Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN_
ANGEL
I’m awoken by nearby voices, but they sound like they’re talking through a wall. It takes a couple of seconds to get my bearings, to remember I’m in Jamie’s hotel room, and that the empty spot beside me means she’s already up. Working or having a straight-girl freak-out, I’m not entirely sure yet.
Last night was fun.
I’m not usually one for needing reassurance or promises the morning after sleeping with someone, but considering we’re still going to be working together for the next five weeks, I need to know she’s at least okay.
I roll over and see she’s half out the door to the hotel room, keeping the gap so small that whoever she’s talking to wouldn’t be able to see in.
First sign things might not be okay if she doesn’t want anyone to know I spent the night.
All right. Damage control.
I climb out of bed and find my pants on the floor. Now that I’m up, I can hear it’s Brix and Harley Jamie’s talking to. Hoping being casual is the right move here, I approach them and throw open the door.
“What’s up, boss? Security drama this early?”
Both Brix’s and Harley’s eyes widen at my presence.
“No,” Harley says at the same time Brix says, “Yes.”
Harley backhands his partner in the stomach. Brix doesn’t even pretend to flinch from it.
“No drama at all,” Harley says. “Jamie was supposed to meet us in our room half an hour ago. She’s never late.”
“I can explain,” Jamie says. “It’s … not what it looks like …” She turns to me, smiles, and then glances back at them. “Actually, it’s exactly what it looks like, but it’s none of your business. Sorry I was late.”
I hope she didn’t feel like she had to say that for me. Or out herself. I was going to cover for her. Say I stayed here the night for … well, any number of reasons women who are friends stay at each other’s places.
Harley puts his hands up. “No problem here. We were just worried about you. But this, yeah, this makes sense.”
Brix glares at me. “It would make sense … if it were any other member of Mike Bravo. This is … this doesn’t make sense at all.”
I want to protest that because it’s shitty to hold the men on my team to a different standard than me, but I don’t really have a leg to stand on there. We did have sex.
Brix can have his hissy fit, I don’t care.
“We’re going to need a moment,” Brix says, and I don’t know if he means him and Harley or him and me.
“Jamie, I really need you.” Harley grabs Jamie’s wrist. “Assist me, assistant.” He stalks away, dragging her with him.
She got up at some point and got dressed in a pair of sweats and a tank top.
It’s so casual to how she has been dressing while on tour, and it reminds me of that night she sat across from me in a bar.
Just before she disappears with Harley, she gives me a quick glance over her shoulder.
I try to force a smile, but my face muscles don’t cooperate. Hers do, though, and I let out a small breath of relief at her gorgeous smile.
“Explain yourself,” Brix says.
I lift one shoulder. “Late night working. Too tired to go to my own room. Girls’ slumber party.”
Brix’s dark gaze narrows. “You slept with your mark? Wait, I don’t think I want to know.” He follows after where Harley and Jamie disappeared to while grumbling something about finally knowing how Trav feels.
“Love the pep talk, boss!” I call after him.
Maggie:
SOS.
Me:
Where are you?
Maggie:
The sad excuse for a playroom this venue has set up for the kids.
Me:
Be there in ten.
Maggie is an amazing woman, and when I met her a couple of years ago at a party for Brix that Harley threw, we instantly clicked.
Probably because we’re both ex-military.
She’s someone whose career was admirable.
She didn’t choose between being a mom and having a career.
She had Kaylee and still served, and while she’s out of the military now, she left on her terms. Not everyone gets that.
I find her where she said she’d be, but while baby Riff is mesmerized by the lights and sounds coming from the hanging mobile on his playmat and Kaylee is on her iPad, Maggie is pacing back and forth in only a bra and a long hippie skirt.
“What’s the emergency?” I ask.
“I have nothing to wear.”
“So you messaged your lesbian friend whose closet consists of leather and not much else?”
“I’m desperate.”
“Why? Don’t you usually just hang backstage out of view?”
“Ryder and Lyric have been telling me to take something for myself, and they’ve gotten into my head. So, I’m going to do it. With Andre—uh, Domino.”
Shit. I mean, yay for them, but also shit. Because I am not good at this. Fashion and dating a man and anything that has to do with any of that.
I haven’t seen Jamie since she left her room this morning, but I’ve seen her wardrobe.
She would be better at this than me. Though her clothes won’t fit Maggie.
Jamie is impossibly petite. Mine will, but I can’t even dress myself for a date, let alone someone else. So I take out my phone and text Jamie.
