toward me and I tried to mouth thank you while Jamie slicked purple mascara onto my lashes.
And subsequently poked me in the eye with the wand.
“Motherfucker!”
“Whoops.” Jamie grinned. “That’s the kind of language I like to hear. Way to go.”
My face flamed to match my hair. “Sorry,” I mumbled, waving Jamie off when she came back for round two.
“You’re only half done.”
“Whatever, I don’t care. At least I can still see out of one eye. Daisy will fix it, right?” I asked Oz hopefully, referencing his girlfriend and the band’s newest hairstylist and makeup artist.
Oz dropped his big frame into a chair. “Gonna say yes because even I know she won’t go for purple mascara.”
“It could work for nineties’ night,” Jamie mused, dropping the tube back in her suitcase-like purse.
“You mean like Kris Kross and Vanilla Ice?” Zane laughed and flicked a hand through his currently blond on top, brown underneath hair. “I could try to rock that pompadour.”
Oz nudged his shoulder. “Don’t let Daze hear you say that or she’ll make it happen. She has a sadistic side.”
Zane’s brow arched. “Yet you sound as if you like it?”
Oz grinned. “Love it.”
“Oh, put a sock in it. I’m sick of people who are in love. It’s sickening. I already live with Romeo and Juliet while we’re touring, now I have to watch you get your hair French-braided while you recite poetry to her.”
“Wise ass, it was the lyrics to ‘Booty Poppin’, that new song by The Imperials.”
“Whatever. It’s unnecessary. We’re a rock band. Love makes you all messy and shit.”
“We’ll see what you say when your day comes, DuCaine.” Cooper sat back in his chair and kicked out his legs.
She snorted. “Never gonna happen.”
The door opened again and everyone fell silent as Noah stepped into the room, dressed in camo pants and a skintight black shirt that highlighted a hell of a lot of muscles. The foolish girl inside me who’d once crushed on him may have swooned a little, but mostly, I looked at him fondly, like a well-remembered former love who hadn’t, you know, actually loved me.
And from his assessing glance in my direction, someone who might still metaphorically kick my ass for my door stunt this morning.
All that felt like a lifetime ago.
“Sorry I was late. Unavoidably detained.” Noah’s voice was clipped as he stood next to Donovan.
