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“Max?” Oh god, now I’m hearing her voice. I really am starting to get a little obsessed with Ali, I’m hearing her as well as seeing her pretty much everywhere I go.
“Max, how are you?” Her beautiful full lips shape my name. I’m dumb struck. She’s here. Her dark hair, pulled up in the same bun it always is. A short black dress which is the right side of professional but still looks so incredibly sexy as it hugs to her more than ample thighs. It takes all the breath from my lungs.
“Ali,” I splutter, my voice a murmur. Obviously shocked at seeing her, but of course she never left the label. She just left our band. She left because of me. Because I fucked up so bad and hurt her so badly. I let my eyes rake up her shapely legs, across her body, those tits! Fuck me I know it’s crass but damn she looks good. Her smile is wary as she watches me study her. Someone clears their throat. She’s not alone.Of course, she’s fucking not.
I glance over the tall, smarmy looking fucker with his arm weaved around Ali’s shoulder. His sharp suit is clearly tailored exactly to fit and as he reaches out a hand to shake mine, I have an overwhelming urge to punch him in his perfectly straight white teeth. I try to place his accent. He’s certainly British, but the public-school plum in his throat is so overbearing it makes me want to barf. What the fuck is Ali doing with him?
He introduces himself as Christian but I’m sure that’s not his only name. I’m pretty sure he is one of these pricks with seven middle names and family names coming out of his ears. And his arse probably.
I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. Pushed myself away from the poor foster kid to the fucking rock star I am now. To say I’d got cocky over my fame is probably an understatement but standing next to him in my button-down shirt, ripped black jeans and fucking converse I’ve never felt so young, stupid, and insignificant.
He squeezes my hand in his. His hands are so fucking soft. Is that weird? I’m pretty sure it is…
“So, this is the famous Max.” He eyeballs me like I’m the fucking devil. And maybe I am. He clearly doesn’t approve of her speaking to me and looking at her she doesn’t seem so keen on it herself. I hate myself for embarrassing her more than most of it. If only I’d behaved like a fucking adult about everything then maybe that’d be me with my arm wrapped firmly around her.
“Afraid so,” I say back to him. I want the ground to open up and swallow me up, but this is the first time I’ve seen her since I left the States. I need to prove to Ali that I’m okay. That I’m safe to talk to. If it means talking to him to be in her presence, then I’ll God damn do it.
“So how did you and Ali meet?”
He raises his eyebrows as I say her name. Nobody seems to call her Ali but me and he will probably learn to hate that. There’s a lot I want him to hate about me. I’m not sure what she can possibly see in him, I’m barely listening to him as he talks about some gala, they were both at. I’m sure he said something about finance.She’s with a banker? Really? More like a fucking wanker.
I get my chance as his phone rings. With an overly apologetic hand gesture that only someone who went to the best school in the country would make, he retreats, apologising profusely for the disturbance. My eyes fall back to Ali’s gorgeous green ones. I can almost see her mental argument with herself not to be seen rolling them. Maybe she’s not as keen as I first thought.
Or is that just wishful thinking?