Me:
Are you at the venue or still at the hotel?
Jamie:
Hotel but about to head over. Where’s my bodyguard? ;)
Me:
Already at the venue. Bad bodyguard.
I hesitate before typing out this next part but decide to say fuck it. I can’t spend the next five or so weeks walking on eggshells.
I’ll make sure I guard all of your body later, but I need a favor. Can you break into my hotel room and bring some date options from my closet? Uh, not for me. For Maggie.
Jamie:
Is she finally going to go for it with Domino? Eeee. This is so exciting.
Me:
Is it?
Jamie:
Yes! She deserves happiness and Domino is a fine specimen of a man.
Does that make me jealous? I think about it, like truly think about it, and I don’t think it does. Domino is attractive, and just because Jamie and I slept together, that doesn’t mean she can no longer find anyone else hot.
Jamie:
I mean, I prefer my own bodyguard, but he’s all right.
Me:
Aww, you’re sweet to add that, but it’s unnecessary. Appreciated, but unnecessary.
Jamie:
I’ll find Maggie something and see you soon.
I might not know where we stand after last night, but the flirty texts help.
She probably doesn’t want anything serious, and, well, neither do I because no one has ever understood my job, but as long as she’s not freaking out about her first time with a woman, we’re all good here.
Even if she decides she doesn’t want to do it again and only remain friends.
Or friendly. It’s not like we’re actual friends … are we?
There aren’t a lot of female influences in my life. My mom passed when I was young, so I was raised by my military father. The only times I had that motherly figure were the times my abuela would visit or I’d be sent to stay with her in the Dominican Republic for my summer breaks.
I’m not saying my lack of feminine energy is the reason I have more guy friends than women, but it’s a theory.
I’d consider Maggie my friend, but we’ve never actually hung out outside of the band or Mike Bravo. I haven’t offered her a couch to sleep on like I did Jamie, so does that mean Jamie is basically my bestie now?
“Jamie’s on her way,” I say to Maggie. “She’s going to pick something from my wardrobe and bring it over.”
“I’m not sure dressing like a dominatrix lesbian is the right image for me.”
I burst out laughing. “Not a dominatrix, and I can’t decide if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”
“Definitely complimentary. You’re probably the prettiest badass I know, and I envy you. But I don’t think I can pull off that look. I’m a frumpy mother who is covered in baby spit-up the majority of the time. I still don’t fit into my pre-Riff clothes, and I just … don’t feel sexy.”
Yet another reason bearing children is not for me. The hormones, the body changes, and the insecurity about all of it don’t sound fun.
“I know telling you that you’re gorgeous the way you are probably won’t do anything because you’re in your head, but you have to remember you gave birth only five months ago.
Don’t buy into the toxic notion that was probably made up by a man that you need to go right back to how your body was before you had Riff. ”
She purses her lips and nods. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“Oh, I meant about whatever you’re saying not making me feel better.”
I sigh.
Her phone pings, but when she reaches into her bag on the floor and reads the message, she mutters, “No, no, no.” Her shoulders visibly deflate. “Our nanny has a fever. She thinks she caught what Riff had last week.”
“I’ve heard children are like Petri dishes.” I’m not being helpful, I know.
“Okay, this is the third sign I shouldn’t throw myself at Domino.”
“What were the other two?”
“Nothing to wear, and I don’t want to.”
I try not to laugh at her because she seems to really be struggling with this, but it’s kind of cute the way she’s throwing a tantrum over it.
I would offer to watch the children for her—I may not want kids of my own, but it’s not like I hate them or anything—but with Jamie working the show tonight, I can’t leave her side.
Riff starts fussing from where he is, and Maggie mindlessly picks him up, walks over to the couch, and flops out her boob so he can eat.
“I’m going to be alone forever,” she says.
I sit on the couch opposite her. “We could be alone together.”
Now it looks like it’s her turn to cover a laugh. “From what I hear, you weren’t alone last night.” She smirks.
Of course everyone already knows. “It was nothing.”
“Does Jamie know that?”
“I don’t know what Jamie knows. We didn’t get a chance to talk about it, and I haven’t seen her since she left with Harley this morning.”
“Damn. We should start a lonely losers club.”
“Wow, way to make us sound sad and pathetic.”
Normally, I wouldn’t care if someone called me that, because I’m happy being single, where there’s no drama. But after last night, after Jamie, I think maybe something more with her wouldn’t be so bad. A second date, at least.