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“Not exactly the scene I was expecting,” I say, though I’m glad to keep a distance from the typical rockstar hangouts.
He chuckles. “Fame doesn’t mean we instantly become cool, Z. We’re all just a bunch of southern boys who like to do stupid shit in our free time.”
I’m thoroughly perplexed by the environment we walk into, greeted by clean-cut employees in polos and khaki shorts in the front shop. They don’t seem alerted by our appearances, which means they’ve been clued in on Atonement’s visit. And with the late hour, the usual crowds have dwindled.
“You play?” Hail asks with a smirk, as he holds the back door to the course open for me. Muggy air hits me like a sauna. I breathe straight humidity into my lungs.
“Never,” I admit, wrinkling my nose. “Sports weren’t my thing.”
Not exactly true. My mum just didn’t want to spend the money on them. I didn’t find a passion for anything until my aunt bought me my first keyboard for Christmas. After that, I helped in her gardens every summer to earn enough allowance for a new instrument. Then I would spend the entire school year obsessively learning how to play it. As soon as my mum recognised my talent, all of a sudden she became interested in paying for music lessons.
Loud bantering draws my attention to a group of guys lurking beside four parked golf buggies. Even if they hadn’t been so boisterous, it would have been easy to pick them out among the backdrop of golfers. They look like they’re about to pose for a gothic magazine, dressed in mostly black and dripping confidence gained through fame.
“Buzz cut is Griff, our drummer,” Hail informs me.
Interesting. Griff seems to be the only one in the group without tattoos and piercings. He’s shorter than the rest too, but there’s a grace to his movements the others lack.
“Spiky red-head is Malek,” Hail continues.
Malek’s wearing a visor covered in tiny metal badges and safety pins. He’s got the most dangerous smile, like a Venus flytrap, gauges with little snakes running across the hole, and a shag of longish hair styled to almost dagger-like points.
“You’ve seen Liam. He’s my best friend.” Hail leans in closer. “And don’t worry too much about charming Layla, the woman next to him. She rarely hangs out longer than a quick hook-up with Liam.”
I quirk a brow at Layla, dressed in combat boots, a mini-skirt, a camo bra under a sheer black top, and wearing more hooped earrings than I can count. She’s currently drinking in Liam like he’s the last pool of water in a desert. His body is turned entirely away.
Hail swaggers up to them and gives Liam a bear hug before slapping the other two guys on the sides of their heads. “Guys, this is Z. Liam’s new guitar tech.”
Hail doesn’t mention anything about our collaboration, and I have to wonder if he’s told them about it. Maybe we won’t be working on anything while I’m the hired help.
I’m not one to judge. I carry secrets of my own.
To my surprise, Griff pulls me into a hug, patting at my back like we’re old friends. “Good to meet you, man. Welcome to the fam.”
“Sup, dude,” Malek greets me with a jerk of his chin. “Sorry, Griff’s a toucher.”
Waggling his brows, Malek earns a headlock from Griff.
My gaze falls on Liam next. He holds out a hand for me to shake. “Glad you made it to Atlanta in one piece,” he says in a smooth baritone.
“Yeah, thanks.” Heat coasts over my cheeks. I’ll have to get that under control if we’re going to be working closely together.
Liam leans in closer. “Interested to see what you two come up with.” Then his eyes flick between me and Hail as if he’s trying to uncover the hidden connection there. More for protection of Hail, I ease a bit away from Hail’s side. Are the others aware of his recent… preferences?
“Let’s fucking hit it, boys!” Hail yells out, and we all load into golf buggies, Malek and Griff in their own buggies, tearing off for the first hole. I cling to the roof as Hail guns it after them, still on edge after meeting new people and adapting to a strange environment.
When we make it to the first patch of trimmed grass, Griff’s already shot his ball into the pond. He stomps off after it while Malek laughs maniacally. Then, with a perfect swing, Malek drives his ball onto the green.
“Well, fuck me to tears, rich kid. That was a good shot.” Hail shouts out, then turns to me. “Malek grew up with a golf course in his neighbourhood.”
My brows furrow as we slide out of the buggy, failing to understand how that could be a proper place to live.
“Wouldn’t all the houses have broken windows?”
Chuckling, Hail reaches around me to grab a club, his face coming close enough to mine to kick-start my heart.
I can’t help my eyes dragging up and down his form as he lines up a shot. His feet do this silly little tippy tap thing before he hammers the ball over the pond, nearly sinking it in the hole.
“Rich kid?” I ask, cocking a brow at him.
