Chapter 22
22
REMI
Now…
It’s different.
When I meet Foster’s gaze as I enter the dressing room, seeing him for the first time since he left me in his bunk, he rakes it over me. The smirk that follows reignites tingles and a fluttery sensation he used to always elicit. Only now they accompany thoughts of him kissing me and touching me. Memories of his gorgeous face and heavy-lidded eyes staring down at me while he fucked my mouth.
The space between us hasn’t lost a fraction of the tension, but it’s different .
My pulse picks up as he projects an all-out erotic replay of us on the bus from across the room. The back of my neck heats, and I break eye contact before everyone else notices the blush spreading over my cheeks. But seriously, it’s indecent how he’s looking at me.
I set my equipment off to the side, near where the guys tossed their own bags. The next time I glance, he’s still eye-fucking me from the armchair, but his smirk’s more amused.
Asshole.
But I never want him to stop.
“Who’s got the glasses tonight, Cam Girl?” Felix grins, man-spreading on the sofa.
I ignore the twist in my gut, the same one from earlier when I overheard him and Christian. I knew about the coke. But I didn’t want to know .
Drugs are unavoidable in most of the music industry. Even on a sober video shoot I worked on last summer for an artist in recovery, her manager was zooted by the time Heath wrapped.
Being around it rarely affects me, other than a tug on the web of memories I have to shake off. Felix using more often is bothering me, though. Likely because he’s not a random musician on a set.
Before I can answer him, Foster says, “I got the glasses.”
He basically causes a record scratch in the room.
My brows slant. Colton has a V form between his. Christian looks up from his phone. Dev blinks rapidly like he misheard. Felix drops his head back to see Foster upside down.
“You get high before shows now?” Felix whisper-yells.
Foster ignores the shocked responses and stands. He comes over, slipping the spy glasses from my hair, and he slides them into his. His visual assault continues but closer, then he stalls on the high neckline of my sheer black top. It has white suns and moons and shows my strapless top beneath it. What it doesn’t show is the brazen mark he left below where my shoulder meets my neck.
“What is this aesthetic?” He’s between me and the rest of the room. Music plays, but he still keeps his voice low. “Mystical goth?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?” I ask, suspecting it’s not.
He shakes his head, confirming, and flicks his eyes up to mine. “No. I very much approve. And now I know to bite higher to accommodate.”
My mouth almost falls open as he retreats to take the first shot with his band.
He disappears not long after, and the other two dig into their own rituals. Felix ups his extra shot to gulps straight from the bottle of whiskey. I hate that I notice, but I’m not the only one. Colton props on the wall beside my equipment.
“He’s stressed.”
I nod and force a small smile. “Yeah. They all are.”
He sighs and tips his head back. “It’s when he stops trying to hide it we’ll worry, okay? Then he’s not putting the doc and band first anymore.”
The connected strings pull tighter, but I won’t acknowledge them. “Hopefully it doesn’t happen during the two-week break.”
His lips purse. “Hopefully.”
Glory and Nate check in with me before Of Men and Wolves take the stage. Once they verify they’re set and we breathe through the panic after Glory shares an opinion, I wait in the hall for the band to walk.
I’m trying to provide space where I can, so the guys won’t feel suffocated by me at least. I refuse to add to the stress any more than I have to.
Christian swings the door open and winks on his way past. “Always a pleasure to see those legs, Sinner.”
“One day I’m going to cut off your man bun,” I call after him.
He throws his head back on a chuckle, and I smile with the weightless threat. When the band’s sequestered for writing sessions, which are most of their days off, he’s not the worst company. He even remembers my coffee order now.
Dev’s backing out of the dressing room as I turn around, and we collide. He catches my arm to save my balance and grins down at me. “There are better ways to get my attention, you know?”
I roll my eyes in time for Felix to exit. “You can always have my attention.” He gives an up-down with his eyebrows and then adds, “Get my good side tonight, sweetness.”
Foster’s next with Colton right behind, the first’s lips twitching and the second’s in a full smile. By the time they’ve all vacated, I’ve dismissed the concerns of them feeling crowded by me. I might even have my own place in the pack.
