“You like it?” he asks.
I squint down at my drink. “Best job in the world.” Besides the fact that I’m almost always with the band, and that’s one of the reasons Wyatt and I have never been able to move forward properly. I know what goes on behind the scenes. There’s always been too much temptation, and after Brenna, too much doubt on my end about what’s happening when I’m not around. And then there’s the fact that I’ve had to watch Sin’s fast, tumultuous downfall over the last few years.
Yes, I love my job—love Your Toxic Sequel—but sometimes it’s too much even for me.
A hand brushes up against my thigh. I flinch and turn my head a fraction to James, who’s smiling. He’s good-looking with a dark tan, like Shiner Bock, with auburn hair and sea green eyes. Unlike Shiner Bock, he’s taller, standing at least a half a foot over my five foot four. And, he’s got a bad case of the feels. This is the fourth time in the last hour that James’s fingers have made contact with my body—two accidental boob pokes and then one bold as hell ass grope.
“You okay, Kyla?” he asks. When I say that I am, ignoring the fact that he’s forgotten my name, he adds, “I was just asking what you do for your brother.”
“Band,” Heidi and I say at the same time. Running my tongue down over the center of my upper lip, I continue, “My brother is in a band, and I travel around with them.” I lift my beer to my mouth and drink a quarter of the contents in one gulp.
James’s eyes narrow skeptically. “Anyone worth listening to? Or one of those small town things?” The derision in his voice snaps my head up. Setting my drink down on the table a little too hard, I give him a withering glare.
“Actually, I’ve found that some of my favorite bands are the ones who are small town things.” Douchebag. I’m already on edge—Wyatt hasn’t texted me and Lucas brushed me off earlier this afternoon when I called to ask him about Sinjin—so I inhale and exhale a couple of times before I speak. “But yeah, I think Lucas’s band is worth listening to. My brother fronts Your Toxic Sequel.”
Beneath the muted lights hanging overhead, James flushes. Three different shades of red, in fact. He moves his hand away from my knee, and I scoot my chair as far away from him as the limited amount of space will allow. Across the table, Heidi glances down at her napkin and Shiner Bock chokes on his drink. He pounds on his chest a few times.
“You’re kidding, right?” James asks. I move my head from side to side. He gives Heidi and his friend a look before turning his eyes back to me.
Heidi clears her throat. “She’s not.”
Because James and Shiner Bock more than likely think I’m the biggest bitch who ever existed, the next twenty minutes of conversation is a strained tribute to my brother’s band. Finally, James wanders off because he swears he sees one of their other friends.
Heidi shoots me a sympathetic look and mouths “Sorry” which I respond by giving her an apologetic smile. It’s not her fault that I’m in a bad mood. The last thing I want to do is ruin her final evening in New Orleans by being a buzz kill. I push my chair back.
She bites the corner of her bottom lip, frowning, and starts to get up too, but I shake my head. “I’ve got to take care of a few things in the room, but I’ll be back.” Of course, I have no intention of returning. I’m sure she already realizes that.
“Text me if you need me, okay?” she says, which is a translation for Come drink with us if Wyatt lets you down again.
“I will.” I force a smile as I pluck my thin, skull-print jacket off of the back of the chair and slide it on over my black lace halter-top. “Nice to meet you, Shi . . . Finn. Tell James I had fun.”
Wherever the hell he is.
As I leave the building to walk back to my hotel from the French Quarter, I’m able to tell James goodbye myself. He’s at the bar, leaned over a shot glass and making conversation with a skinny girl with purple and green spray-in color blended into her blonde hair. My eyes connect with his, and he smiles sheepishly. I raise my hand to wave, and he lifts his chin up.
“Better you grope her ass than mine,” I grumble.
Stepping out onto Canal Street, I pull my jacket around me tighter. It’s unusually cold tonight, and I wish I brought along my coat instead. I walk faster, dodging the crowd, in hopes that I’ll warm myself quickly. Though I really want to, I fight the urge to stop and check my phone to see if Wyatt has called. I know he hasn’t. And looking at a screen that shows nothing but the background image of me with Cal and Sinjin making duck faces in a bathroom will do nothing but piss me off. Plus, it’s cold as hell and I want to get back to my bedroom sooner rather than later.
My head is down, and I’m contemplating a long bath, when I dip into the front entrance of The Veranda ten minutes later. I’m not aware that someone’s calling my name until that person grabs my wrist in the middle of the lobby. “You’re f**king deaf, Wolfe,” a voice says from behind me.
Spinning around so that my pumps make a squeaking noise on the glossy floor, I pause for a moment, taking in Cal’s lanky, but toned body and disheveled, shoulder length jet-black hair, before I launch myself into his arms. He’s initially surprised, but then he wraps me up, and I bury my face into the front of his shirt.
“You do realize I could’ve maced you, right?” I demand. He pulls away from me, smirking, his dark eyes amused. “What the hell are you doing here?”