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‘I know. Anyway. I’m afraid we’ve hidden you away in here long enough. My dear family would like to see the celebrity. Don’t look at me that way. Better to get it over and done with. Like pulling off a plaster. Nice and quick.’
An hour later, Tate makes a much-needed break for the kitchen. His fucking jaw aches from all the smiling. He doesn’t want to sound like an ungrateful git, but he’s had constant celebrity stuff for the last month and he seriously needs a break from it.
He leans against the sink and smiles as he watches his mum weaving through the room with two plates of nibbles. She loves this kind of thing. Loves fussing and looking after people.
Shane joins him and nods towards a slightly unstable man who appears to be talking to the Christmas tree. ‘Gary’s enjoying the red wine as usual. Having a great old chat with the tree.’
‘As long as it doesn’t answer back, we’re good.’ Tate nudges Shane. ‘Who the hell is that with Bria?’
‘Looks like we’re about to find out.’
They stop talking as Bria approaches with a guy who looks like he’s about to piss himself. ‘Tate. Shane. This is Robbie. He’s my boyfriend.’
As if well-rehearsed, they cross their arms and stare down at Robbie. His eyes dart from Tate to Shane before settling back on Tate again. The guy swallows deeply as his eyes move over the two men.
As Bria’s brothers, it’s their job - and absolute right - to make sure the poor fucker knows exactly what would happen if he stepped out of line. The thing is, neither of them actually have to say anything to get their point across.
At six-one and six-three, the brothers look intimidating. They both work out and it shows, but it’s Tate that is getting most of the attention. Partly because, as the taller of the two, he stands out. But mostly the attention is thanks to his tattoos. The ink covered his entire upper torso, neck, and hands. It was those very tattoos that had Robbie transfixed.
Bria wraps her arm around Robbie and glares at her brothers. ‘Would you both knock it off. The intimidating stares aren’t going to work. Ignore them Robbie. They’re being asses.’
Robbie finally finds his voice. He holds out his hand but withdraws it when it isn’t taken by either of them. ‘I saw you on TV,’ he says to Tate. ‘You were on a chat show with the rest of the band.’
Tate nods. ‘What one?’
‘I don’t know. You sang a song on it.’
‘We did that on three shows recently. You’ll have to narrow it down.’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Bit pointless mentioning it then, wasn’t it?’
Bria thumps Tate in the stomach. ‘Stop it!’
They laugh and Tate slaps Robbie on the shoulder nearly sending him flying. ‘Sorry. We’re just fucking with you. Nice to meet you.’
Robbie grins. ‘Yeah. You too. I really like your music.’
‘Cheers, Robbie. Appreciate that.’
Bria leads him away, mouthingdicksat them as she walks away.
‘I don’t like him,’ Shayne mutters as Bria and Robbie disappear into the crowd.
‘Nope. Me either.’
Shane grabs another bottle of beer from the fridge and passes one to Tate. They clink bottles. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Yeah. Happy Christmas.’
His best mate Gregg stops in the doorway and holds up a bottle. ‘There you are. Heard you decided to grace us with your presence. How’d the interview go? Did it drag on or did you make sure it dragged on so you could avoid all this festive fun?’
‘It dragged on without any help from me.’
Gregg sits on the edge of the counter and takes a swig from his beer. They’d been friends for over two decades, but Gregg had only joined the band about a year ago as their drummer. He’d been an instant hit with the fans. No surprise there. Gregg was one of those people it was impossible not to like. He was always smiling, rarely got stressed about anything, and he’s an incredible musician.
Tate examines his friend as he takes another mouthful of beer. Gregg’s usually tousled dark-blond hair is combed back from his face and it looks like he’s trimmed his beard instead of letting it go where it wants.