I go in to swap batteries, but I only make it a few steps before the door clicks shut behind me. I spin and barely process Foster before his hand slides into my hair and his mouth ravages mine.
Fast cars have nothing on my pulse, calm to rapid in a breath.
He claims my tongue with his, grasping my ass and yanking me against him while my fingers tangle in his shirt. I always knew I never stood a chance against him, but he’s proving it anyway. I’m entranced by him, surrounded by cedar and leather like in his bunk. His pillow I shamelessly buried my nose in after he left.
When his palm settles against the front of my neck, he nips at my bottom lip and presses his forehead to mine.
“What…” I trail off as he kisses me again, only gently. Soft and deep, a flash of everything Foster and I were supposed to be. Should have been.
He shrugs at my unfinished question and backs away. “I wondered what it’s like to kiss you before I go on stage. Next time I’m going to tongue your cunt so I taste you when I’m up there.”
I smile, all tingles and flutters in a very specific place as he waltzes out the door.
Next time .
Foster said next time .
* * *
The band’s mood shifts for the better once the bus crosses the Texas border. They still have three shows before the break in Austin, but it revives them. A light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.
If only the light was an adorable lantern, hanging as a welcome to a peaceful garden, and not a bullet train ready to annihilate.
During their day off between the Dallas and Houston shows, Christian’s rented a bungalow not far from the arena for the guys to work. He usually hangs around with me and Colt, but the manager ducks out shortly after we arrive.
I’m mostly company for Colton at this point since I rarely have anything to shoot. They stay on the upper floor while we fight over movies on the main. I fold and let him pick to avoid the pettiness he’s ready to engage in. But after the band takes a break three hours in, Foster pauses on his way to the open stairway.
“Grab your handheld,” he says to me. I cock my head in question, and he angles his back. His mouth lifts, eyes soft. “The space is a beautiful thing.”
I frantically grab my cam and follow him up.
The two of us haven’t been remotely alone since he kissed me in the dressing room two shows ago. We have these intense moments where we watch each other. Maybe because we spent so much time not being able to.
As we reach the top of the stairs, his fingers skim across my back, slipping under the top of my jeans. Skin on skin.
“I owe you an interview,” he says, voice hushed. He leads me across a catwalk, overlooking the living room. “We should do it tonight.”
I smile over at him but stay suspicious. “Really? Have you run out of ways to avoid it?”
“Mmm. Not even close. But it gets me alone with you before I say fuck it and carry you off. So, it’s in everyone’s best interests.”
We stop outside a dark wooden door at the end. He looks over, my mouth his focus. He licks his lips, drags his teeth over the bottom one. But then his eyes flick up, and he studies me, growing serious.
“Then we can talk,” he says, pushing down on the handle, “about everything.”
He misses me flinching. Inside. Outside. Hell, even the aura around me jolts at what he’s asking of me. Because everything’s not the weather. It’s about everything before . The reason I disappeared on him.
The answer comes out ragged when I reply, “Yeah.”
But I’m already wishing for a way out of it.
All the anxiety dissipates as I follow him in and see the rehearsal space and studio. Lush purple velvet chairs and tufted sofas. Deep mahogany slat floors, covered in a massive ornate rug. The wood makes up the walls as well, but built-in shelves filled with books line two of them. The lighting is moody and sensual, and the overall effect carries a brothel sort of vibe.
Dev looks up from his bass then at Felix pouring a drink at the bar off to one side. They exchange a glance.
“Adams has officially lost it?” Felix asks.
Dev nods. “It’s officially time to shop for a new member.”
“Officially fuck off.” Foster tips his chin toward the bar. “Artists who’ve used this space etch their names in the bar top. I thought you’d want a shot of us adding ours.”
“Yes.” I finish at the same time as him.
His mouth hooks up. “You can stick around a bit after if you want any footage while we jam.”
I blink at him, and Felix barks out a laugh, landing on a barstool with his drink.
Dev snorts. “You either broke her or made her come.”
Foster grins then and walks toward the bar. “I might have done both.”
