Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
BONNIE
“So, I texted my stalker back last night,” I say to Zeb the following morning.
We’re sitting on a blanket outside, soaking in the sunrise and quiet dew before the shenanigans begin. My black circle sunglasses are perfect against the orange rays; the white ripped hoodie I’m wearing is just heavy enough to keep me from fucking freezing like I usually am—even if my pierced nips feel like they’re about to cut through this damn fabric.
I’m still in shock at the fact that I texted her.
Zeb continues staring out at the lawn and blows out the smoke from a freshly rolled joint. “You know what?” He shakes his head and chuckles. “That doesn’t even fucking surprise me. But because I’m curious: why the hell did you do that?”
I lean back on my left palm, inhale a hit from my cigarette—a dirty habit I still partake in on occasion—then pick a white wildflower from the clover field beneath us. “I wanted to know how she would react,” I reply.
Zeb considers me, and he doesn’t need to speak for me to know what he’s thinking.
“I already texted Darcy,” I say, referring to my sponsor.
“Yeah? Did you tell them you’re looking for sabotage out here?” he asks.
I scoff and glance sideways at him. “I’m not looking for sabotage.”
“Bed, you don’t know what your stalker wants,” he argues. “It might be to lure you into a white van so she can have you all to herself.”
“Listen, as long as she feeds me,” I say.
I meet Zeb’s flat gaze over the top of his glasses, and the look makes me laugh.
Those dark eyes are entirely too telling.
“I get it. I know it could be dangerous. I won’t do it again.”
“Is she here?” he asks, looking around us.
“Ah… no,” I lie.
Because I know he won’t let me out of his sight today if he knows she’s here.
“No, she sent another picture from inside of my apartment,” I go on. “Said she missed me last night.”
“You’ve got to change those fucking locks,” he says.
“Top of my list when we get home,” I reply.
He pulls his knees into his chest, his white tee creasing around his muscled arms, and I offer him the rest of the cigarette that I’m done with.
“I think you need to let the new security check out your apartment,” Zeb says. “Maybe get a new place—It’s been what, five years almost?”
“As long as I’ve been sober,” I say about the place I’m staying in. “It was my gift to myself after the long stay at rehab.”
“Yeah, you need a new place, Bed,” he says. “Upgrades. Security. Sunlight. You have the money. I thought there was a place open in Mads’ building. You don’t want to live closer to Andi?”
“It isn’t a big deal,” I tell him. “You think my stalker would leave me alone if I moved? That she wouldn’t figure out where I am?”
“I mean at least Mads would be there,” he says. “You know he notices everything.”
It’s true.
Years of hiding behind that mask of his has his senses on high alert twenty-four-seven.
“And,” Zeb goes on, “it might be easier for security to watch for your stalker if they were also keeping an eye on Reed and Mads. Someone is always posted up because of Wren’s shit anyway. Protecting you is literally their job. It isn’t just on the tour,” he says. “What, you don’t want Gemma knowing about this?”
I pick the petals off of the wildflower between my fingers. “I’m sure she already knows,” I say begrudgingly. “Fucking embarrassing.”
“What is?”
“You know I hate that overprotective shit,” I groan. “You’re bulldog enough. The last thing I want is more people in my private life dictating where I can go, who I can meet up with…” I throw the bare wildflower stem on the ground. “It’s maddening, dude.”
“I think we’ve been confined just because the record label is dying for the new album,” he says.
“True. Surprised they let us out to come fuck off here.”
“Good publicity.” He jerks his chin toward a photographer taking photos of the groups scattered around the open field. “How much do you think this guy gets paid?”
“Probably not enough,” I reply. I take my phone out and flip to the front camera, then hold it up in front of us. Zeb leans in close, his tawny skin glowing in the sunrise, and he holds up two fingers to make the horns sign, and I stick my tongue out and do the same.
I laugh at the selfie. “We look like we came straight out of that old vampire cult movie in this light.”
