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“Liam’s going to be pissed we left him out,” Malek says.
“Liam ditched us for pussy. Screw him,” Griff replies.
“For real, though, we hittin’ that place up?” Malek continues, rolling up his sleeve to show off his pale bicep. “I have an idea of what I need to fill this space.”
Z’s been tuned out this entire conversation. I nudge him with my shoe, and he lifts his head to me, brows furrowed.
I flash him a devilish grin. “Let’s go put a hole in that ear.”
“Mine?” His voice comes out high-pitched.
“And mine.” I rise up from the couch and clasp a hand around his forearm. Drawing him up, probably too close, I lean in next to his ear. “We can get matching ones.”
When I step back, his throat bobs. Though he doesn’t refuse, which is enough permission for me to orchestrate this little pit stop. We load in the black rental SUV after I snatch the keys from Sondra, smirking at her warning to behave.
Soon, we’re standing in the fluorescent-lit lobby of the shop, Z at my side, looking drained of blood.
I brush my fingers over the back of his hand. “Hey, if you don’t want to…”
He shakes his head, eyeing the jewelry in the glass case. “S’fine.”
“No pressure or anything.”
“I want one.” He looks up at me with flushed cheeks. “If you’re getting one, too.”
Fuck. My chest swells, and my stupid heart thumps happily at the idea of something shared between us. Something permanent.
We agree on a silver hoop with a delicate chain that ends in a cross. I’m already sporting a half chub imagining what he’ll look like with the gothic piece in place.
Z sits down in the red vinyl chair first, and I give his hand a squeeze. He tenses up as the needle spears his cartilage. Then he looks up at me with those wide, glacial eyes, seeking approval.
“Shit. I think I found a new religion,” I whisper, gaze moving from the cross piercing that gives him an edge down to his tempting, parted lips.
“No making out in public!” Malek shouts.
Z’s cheeks flush rosy pink, and I take a moment to decipher how I feel about the others discovering just how close we really are. When I settle ondon’t care, I take Z’s jaw in one hand and press my mouth against his, instantly awakening hot need in my core.
Griff whistles and Malek starts in on PDA, which is ironic because he’s the most guilty of us all. He’s been photographed in way too many compromising positions in public settings.
I don’t know what I expected, but I’m pleasantly surprised when no one seems a bit phased by our demonstration.
“You all know I was bi or something?” I ask, unable to hide my smirk as I keep my eyes on Z’s pretty mouth.
“Nah, but it’s all good, man,” Malek replies. “Even I can admit that Z’s fucking hot.”
Z flushes bright red all over again, then I drop into the seat, prepared to tie myself to him in any way possible.
Twenty-One
Z
“We’reshortanopener,”Sondra informs us backstage. She paces in front of where the band has perched on mismatched chairs and equipment, her heels clacking with purpose as her fingers dance across her cellphone. “Of all places, it had to happen in Dallas. Our hometown, for fuck’s sake!“
“It’s all good,” Hail says calmly. “We can just go out early and play a longer show. We can spin this to keep the fans happy.”
From the lack of enthusiasm in his tone, I can tell he doesn’t want to play an extended set. All the members of Atonement are growing weary, just over midway through their US tour after spending months in Europe.
“Absolutely not. You haven’t finished warming up.” Sondra shakes her sleek ponytail back and forth. “We can’t risk you damaging your vocal cords. We’re booked up for another two months.”
