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“Well, now we know why you’re cranky,” Tommy quipped.
“I’m just trying to be nice,” I said. “Jesus. Have a little faith in me.”
I stopped talking as Grim came inside with both Devyn and Kellan.
“Good morning.” Devyn smiled and held out what looked like a tray.
“Greatty and I got up early to make banana-caramel bread and white chocolate bread pudding. I figured we might win over the journalists coming to talk to us with dessert.”
I laughed. “I don’t know about the journalists, but you’re winning me over just with the smell.”
“Excellent.” She smiled and put the tray down on a side table in the lounge.
She looked different today.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something had shifted in her and it was even more fascinating than normal.
Her hair and clothes were the same, but her makeup was different.
Softer.
Instead of the hard lines, deep kohl eyeliner, and black lipstick, she wore something clear and shimmery on her lips and her eyes were lined in either gray or blue. It was hard to tell from here. But it was stunning.
And the arrogant ass that I was wondered if she’d done it for me.
Unless she’d done it because of me, which wasn’t the same thing.
After last night’s faux pas, asking her if she was trans, it seemed like she’d decided to show me just how feminine she could be without making it too obvious. The other guys probably wouldn’t even notice. That made sense since, as far as I knew, they didn’t want to sleep with her. I, on the other hand, was like a teenager in heat. She was all I thought about.
I figured if I could just get her into bed, I’d fuck her out of my system and be able to move on, but that didn’t seem likely since she’d friend-zoned me.
“The journalists you guys invited are here,” Grim said. “You want me to bring them in? My guy’s already checked their IDs.”
“Yeah, let’s do this.” I nodded before turning to Devyn. “You ready?”
She shrugged. “As I’ll ever be. I’ve worked hard to get here, and your fans are going to have to accept that. And if they don’t? That’s on them, not me.”
“It’s going to be fine,” I whispered as I brushed past her. “Trust me.”
She nodded. “I do. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
12
Devyn
The journalists they’d invited to sit with us were older than I’d expected, probably ranging from their late thirties to mid-forties, two men and one woman. I’d heard of one of them, a guy named Dennis Friedman. He occasionally had pieces in Rolling Stone, but he wrote for all the local music magazines. From what I’d heard, he made friends with a lot of bands and partied with them, often going on tour. He seemed relaxed and friendly with the guys, but more subdued with me, which was annoying.
The woman in the group, Lara Simpson, talked loudly and laughed a lot, as if she was somehow trying to compensate for how nervous she was. She also shamelessly flirted with Kingston, to the point I wanted to roll my eyes.
And the third journalist, who was probably the youngest of the group, was also the quietest. He had his phone open, recording everyone’s questions and answers, but not saying much. I caught him looking at me occasionally, as if he wasn’t sure who I was or what I was doing here.
It made me nervous whenever people looked at me so carefully.
As if they recognized me.
It had only happened once before, but now that I was a member of Onyx Knight, I would be on the radar of thousands of people. Maybe hundreds of thousands. And some of those people undoubtedly watched porn. In those days I’d worn a blond wig, but the camera zoomed in on my face enough to make me recognizable, so part of me wondered how long it would be before my secret was out.
