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We roll. I pin him, he pins me.
Being twins in this case means that we’re built pretty close to the same stature. I work out to maintain an image while my brother is the drummer of our band, and therefore has the stamina plus the strength to give me a run for my money. Every set is basically a workout for him.
Threads pop as we both try anything and everything to get the upper hand, including grabbing clothes and taking cheap shots near the treasured bits or vulnerable places.
He’s the cause of numbers two and three times I’ve broken my nose. Mom was not happy with either time.
“Call it!” He grunts, his thigh pinning my neck to the floor with enough force to knock me out cold if I don’t break it. “Say uncle!” I suck in what little air I can, then bridge his ass, ripping my shirt in the process, and lock him with an armbar.
“Call truce and leave.” I pull his wrist tight. “Or call uncle.” He fights it, tries to slip out on a frustrated growl, but stops.
“Truce,” he breathes out and I release my hold to tap his forehead for good measure as I roll away in search of the phone that slipped from my pocket some time ago. Finding it face down in a puddle of melted ice, I wipe the screen on my pants, plant my ass on the floor and pray that the water didn’t seep into any of the ports.
Thankfully, the screen lights up, a text sitting unread from 20 minutes ago. I open the message and kick my foot out to trip my twin as he rolls on by. He returns with a thump to my bicep but keeps walking.
Aria: What’s good to eat around here? I’m starving.
Shit. That was an opening.
I type back fast with an apology and an inquiry on whether she’d found something yet. She’s quick to respond
Aria: No, I finally got through to someplace called Pop’s, but it’s an hour wait for delivery.
It’s almost like I can hear the defeated sigh I suspect comes off her lips at her words. I take a moment to connect the dots on whether she’s home or from out of town and take a leap.
Me: Does your hotel have an outside chill spot? Firepit kinda thing?
If I can’t get Mac to leave so that she can come here, maybe I can manage to go there. Those chill spots normally are in the back of the building and semi-private. The security company the label pays good money for should be able to cover the rest. I tap my phone to my chin in thought as I await her reply.
Aria: Yeah, I actually just walked down here to check it out.
Me: Alright, you want Pop’s? I’ll bring you Pop’s.
I’m up and changing before she sends the hotel she’s at with my phone to my ear calling in a favor to my favorite diner.
A fresh pair of jeans and an old-school band tee later, I’m in the parking garage on a sprint to my Audi with two security agents on my heels doing exactly what they’re supposed to. One slips into the passenger seat of my car, the other behind the wheel of a blacked-out SUV.
It’s not too late for dinner time, despite the dark, but that doesn’t deter the paps from collecting at the exit to my building. They know I live here. They know I’m home now that the tour is over and they’ve been camping for the last three days waiting to get a good shot of me or one of my brothers.
Anything to make the headlines.
The security vehicle in front of me clears the path for me to jet out like a bat out of hell and drift onto the main road with more ease than I had expected. I jog the car into town, pass my destination to make sure no one’s tailed me, and circle back around.
I’m at Pop’s with a call in to let them know I’m outside in less than fifteen. Georgie, a former classmate of mine, and fellow band geek steps out with the bag and pizza box before I can even hang up the phone. Perks of not only knowing the owner but helping him get his restaurant off the ground, means I get priority when I call in for food.
He’s even offered to shut the place down for me at a discounted price so that I can have a meal in peace. Nice enough, but not worth him losing the business for the time.
Plus I don’t want to put myself in the middle of whatever other business the Italian joint happens to be involved in.
“Georgie, I heard it’s busy tonight,” I speak across the car to the owner as he hands the items through the passenger window to my bodyguard. Georgie grunts his response as Ian checks the food for accuracy and tampering. With a nod of security approval, I wave to Georgie as the window rolls up, and I back the car out of the space.
Getting to the hotel proves not as easy though. Paparazzi pin my car on the main road before the security SUV has a chance to cut them off. They hang out of the moving vehicles with cameras flashing, the lights placing spots firmly in my vision. Ian, who already dons aviators, passes a pair to me as I tap the brakes and evade smacking the ass end of the paps shitty car in front of me. He rolls the window down and sticks his entire arm out, flipping them the bird. More flashing, some yelling.
“Sharp left.” Ian directs, holding the bag up to block the view of me from the side.
Anything for a stupid money shot, these bastards.
I follow his directions and barely decelerate to take the next left. Brake lights fill the rearview as the pap cars skid to a stop but don’t make the turn like I did. Security pulls up behind me, closer than any normal car, and rides my ass to keep out the riff-raff until I circle back to the final destination.