“Maybe that’s what the next album cover should be. Early 90s horror vibes,” he agrees.
“Oh hell yeah,” I say. “Mads and Reed would be all over that.”
Zeb takes another drag from the waning cigarette. “Let’s do it.”
“You two are the last ones I expected to see up this early,” we hear someone say behind us.
Talk of the album cover goes amiss the instant her voice enters my ears.
My breath seems to stagger as Gemma comes into view from our left. Her curly hair is pulled up into space buns, showing off more of the burgundy strands streaked through it. Sweat is rolling down her skin, soaking her dark grey sports bra. I’m taken aback by the nose-piercing chain draped over the bridge of her nose, and the snake bite piercings beneath her bottom lip that she’s drawing into her mouth.
Shit, that makes her so much hotter.
The sight of her on her morning run while Zeb and I smoke cigarettes, eat donuts and leftover pizza with shit black coffee as our drug of choice, all while wearing stained hoodies and the same itchy sweat from the night before is somehow the funniest thing I think I’ve experienced in a while.
Zeb grins as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Fucking iconic, man,” he says, chuckling.
“It’s like we’re the dirty alt vampires, and she’s the pretty target,” I grin. “Maybe we should take her back to our cave.” I glance at Gemma and lick at one of my canine teeth, the point scratching my tongue. “The chase is Zeb’s favorite sport, you know.”
It feels so much better now that the initial nerves are out of the way. Walking with her last night, even if it was only a few minutes, seemed to relax the pent-up anxiety I had swirling around my brain before the show.
Don’t overthink it.
Go with the fucking flow.
Don’t let it in your head.
Gemma smiles. “Yeah? I like the chase, too.”
Zeb lifts his arm to fist bump her and takes an inhale from the cigarette with his other hand. “Looks like you got into the right line of work, then,” he says.
She nods my way. “What’s your favorite?” she asks me.
“My prey usually comes to me,” I say, leaning back on my palms. I nudge the box of donuts with my foot. “Have a treat,” I say. “I think you’ve been good enough this morning for a reward.”
Gemma eyes my smirk, the look heating my center, yet she doesn’t reply. Shifting her weight on her feet from left to right, she kicks off her sneakers, then joins us on the blanket, crossing her legs beneath her.
Thank fuck for these dark sunglasses so that she can’t see me gawking at her. I want to lick the sweat off her neck so badly that I have to force myself not to tell Zeb to take a hike. I can already imagine myself dragging my tongue along the fine line tattoos crawling up her neck, the thin vine-like artwork framing her breasts and sternum.
Gemma grabs a donut from the box and takes a bite, powdered sugar lingering in the crease of her full lips. “I was hoping to run into you two this morning,” she says.
“We don’t talk shop before noon,” Zeb says. “So if you sit with us, you have to chat bullshit.”
“Should I wear pink next Wednesday, too?” she asks, and I grin at the pop culture reference.
“Fishnet tights are also a requirement,” I reply.
Gemma chuckles. “I’ll have to go shopping then.” She wipes her powdered hands off with a wipe and sighs back onto her palms.
“Do you ever go back home?” she asks me.
The mention of home sobers my mood a fraction. “Ah, yeah. My dad is still there. Though, he moved to an oceanfront place. You?”
She shakes her head. “Hell no. I ran far away from that place after my parents split. I tried going to the community college for a couple of years to shave off the eventual debt. It was just like high school all over again.”
“Yeah, fuck that,” I agree.
“This is why I carefully cultivated the loser, but also scary-esque persona during my four years,” Zeb says.
I stare at him. “Motherfucker, you were class president ,” I say.
Gemma bursts out laughing, and Zeb thumps the cigarette butt at me.
“I had a bully,” he says as if it helps his case.
“Ha. Yeah, okay,” I taunt.
“I did,” he argues. “You don’t believe me?”
I snort. “Yeah? What did your bully do? Call you a science geek?”
