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“Two Jack and Cokes, you got it,” I say, nodding to Marcus as he stands beside me, mixing their drinks before I can even move.
“And for you?” I ask, raising a brow. Asher watches our exchange with indifference. But if there’s anything I’ve come to learn about the elusive frowny-faced jackass is, he’s always watching and taking every ounce of information in.
“Three Blue Moons and a fucking Pina Colada, and add theirs to our tab while you’re at it,” he says, staring into my eyes but nods to the two women gaping at him.
The girls’ eyes widen, but they thank him anyway and take a sip of their drinks.
“So, what’s next for you guys? You have to be hitting big soon, right? You guys are fucking amazing!” I gush, leaning my elbow on the counter with a grin, soaking in their magnetic presence.
Marcus works around me, prepping the boys’ drinks and sliding them one by one to Asher.
“Funny you should ask!” Sorcha says, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp. “We haven’t really announced it yet, buttttttt! I figure we can tell you.” She grins more, waggling her eyebrows.
“Battle of the Bands,” Libby says, taking a little sip.
“In California,” Sorcha says with a squeal, jumping in place.
“Battle of the Bands?” I ask, my heart thumping a little in my chest.
Those types of competitions are so damn invigorating. The raw power from every band performing on stage, competing for the title of winner. Sometimes small venues hold the competition. But other times? It’s big names calling bands from all across the world to compete for a record deal and a little cash on the side. Each of those bands holds more talent than I have in my pinky. It’s stiff competition, but there’s no doubt in my mind they’d win. Hands fucking down, Sorcha deserves it.
“Oh yeah! It’ll be hot as hell. California and the winner gets a record deal with West Records,” Sorcha says, as my heart falls into my ass. “And a million dollars.”
“West Records?” I sputter, moving my eyes between the girls as they nod in confirmation.
Thankfully, they don’t see me slip up when I choke on my spit. Throughout our correspondence, with me begging them to come here—they saw my last name. I’d never admit it to Ode or anyone else, but I sometimes use it to my advantage. Only when I want to score the best bands in the area.
“How do you get into that?” Asher asks, with a rigid posture.
A scary-ass smile crosses his lips, and he tilts his head, almost baring all his teeth. Half of me expects fangs to descend from his gums and for him to go on some sort of psycho-killing spree. Asher’s fingers flex around one of the beer bottles he’s clinging to.
“Invitation,” Libby says, furrowing her brows, looking Ash up and down. “We didn’t sign up or anything.”
“Invitation only, huh?” I muse, trying to keep my voice even. “So, you didn’t have to put in an application?”
There’s no way in hell I’d tell anyone that my brother’s owned that place and that they were the current CEOs of West Records. Nope. No way. People far and wide have already tried that route. They always ask if I still talked to that side of the family or if I had seen my dad recently—what a bunch of friggin’ users. Thankfully, West is such a common last name it never occurs to strangers that I’m a part of THAT family. Well, sometimes.
“Oh yeah, it’ll be at the KC Club this upcoming winter in February. They just announced the invited bands a few hours ago online. It’s their first, and it’ll be the biggest we’ve ever been to. We got a personal email from The West’s themselves, inviting us to compete after they heard us on The Dot and saw a performance on YouTube. I guess playing all these festivals and events has really helped,” Sorcha says with a knowing grin. “And this place, of course,” she says with a wink, setting her empty glass down. “Thanks for the drinks, but we have a second half to get to now.” She and Libby wave at me, returning to the rest of her band on stage.
“Need anything else?” I ask Asher as he stares off at the girls climbing back on stage.
Sorcha’s voice again comes over the speakers, almost louder this time. The crowd goes nuts, loving the intro to one of their most famous songs.
“No,” he shouts in an even tone, watching the two girls rock out on stage with appreciation. “Thanks, River.” I rear back when he tips his head like a gentleman. “For everything.” And then he fucking winks at me. WINKS!
“Uh, you’re welcome?” I ask, twisting my face when a grin plays at the edges of his lips.
“I’ll see you later.” He taps the bar, almost sounding like he is flirting with me. Uh? Was he? No. There’s no way. He’s been nothing but a mouthy jerk this entire time, and yet my stupid heart flutters at his simple thanks and stupid wink. Mmhmm, you stupid organ. Stop fluttering at the sight of that douchebag’s smile.
I sigh, leaning my chin on my palm when he gets lost in the crowd and swallowed whole. My family’s legacy is something dreams are made of. If I was a part of it, that is. Zeppelin and Seger West are the most influential figures in the music industry right now, running West Records, a company every rock musician hopes they can sign with, better than their father did before them. They’ve taken the time to add new acts to their roster and have boosted their worth by millions in only a few short years. Or maybe it’s their weird relationship with their wife. Yeah—their—wife. I’ve seen the magazine articles about their poly relationship with her and the two other dudes involved. Who could handle that many guys, anyway?
My eyes drift to the four boys again, huddling together. I wonder what it would be like to have so many guys in one place? And the sex? Jesus, talk about a good time. I’ve had my fair share of threesomes and added two more dicks into the mix? Yeah, I could totally see that. But a relationship? I wonder how well that would work out. Do they ever get jealous? Enjoy sharing?
I shake my head. There’s no time to think about that right now.
Thesurpriseinhereyes when I didn’t snark back and actually thanked her stalls my steps. Peeking over my shoulder, I watch her with rapt attention, surveying her every move. The crowd around me jumps in place to the music, concealing me from her view and hiding my watchful eyes. I’d be a liar if I said the tiny brunette didn’t fascinate me. I couldn’t force myself around her if she were anything like Tessa or Sara, who are as unbearable as they come.
Her long brown hair sits past her shoulders, revealing her dainty neck, marked by my stupid brother. A big, red splotch sits in plain view, not unnoticed by everyone. Men walk by, eyeing her like a delicious meal—only stopping themselves from engaging when they see the mark. They could think one or two ways about it. Either she’s easy, or she’s unavailable. As it is, Kieran watches her every fucking move like a possessive boyfriend ready to defend her honor. I’m surprised the boys kept him seated when I promised them drinks. Since she came back into the picture, he’s taken this game a little too seriously. Sure, we need River in our corner to aid us with our bright, famous future. But Kieran’s become obsessive, possessive, and any other red flag under the sun, and it’s concerning.
