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His question is a decent one, though. Sure, five years ago I felt like she was off-limits. She was dating my brother. There isn’t a way to be more off-limits than that. But after everything that went down between him and me, and after the time that’s passed, is she really off-limits or am I just fucking myself over? Kade and I are not brothers anymore. We aren’t close. There’s no bond there like there used to be.
Suddenly, a woman wearing a plaid miniskirt and a cut off white crop top exits one of the rooms off the living room. She bites down on her lip, looking from me to Miller before grabbing her purse—a purse I didn’t even notice—from a chair, hightailing it out the front door.
“That,” Miller says to me, “is why I look like shit.” He laughs before grabbing a swig of whatever is in his cup that sits next to the couch. “Kept me up all night long with her little schoolgirl, Britney Spears ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ shit.”
I didn’t even have any idea there was a woman here.
“Fuck… sorry, man. I didn’t know she was here. Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s the afternoon. It’s past time for her to be out of here. You did me a favor,” Miller says nonchalantly.
“Still just as big of a fucking playboy as you were in high school, I see.” I smile at him and chuck an empty water bottle I find sitting next to the couch at him. “You know, I always thought Bordeaux and I were at a tie for how many women we were with, but it turns out I underestimated you, didn’t I?” I quip as Miller laughs.
“Nah, man. You know I was a late bloomer.” Miller chuckles and stands from the couch, heading over to the corner of the room where his guitar sits on a stand. “But the past few years, with women throwing themselves at me left and right…? You bet your fuckin’ ass I’m taking full advantage of that shit. No strings, no relationships, just fine as hell women fucking me from dusk ’til dawn.”
Part of me wonders if it bothers him that if he were a regular guy, he wouldn’t get near as much pussy as he does being a famous rock star. Miller is a good-looking dude, but I’ve seen the way women drool all over the band on social media. I recently saw a comment where a woman was asking Miller to take her virginity in their tour bus. So fucking wild.
“Listen,” Miller says, pulling a wooden chair out from the kitchen and bringing it to a rest in the living room. He sits down with the guitar and strums a few chords. “You and Declan were two of my closest friends in high school; I know you both like the back of my goddamn hand. If the two of you made out for some magazine photoshoot, you’ll both never speak about it again. You’ll both want to ignore it, act like it never happened, and not have shit get weird between the two of you. You guys are practically the same fucking human, just different genders.” He looks up at me from his guitar and smirks. “You guys are going to be fine.”
The problem doesn’t even necessarily lie in if Declan and I can or will ignore what we just did.
The problem is…
I want it to happen again.
And I may have been able to ignore this feeling for years, but I don’t think I want to anymore.
* * *
We’re leaving out for the East Coast leg of Reckless Desires’ first tour under their own label in three days, and I’m fucking pumped. Partially because I’m going to get paid to travel and be with some of my oldest friends, but also because I’ll be doing the one thing I know I’m fucking great at—photography.
I like the videography aspect of my job, but capturing a photo is entirely different. You get one shot, one split second to capture a vital moment—it’s intoxicating.
Almost as intoxicating as Declan Rothschild.
Her name pops up on my cell, and my heart thuds in my chest. I swipe my phone and unlock it as Kade walks back to the bar from the bathroom, taking a seat next to me.
“How’s it going to be living with your older brother again?” Kade asks, downing the last swig of his beer and signaling to the bartender for another.
A sly grin spreads across his face, and his green eyes—eyes that mirror my own—flash with something mischievous.
“I don’t know how the hell we didn’t kill each other living together when we were younger. Now? On a tour bus? We might be fucked,” I say, finishing the rest of my beer and pushing the empty bottle away from me.
The band will be in one tour bus, and I’ll be in another bus with security, Mia, and probably anyone else who is vital to the band’s production who can cram themselves in.
I finally cave, looking down at my phone to see what she said.
Declan: Are you okay?
Fuck. Leave it to Declan to not sugarcoat anything. Miller was wrong about her brushing it under the table. In fact, this is very much not brushing it under the table.
Glancing over at him, I make sure Kade isn’t being a nosy bastard, but his eyes are on one of the flat screens, watching sports highlights. Declan texts me again just as I’m about to tell her that yes, of course I’m okay. Because even though she may not be brushing this under the rug, I sure as hell am.
Declan: You bailed pretty fast after the shoot.
No shit, Dec. I thumb a couple of responses but delete them. This is exactly why I never kissed Declan all those years ago, why I never made a move. Shit gets awkward. She has always been my best friend before anything else—just another reason why I never crossed the line.
I’m about to tell her I had to dip because I was having stomach issues—which is fucking lame, I know—but it’s all I have. Kade knocks into my shoulder and looks at my phone.
