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I slink my arm around Isla’s waist, the black satin dress she’s wearing molds to her body, causing every single curve to stand out, tempting and willing me to lose any control I still have. I’ve got be on my best behavior tonight, though. I need to talk to Ricky and Gina. It’ll help the band if there’s someone waiting at the end of this long, dark tunnel. If we could possibly have something lined up before this contract ends, then maybe it’ll make getting through this more worth it.
Hellfire rented out rooftop space at one of Chicago’s hottest bars, Jaded, and the air up here feels different than the normal stuffy, Chicago air. The breeze off the lake blows Isla’s dark hair wildly as she looks around, taking it all in. I know she’s never been to a party like this, and I wanted her to see this side of my life. I also—admittedly selfishly—just wanted to stare at her all night, too. Now that I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t even think about going back out on the road and leaving her here. My stomach knots at the thought of being hundreds, even thousands of miles away from her, not knowing what she’s doing or who she’s doing it with.
Jaded’s neon sign lights up an otherwise dark corner with a bar in a bright pink, fluorescent light. String lights hang overhead, illuminating the partygoers, and high-top tables are dispersed throughout the rooftop, with standing room to talk and mingle. A few servers walk around with trays, carrying some kind of fancy food that I have no intention of eating.
“This place is gorgeous,” Isla whispers, standing up on her toes to reach my ear, her breath hot against my skin. Goosebumps immediately trail along my skin, and I’m still getting used to having this physical, visceral reaction to her.
I nod and look around, taking the space in again. Hellfire may be absolute shit to work under, but they know how to throw a party. We walk up to one of the three bar areas and a short redhead smiles at us, her perky tits practically spilling out of her black corset. I’d normally be the one to take her home tonight, take my pent-up energy out on her and call her a ride in the morning. But I have zero want or need to, and I don’t even give a second thought to her chest—yet another foreign feeling.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask Isla, eyeing the fully-stocked bar behind the redhead.
Red glances from Isla to me, her smile growing bigger when her gaze meets mine. “I can do anything you need,” she says, blushing, and I instantly know what she meant by it. She looks back to Isla, her bright grin fading. “I can make you something fruity. What do you like?”
Isla scoffs, clearly sensing what she’s implying. I smile, knowing she’s not about to order anything fruity.
“Tom Collins,” Isla says before turning toward me.
“And for you, Bordeaux?” Red asks, batting her obviously fake eyelashes and pushing her arms into her body, making her boobs practically bounce out of her top. It isn’t appealing. Trying this hard shoots a billion red flags up in the air. Now, even if I didn’t have Isla on my arm, there would be zero chance I’d be interested in bringing her home for a night. She’s the kind of girl who would be calling to tell me she’s pregnant a few weeks later.
“Bourbon, please,” I tell her, making as little eye contact as possible and throwing a few bills into her tip jar. It’s an open bar and everything is on Hellfire. Should have invited my father, who would’ve made sure the label went under with their bar tab alone.
I turn around to the sound of Miller’s gruff voice. “Hey, aren’t you going to introduce us to your date, B?” Declan and Flynn are right on Miller’s heels, Flynn riding solo and Declan’s boyfriend, Lucas, on her arm.
I’ve been equal parts nervous and excited to introduce the band to Isla. When we played the show at Iconic, I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce her, and I’ve been wondering how this will go. There’s nothing not to like about Isla, so my nerves don’t come from a place of fearing they’ll hate her. It’s just the fact that they’ve never seen me with a woman, aside from when she leaves the tour bus or hotel in the morning and I help her to a car. I don’t want them to assume Isla is a hot piece of ass that’ll be out the revolving door tomorrow.
“Isla,” I face her, cocking a smile, “this is the band.” I motion to the three, plus Lucas, telling Isla their names and watch as she smiles, giving a nod to the guys before Declan pulls her in for a hug.
“I’m not really a hugger, but anyone who can deal with Bordeaux for longer than a day or two deserves a hug,” Declan says into Isla’s hair before looking at me over her shoulder, shooting me a sideways glance and laughing. “Seriously, though.”
“Come on, Dec,” I say, batting her insult away, “don’t scare her off.”
Suddenly, Carleeta is in the middle of our formed circle, ruining the moment. Her frizzy curls are all over the place and it really makes me wonder how anyone takes her seriously. She always looks like she’s half-ready. From her frizzy hair to her frumpy dress, she ages herself a couple decades just by how she looks. And I probably wouldn’t be so critical, but she’s an ass, so I feel justified. At least a little.
“Let’s go. I want you four to meet Rayna Reynolds. She’s going to be shooting your next magazine cover,” she demands, not bothering to introduce herself to Isla, let alone say hello to the rest of us.
“Didn’t even know we had a cover shoot coming up.” Declan rolls her eyes, stepping around Carleeta and moving toward the woman smiling that I can only assume is Rayna.
Isla turns back to where Red has now set our drinks aside on the bar and picks up her gin, handing me my bourbon.
“I think you’re probably going to need this,” she says, a soft smile playing out on her lips.
I pull her into me and plant a long kiss on her mouth, tasting her winter mint gum she just placed into a drink napkin. “That’s Carleeta.” I motion to the soul-sucker who didn’t bother to introduce herself. “Don’t have too much fun without me. I’ll be back soon.”
Thirty-Three
Isla
Aduantas (n.) the feeling of unease
that comes from unfamiliar people and places.
___________
I still can’t believe I’m at a party of this caliber. I feel out of place, like I don’t belong. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t. I’ve never been one for crowds, or really, people in general. I like more intimate settings with people I know… and without cameras blinding me. When we were walking into the bar, dozens of paparazzi were taking so many shots of Bordeaux and I that I’m still seeing phantom flashes in the corners of my eyes.
I knew he was famous. I’m not living under a rock. I’ve seen the billboards and photos on Gossipgram. However, I’ve never been out in public with him aside from the wedding that we managed to stay fairly incognito at, being there less than a day. The closest I’ve come to witnessing his stardom was seeing the incessant fans outside the record shop, pounding on the windows to get his attention.
I stand with my drink, taking a long sip, the old, familiar burn of the gin sliding down my throat. I’ve never been one for fruity drinks. I grew up watching my dad have his nightcap of gin each night, and when I turned twenty-one, it was the drink we did a ‘cheers’ with. It’s definitely an acquired taste, but I’ve grown to enjoy it when I do decide to go out and at our frequent family get-togethers. Those kind of groups don’t bother me as much. I know all of them, they are familiar, and I love them. But this group…? It’s just different. If Bordeaux was asking me what my word for this situation is—definitely, aduantas, the feeling of unease that comes from unfamiliar people and places. Not uncomfortable, just uneasy. New. Different. I don’t feel like this is my life.