“Among other things,” he replies.
A tsk leaves me as I meet Gemma’s eyes, and that little smile on her lips makes me wink her way.
“Poor little popular boy,” I tease Zeb.
“I had to hide the pain behind my eyes,” he says mockingly.
“You’re fucking full of it,” I taunt.
“You were always popular,” Gemma says to me.
Zeb balks slightly, eyes wide. “Oh really?” he asks.
“I had my moments,” I agree. “There were good times along with the extra shitty ones.”
“Are you going to the reunion this year?” Gemma asks.
“Ha. Yeah, no,” I reply quickly. “Not a chance in hell that I would step back there. I’d have too many people trying to kiss my ass for concert tickets.”
“That’s true,” Gemma agrees. She mirrors me, leaning back on her elbows, and I swallow at the sight of her beauty reflected by the morning sun.
Shit, she’s pretty.
“So, tell me about this party tonight,” Gemma eventually says.
“No business,” Zeb replies.
“I’m just asking about a party,” she counters.
I smile at her trying to dodge logistics. “Maybe we should let her have this one morning,” I say to Zeb. “It’s only her second day. Can’t have her chasing her ass around this place.”
Zeb sighs. “Fine. This is a one-day pass. No exchanges or refunds.”
“Deal,” Gemma says. “Tell me about the party.”
Zeb and I exchange a look. “That’s really what you want to know about?” I ask.
“From every text, phone call, email, and conversation I’ve had about all of you, and from everything I’ve gathered about this festival, the party is your largest threat today. If I could tell you not to go, I probably would. The whole masks and anonymous thing… Can’t say I’m a fan.”
Zeb and I chuckle. “That’s fair,” I say.
Unless you want to hide with us , is what I really want to say.
“But I also know it would be ridiculous of me to ever think you’d stay away,” Gemma goes on. “So, I need to know what your outfits and masks look like.”
“All black and hoodies,” I say.
“Ski masks,” Zeb answers quickly.
Gemma’s brows lift. “Ski masks,” she repeats.
“Yeah. Keeping it simple tonight. No frills,” I lie.
Because neither of us wants security near us.
Not tonight.
I don’t need a tail following me—especially Gemma. As much fun as it might be to see her reaction to watching me make out with some sexy stranger, I just want a night off to get properly fucked.
God, I can’t wait.
Gemma peers between us like she knows we’re lying. Even so, she doesn’t push it.
“You could take the night off and join the party,” I tell her. “Play the field a little. Get to know this crowd.”
Her hazel eyes darken, and I swear her chest rises a little higher as if she’s thinking of the same things I am.
Or maybe that’s just my own wishful thinking.
Probably my wishful thinking.
And she doesn’t even reply to my suggestion.
“Ski masks…” Gemma sits up and takes another donut from the box. She holds it up, nods, then gets to her feet. “I know you all want your space, but I’m begging you not to do anything stupid tonight.”
“What up, sunshines?” we hear a familiar voice say behind us.
Reed, Mads, Wren, and Andi approach us, another blanket in tow, and a bag of pastries from the green room in Andi’s hands. Reed is grinning, the dark, oversized aviator sunglasses on his nose making him look, somehow, even more pale against the bright morning light. Mads has his mask around his neck, his chestnut beard getting longer every day.
“There’s the Merry Bunch,” Zeb mocks.
“Brady Bunch, dude,” I correct him.
“Ew,” Wren, Reed’s wife, says with a wrinkled face. “I’m never coming to a festival again if we look like that.”
Her dry humor is one of the reasons I love her.
“Yeah, you are. Just wait until tonight. That band is going to have your legs weeping and begging for more,” I tell her about the show we’re heading into the pit to see later.
Wren takes off her shoes and sits on the corner of the blanket. “Yeah, he’s been texting the lead singer all morning already,” she says with a nod at Reed. “I think his head is going to be too big to get back on the bus tomorrow. He’s thinking about getting onstage with them for that one song.”
