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Who the hell is this guy?
He chuckles. Clearly amused and not at all bothered his towel has slipped even lower during our conversation.
“He’s taken me and my band under his wing. We’re recording our first studio album with him.”
My lips part and I vaguely remember my dad talking about this band he heard at a music festival when he was in California, how they’d been at it a few years with no luck but were really good and had recently started having some viral success.
I squinted a bit at him. Maybe he did look a tad familiar.
I don’t give this cocky asshole the information. It’ll go straight to his head and I can tell his ego is already inflated enough.
“I still don’t know your name,” I remind him.
“I’m not in the habit of revealing that information to girls who look like they’re about to knock me out. Do you really know jiu-jitsu?” he inquires, an almost surprised but curious look on his face.
“Yes,” I grind out. “My father insisted my sister and I learn if we ever encountered any assholes in the wild or in ourroomwe could take them out.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Um … no.” My brows furrow. “I could knock you out in two seconds flat if I had to. Don’t test me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he chuckles. “The Wild is my band’s name.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
That’s why he looks vaguely familiar.
I recall now seeing some videos of his band on YouTube. In one video in particular I remember his sweat-drenched hair, it shouldn’t have been a sexy look, but with the red lights shining on him and the way he practically made love to the microphone I had thought it was hot.
“Now you do.” He grins. It’s the kind of smile that makes girls everywhere fling their panties off. But not me. Growing up around cocky rock stars my entire life has thankfully made me immune to their charm.
He steps toward me and I’m frozen. I can still punch him if he tries something. I’m not afraid to break pretty boy’s nose.
He’s taller than me by a lot and I feel impossibly small under his looming height.
He lowers his head, and his lips come dangerously close to my ear. I feel a sweat break out across my brow bone.
“My name’s Hollis,” he says in a low voice. “Hollis Wilder. It’s … nice to meet you, Mia Hayes.” I swallow thickly as he steps away and winks.
I finally move then and it’s a bad idea because he’s still close enough that our legs get tangled together and we both fall to the ground. Somehow, he cradles me, and I end up on top of his toned chest, my fingers grazing the small smattering of chest hair there.
We stare at each other for a moment and then he breaks the silence with a wicked grin.
“If you wanted to get on top of me, all you had to do is ask.”
“Ugh, youasshole,” I groan, smacking his chest as I disentangle myself and stand. ThankGodhis towel stayed in place.
He smiles cockily from the floor, his body lifted on his forearms and elbows.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Get out of my room!”I shriek like a banshee, pointing my finger toward the door.
“Whatever you say.” He pulls himself up and saunters from my room like he owns the damn place.
Why is he even in our house? My dad didn’t mention anything about a band staying with us. He better not be staying here the entire time he’s recording his album, or I’ll lose my mind. Cocky jerks like him give me a migraine. I don’t have time to deal with someone like him on top of school and helping my dad.
Oh, God. This is the band I’ll have to help with.
