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“Okay, baby. I just wanted to check in, but I have to go because I have food on the stove.”
“Okay. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you.”
I almost wish she would stay on the phone longer. I surprise myself when I realize it’s Bren I wanted to tell her about.
And seriously. What the actual fuck?
* * *
Andreas rollsmy wheelie suitcase as he leads me to Bren’s suite. It’s a little uncomfortable being in a hotel this luxurious, like I’m afraid to touch anything lest I break it. However, it’s ever-so-slightly less extravagant than our Napa trip residence.
“The band has the floor,” Andreas says, cutting through the silence in the hallway.
“Oh.”
“Adrian is staying down at the opposite end of the floor, and the rest of the band is this way.”
“He’s trying to avoid the partying?” I ask as the loud music floods into the hallway the closer we get to Bren’s door.
Andreas nods. “Here we are.” He opens the door, and I take my suitcase back from him, thanking him.
The suite, with tall ceilings and an incredible glass chandelier, is dimly lit and smokey from a couple of people lighting cigarettes. I cringe. Who would allow anyone to smoke in a gorgeous room like this?”
I barely recognize Karl by his blond strands of long hair, though I can’t see his face with a young woman attached to it. A second woman in a form-fitting mini dress leans into them, caressing Karl’s chest, watching them make out.
Fritz is on the other couch, swirling a glass full of amber liquid in his hands. He leans in while a woman whispers something in his ear, and as he does this, he looks in the direction of the door and tips his chin at me. It almost looks like recognition on his face. Does he recognize me from that first concert when I met Bren? I shake my head because how dense can I be? Of course that’s not it.
There are about ten other people in the suite, but I don’t recognize any of them. My gaze finally lands on Bren’s massively tall figure towering above everyone as he pours himself a drink. He is speaking with a leggy brunette in a leopard-print mini skirt. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and though the sound doesn’t carry over the music, she is clearly laughing at something he said. As she laughs, her red-manicured hand flies up to Bren, squeezing his bicep. Bren stiffens in response, and I know he’s discreetly trying to pull away from her grip, though he’s smiling politely at her. He leans back and away from her, his posture stiff, his brows creased. I bite back a smile.
And good lord, is this the kind of attention he’s used to? No wonder he was so hell-bent on our private little bubble in Napa. I’m beginning to understand.
Bren’s still oblivious of my presence as I walk up to the bar. He’s clearly trying but failing to avoid the brunette’s constant touching. His eyes are turning to annoyance, despite the smile plastered on his face.
“Think you can pour me one of those?” I yell over the music.
Bren’s head snaps toward me, and his face lights up with recognition. “Sofia!” his grin is wide until he looks at the brunette, her hand pressed to his chest, and his eyes widen with panic. His big hand takes her tiny one and peels it off his chest. “Sofia, please, this is not what it looks like—”
I try to hold back my smile. I like the sight of him squirming. It’s amusing. “It looks like a groupie getting handsy with you despite your clear lack of consent,” I yell.
His head cocks to the side, and he just blinks at me. He scratches his jaw. “Yeah. Then it’s exactly what it looks like.”
The brunette throws me a nasty glare. “Bren?” she says, turning away from me, and trying to get his attention, but Bren’s eyes are fixed only on me. She keeps talking. “I thought you were going to give me a tour of the suite?”
I cross my arms and arch a brow at Bren. “Is that right?”
“No!” he snaps. “Absolutely not.” He finally brushes past the brunette and walks around the bar to get to me. “I swear I wasn’t going anywhere with her.”
Bren has a greenish look of panic on his face as he tries to explain himself, though he really doesn’t need to. Still, I can’t help it when my head tips back with laughter, and I clutch to my belly with the guffaws.
“Sofia, this is not funny. I don’t want you to think that...that I’d do that—”
“I know, Bren.”
“You’re not mad?”
I shake my head.
