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Rand tugged on his jeans. “Sounds good to me. Jules?”
“You better have other things in that dish. I really hate Brussels sprouts.”
“We’ll see.” Tris leaned down and gave her a quick, deep kiss. He sucked her tongue then nipped her lower lip. It was still swollen from earlier, but now because of him too.
Uncomfortable with how possessive he felt, he stepped back. Rand frowned at him, but Tristan didn’t want to talk. A menu was safe. He could handle that.
He stepped into a pair of workout shorts and escaped to the kitchen.
Coffee. He needed lots of coffee.
Maybe that would help him to get his head on straight.
Chapter Fifteen
Another day, another argument.
She should be used to band squabbling by now. If anything, that was the one constant that had marked their interactions since the beginning.
There were moments of relative harmony. Times when their ability to work together and create something magical transcended even the petty disagreements that marred most rehearsals and nearly all practice sessions. Hell, sometimes they even fought while on stage.
The most ridiculous part was that the arguers changed by the day. Some days, it was West and Ryan sniping over the bridge to the latest song they’d been working on. Other days it was her and Molly, taking little jabs at each other just because somehow that was what seemed to happen when two women were in a band—and in this case, there was three, though Elle never seemed to get involved in any of that. She saved her griping solely for Malachi, who occasionally growled something rude in her direction or worse, actually picked her up and set her out of his way, as if she were merely furniture. She hated that.
Worst of all, t
hough, were the fights between Mal and Michael. Juliet understood. She and her sister Margo were both in the music scene so their blowouts tended to be even worse than the average sibling rivalry. But what was going on between those two superseded even that.
Mal did not want to be in the band, or so he claimed.
Yet his playing was improving every day and he’d added an unquantifiable element, a kind of magic, to the group that they’d needed. He was the last missing puzzle piece, the key in the right lock. But even though he seemed to enjoy playing once he was into it, he appeared reluctant about everything. He didn’t interact with fans. Never signed pictures or autographs, and rarely even spoke to them unless he had absolutely no choice. Not that he was a chatterbox to the rest of them either, but the fan thing made him distinctly uncomfortable. His contract was on a six-month basis, because he flat out refused to sign for longer, and even with that, rumor was that he got a bigger cut of the money than some of the others.
That was only a rumor though, because if Molly honestly believed that to be true, she most likely would’ve started looking at greener pastures where she was more appreciated. She probably wouldn’t have been the only one.
It wasn’t even about the money, since they were on an upward trajectory. Potential was the word of the day right now. They had the potential to do so many things. To be great. To last way longer than the flavor of the month, and maybe even make it to flavor of the year.
That wouldn’t happen if everyone was pissing and moaning and acting as if they were in hell rather than being lucky enough to make freaking music for a living. What could be better than that? Absolutely nothing.
She’d fallen into this opportunity, but she intended to make the most of what she’d been given. In the past, guys and partying and jetsetting across the world to forget what she’d seen within her own four walls had taken the place of any real direction. Then when she’d begun to find something that felt real with a man who mattered, who thought she mattered too, it had all imploded. Literally.
She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Some people just did better single file. She was one of them. Men were to be enjoyed like chocolate, and she had no problem being viewed the same way. Whether she was with one man or two, when the fun was over, it was over.
And yeah, leave it to her subconscious to add that word two. She’d never see dating—or sex or any of its variations—the same way again.
But the fun wasn’t over yet. At least she was pretty sure it wasn’t, judging from the heavy stare she felt on her back whenever she lost herself in whatever song they were working on now.
It wasn’t a brand new thing anymore, the three of them. They’d had sex together in their own inimitable way a bunch of times now. In fact, since last weekend when Tris had made his remark about her not needing to spend the night, she’d spent the night two other times.
Yesterday they’d met for lunch. Except she had been the featured entrée, spread out on Tris’s and Sparks’s granite kitchen counter.
Afterward, she’d come back to rehearsal at the venue, face flushed, body wrung out, and tried to make sense of the chords and lyrics she knew by heart. Knowing all the while that Sparks would wander by when she least expected it and just watch her play while he made notes on his charts about wire placement and light direction and a million other things she didn’t understand.
The whole time, she’d have to fight not to tremble, just knowing he was observing her work. Of course, then she’d turn around and watch him as discreetly as possible. Studying the perfect swells of his ass as he crouched to adjust cords or eyeing the flex of his jaw as he spoke to his colleagues made her skin feel too tight and her heart race.
It was crazy. She’d never reacted that way to him before. For the better part of a year, they’d barely interacted. Once, they’d reached for the same quarter turkey sub during a lunch thing. She hadn’t been struck by lust from touching his fingers. Maybe a little curiosity after he’d shot her own of those sexy, heavy-lidded looks he now threw around like confetti, but not desire.
Now she couldn’t look at him and not want.