My brows lift at Reed. “No shit. That would be epic.”
I don’t miss the pointed look Wren gives Zeb, and it nearly makes me laugh that they’re still feuding over him going on a date with one of her co-stars from the movie she just wrapped up.
“Fuck yeah, it would,” Reed agrees. “We’re just working on logistics.” Reed’s gaze moves to Gemma, a sideways smirk lingering on his lips. “Look who is already up and ready to fight the world,” he says to her. “You run?”
“Have to keep up with you, right?” she replies, hands on her hips.
“And as this maniac’s sister, I appreciate your hard work already,” Andi says to Gemma. She slips out of Mads’ grasp and approaches Gemma. “Andi,” she introduces herself. “Things got crazy yesterday. We didn’t get a chance to meet. The sour redhead is Wren, though you may already know her face,” she teases Wren.
“She comes with her own security, right?” Gemma asks.
“Yeah, you can tell them to fuck off if you’re going to be around,” Wren says, already on her phone. She lifts it up to take a photo of the sunrise and stage in the distance, and I lean around to make a funny face and hold up my fingers in the frame. Wren gives me a rare smile.
“People will love that,” she tells me.
Reed sits criss-cross at her side, and as he tries to take her phone to take a cuddling selfie of them despite Wren’s fake annoyance, I hear Mads address Gemma.
“I heard you say something about us not doing stupid shit, and I have to tell you, none of us can promise that,” Mads says to her.
Andi sits at my side and gets close enough that I smirk at her.
“Oh, morning cuddles. Yes. I needed this,” I say, rubbing her thigh.
Andi laughs and leans closer, her words coming out in a hushed whisper. “So how is this going?” she asks with a glance to Gemma, who’s now chatting with Mads, arms crossed over her chest. “Mads says things are already tense between the two of you.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” I ask, shaking my head. “None of you have patience.”
“So we actually like this one then,” she says suggestively.
I glance at Gemma, butterflies swimming in my stomach. “We could,” I admit, even if there’s a nagging curiosity in the back of my mind that’s holding me back from going all in.
“I like it. Building some tension first. That’s new for you, isn’t it?” Andi asks me.
I chuckle and flip her off, not because it’s an insult, but because it’s fucking true. I haven’t wanted more than a one-night stand since I was nineteen.
Fire clouds behind my eyes, and I clear my throat to keep the past from creeping too far in.
“—you’re staying out of trouble for the next hour, I’m going to clean up,” I hear Gemma saying to us. I turn my attention to her, catching her gaze as the rest of the guys wave her off, Mads saying he’ll text her details of our locations once we leave the grass.
It’s a small exchange, the look between us, but it’s enough of a moment that I’m going to think about it later, possibly even imagine it while some masked stranger is touching me tonight.
And as she leaves us, each of my friends look at me just as they did yesterday.
“Get over it,” I tell them.
“When are you going to ask her out?” Reed asks.
“Honestly, I thought you would have texted her last night to catch up,” Andi says. “You all were in such a high after the show.”
Mads smirks at her, and she nudges him with her knee.
However, I’m playing with another flower and thinking about Gemma. She could be good for me—so good, that she might be completely out of my league.
I wonder how I might fuck something that good up.
“It shouldn’t happen, right?” I ask them, watching Gemma disappear toward the trailers.
“Why not?” Reed asks.
“She’s our bodyguard. Isn’t that mixing business with pleasure?”
“So much pleasure,” Reed says, lying down on the blanket in front of us so that his head is in Wren’s lap.
“I don’t think any of us are in a place to tell you not to have a workplace romance,” Mads says.
“It’d be a really cute story,” Andi says.
Wren’s staring gaze catches my eye, and even though she doesn’t speak, I can see the fear in her gaze. She’s had her own stalker situation in the last few years—one much worse than mine, with people who thought they owned her.
And I know she’s thinking the same thing that’s been nagging the back of my mind.