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“How did you manage that?” Misha asks.
“I’m exceptionally good at this,” he says. “The path from bouncer to band manager is a straight line.”
We all laugh with him until I see Dom approach us with a couple of bellhops and a large cart to lug around our shit. “Right,” he says. “We’re putting the instruments in the rooms, right? So nothing happens to them if they stay in the vehicles.”
“Yes,” Devon replies. “And then we’re going to the party, so if you guys want to stop by your rooms to freshen up, do that. But don’t take too long. I really want you to meet Javi and his people before we go on tour with them. We don’t want it to be awkward.”
“Youdon’t want it to be awkward,” I say. “I think that would be funny.”
“Yeah, because you’re an insane person,” he replies, tutting. “Let’s go get your gear. Fucking drummers…”
I snicker as he trails off. I know he said that just loudly enough so I could hear it.
After what feels like a million trips–but really, it’s only a couple–we’re finally standing in front of the elevator. The band talks amongst each other loudly, but there’s a party somewhere in a lounge nearby, and even the sound of our excited chatter isn’t loud enough to cut through it.
When the elevator dings and the door opens, my breath catches in my throat.
Javi.
Fuckin’hell.
It’s not a performance.
The man doesn’t need photoshop. He’s even more beautiful in real life than I expected him to be.
And suddenly, I find myself completely unable to speak.
Javi
Iknowwhat’shappeningbefore I step out of the elevator and I immediately don’t like it. I was waiting until I got back to the nightclub in the hotel to put my game face on, but the band–Johnny Baskets–is already here.
I immediately recognize them from the promo photos I’ve seen. They don’t look the same, obviously. No one looks the same when they’re airbrushed to fuck.
But my gaze flits between all of them and I immediately categorize them in my head.
I can’t help but be drawn to the smallest woman there. She’s tiny, with teased blonde and red streaked hair that frames her pretty face. She’s striking, with dark brown eyes, curled eyelashes, dramatically arched brows and high cheekbones. She’s wearing a long white coat that falls to her knees, dangling silver earrings and matching bracelets. Her nails are long, pink, sparkly. I don’t know if she’s pretty yet–all I know is that I want to keep staring at her for as long as I possibly can.
I wait for her to say something. I think she is.
She cocks her head, her dark eyes narrowing. I wait for her.
I should really be the one to greet them–Londyn is right, I’m supposed to be a gracious host. But I can’t. I’ve been through enough over the past few days that switching into work mode is challenging.
But I know I can’t just stand here and wait for them to say something. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. So I clear my throat and force myself to smile. “Hi,” I say, my gaze glued to hers. “You must be Johnny Baskets.”
She smiles, her expression softening. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Alana. The drummer.”
That seems to break the ice. There are plenty of introductions after that–names I won’t remember until Londyn reminds me. I nod and smile and ask them how their flight was until it seems like we’re out of things to talk about.
“You know,” I say, once that whole thing is over. “There’s a party in the lounge nearby.”
“It’ll probably be a bit,” Alana says, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind a pointy ear. “We’re going to have to put our gear away and…it’s been a long day.”
“Of course. Feel free to take as much time as you need,” I reply. “I was just hoping I’d see you there.”
She smiles. I can tell it’s difficult. “Can’t wait,” she says softly. As she walks toward me, our arms brush against each other’s. I shouldn’t really do this–I have to go back to the party. I have to do more than just meet this band.
“Actually, I can help,” I say.
