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Not remember being naked in his arms.
In their arms.
The almost year they’d known each before the last few weeks paled compared to the intensity of their current interactions. Back then, they’d had some conversations here and there, along with a few rude comments she’d aimed in his direction that now made her feel guilty.
He wasn’t to blame for her hang-ups. Nor was it his fault that she acted dismissive every time fear took hold. As much as she fought against her upbringing, the minute she was stressed or worried—and anything having to do with fire was sure to make her panic—she reverted to her worst possible self.
If anything should have burned in that fire, she wished like hell it had been that side of her. That closed off, prickly ice queen who sounded suspiciously like her mother.
That woman had been the one who’d told the guys yesterday after lunch that she couldn’t come over that night. Rehearsal would probably run late, so it was better if she went home to her own place and slept in her own bed.
Tris had shrugged it off. Sparks had rubbed her shoulder and gazed into her eyes as if he could look deep enough to see what was really going on.
Good luck there. What was really going on was that she was getting in too deep. Too far, too fast.
Too much.
Two.
God, she was in deep with two men. Not one. Two.
So she’d slept alone, and awakened the same way. When she’d walked outside to get in her car, she’d found Sparks parked beside her, leaning against his car and holding a takeout white mocha latte and a breakfast sandwich. He’d gotten the call to come to the Wildwood Club today too, as they were doing some new lighting setup. What he’d worked on yesterday needed to be revamped, due to the setlist change-up that had come about as a result of the latest Mal meltdown.
Mal didn’t want to play their most recent single, the one that hadn’t hit it big at radio but seemed to be a fan favorite at shows. So what if it had a killer drum solo and drove the crowd wild? Sir Malachi said no, so they changed the songs and the light show that went with it.
She just frigging hoped he was worth all the headaches.
Including the one she now had at the base of her skull from three hours of trying to make music with these clowns. Her yummy breakfast and furtive hand-holding with Sparks before they parted seemed like a long time ago.
Especially since she’d barely seen him during the rehearsal. He was probably off working on the light board or doing crap with the crew she didn’t understand. Making sure everything was running smoothly.
That was always what he did, whether it was for the band or for her and Tristan. Always herding them in the right direction.
“From the top of ‘Exile’,” Michael said to Elle at his side, who nodded to West and Ryan. Ryan had pulled out his bongos for the beachy vibe of the song about a chick who’d had a rough breakup and exiled herself to a beach to heal. Mal flipped his drumsticks—probably more out of impatience than showmanship since he didn’t do many tricks—and started them off, backing off so Ryan’s bongos were more prevalent as Molly started to sing.
Complementing her, West played the Jamaican-flavored piano part of the song, making Juliet feel as if they’d dropped into a Tiki bar under the summer sun. The lights were hot enough, that was for damn sure.
She was roasting like a damn raisin in her tight jeans and even tighter blouse. But even for rehearsal she dressed like she would for a show, and she definitely tried to stick with her usual stage routines. This was work even if it sometimes seemed like play, and work meant getting into business mode.
Michael and Elle entered the song next, one playing rhythm, one playing lead, keeping the pace easy to match the lyrics. Juliet was last to come into the melody, and she fell into routine without thinking as Molly pranced around the stage and exalted about not needing a man to feel complete.
She had a feeling that wasn’t an idle statement for Molly. From what she’d heard, Molly had grown up way wilder than even Juliet, but she’d mysteriously tucked all her past away as if it had never occurred once she’d joined Warning Sign. Her older sister Jazz, Oblivion’s drummer, had probably helped Molly with her image makeover, but Juliet figured Mol was on borrowed time.
Secrets had a way of coming out. Juliet should know. She’d been dealing with them all her life.
Juliet scooted forward and hooked her foot around Michael’s ankle, dragging him back toward her. He laughed without missing a beat. This was their thing. Their spiel. They’d teased and rubbed against each other so much on stage that some fans had speculated they were a couple. Not so much anymore, since Michael was now a married man with a stepson and a baby on the way, but the rumor mill still occasionally worked overtime. Michael’s wife Chloe understood the stage thing and didn’t mind their show routine, but still, they tried to keep it all fun and lighthearted.
Though there was that one time Juliet had tried to grab his pocket and grabbed…something else. And the time when he’d turned his head to whisper a request to switch up the bass line and instead kissed her dead on the mouth. When the crowd started to cheer, there wasn’t much they could do but to play along and make it seem intentional.
But seriously, ugh, no. Michael was smokin’ hot and everything, but he was like her brother. No bueno.
He leaned back into her and cheek to cheek, they played their parts. He hipchecked her and she laughed, tilting her head as she focused on her fingers. She’d played this song enough times that she almost didn’t have to think, if not for the fact she was very cognizant that Sparks was somewhere. She could sense him nearby, could see him in her mind and the exact green grass shade of his eyes. Hell, she could practically smell his clean, soapy smell. He was in her damn pores.
Another breath and it was Tristan she could smell, spice and citrus. His were the wicked blue eyes she could see behind her closed lids. Beckoning her onto his lap while Sparks came up behind her and feasted on her neck. Hands wandering over her breasts, her hips, her pussy…
Shit. Her nipples were hard and her panties had gone damp in the middle of rehearsal. She huffed out a breath, blinking her eyes op
en to shake herself out of the waking wet dream she’d tumbled into.