I would glare or comment back, but the scene’s staging in my head. I figure out the angle then have a flash of another once I move close enough to see the grooves in the wood. Rich with history and talent.
The guys switch off wearing the spy glasses I had hooked on my shirt’s neck, so I get their faces and them carving without compromising either. Then I become a piece of furniture, afraid if I breathe wrong, I’ll lose access to them while they create.
I imagined this scene a hundred times and then said a painful goodbye when they said no filming during these sessions.
About fifteen minutes in, the door flies open. Christian doesn’t even wait for the band to quit playing.
“We’re leaving.”
Between the barked tone and the muscles of his jaw rippling beneath the skin, not a damn person in the room attempts to argue. He steps out onto the catwalk, giving me a wide berth to pass, and then I cross to the stairs. Colton’s in an arms-crossed stance by the front door. He shrugs when my eyes ask, What the hell ?
“He barreled in, demanded to know where you were, and then sprinted up there.”
Me ? A harsh knot solidifies in my chest.
Our twenty-minute return ride to the buses remains silent other than road noise. Foster’s arm brushes mine after I crawl out of the van, and my lips turn up when his do.
“Miss Sinner.” Christian’s monotone, adjusting the cuffs of his baby blue dress shirt. “I need to have a word.”
Dev ooo s like I’ve been called to the principal’s office, and with the Miss Sinner , I feel like I was. Christian Vero’s nearly exclusively called me Sinner with a handful of Remi’s tossed in through the entirety of our relationship. The only Miss I recall was when he dismissed me in Prague after the band said no to working with me.
“Yeah, of course,” I tell him.
“We’ll talk on the band’s bus.” Then he adds, “Would you be more comfortable if someone is present with us?”
His question takes me aback, and I realize he hasn’t looked at me once since the bungalow.
“What’s going on?” Foster asks, stepping beside me.
Christian looks up at him, face of stone. “Adams.”
Nothing else audible passes between them, but Foster seems to understand perfectly and nods before tossing a concerned glance at me. I give one in return, the knot twisting and growing exponentially.
“Miss Sinner, would you like someone with us on the bus?” the manager asks again.
I shake my head. “No. We can talk alone.”
He turns on his heel and strides away. “Take them somewhere, Colton.”
After a mixture of confused mutters, the band loads back into the van, driving off by the time I board the bus. He stands at the far end of the aisle with the black drape at his back, and now he’s locked on to me. Not an ounce of emotion tells on his face, and yet his eyes convey a myriad.
But the most striking is hurt, which only throws me off more.
“Christian, what’s going on? You’re actually scaring me.” I drop onto one of the couches and pull a throw pillow onto my lap. The one with the frayed tag from me messing with it so much the past several weeks.
“There’s nothing to be scared of Miss Sinner. Not me nor the band nor anyone else employed on this tour should make you feel otherwise. I’m deeply sorry if anyone’s comments or actions, including my own, have made you feel uncomfortable.”
My skin numbs at an apology I fail to understand. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You have my word,” he continues, voice slightly strained, “as well as that of Mac Records, any unfavorable behavior will be dealt with immediately. If you wish to speak to legal counsel or the label’s HR, I encourage you to do so. I’ll gladly get you in touch with them.”
As his implication hits me, my eyes bulge. “You think the guys are making me uncomfortable?”
He flexes his hands, and then a disturbingly vacant smile appears. “I’m not here to speculate, Miss Sinner. I’m here to guarantee you feel safe on this tour and can complete your work without being subjected to comments or behaviors that are unwelcome. To help facilitate this, the label and Mr. Erickson have requested an addition to your crew as well.” Directed pause. “In case you’re uncomfortable with me handling it.”
“Heath’s involved?” I squeak it. My thoughts are spinning, my head shaking. None of what he says makes sense. “Christian, what the fuck is going on?”
He has a moment of hesitation, an almost imperceptible tightening in his forehead before a return to distant, disconnected. “Mr. Erickson brought concerns to the label and myself after speaking with you and others. He recommended bringing in an assistant to … ensure everything stays aboveboard from here on out. The label has agreed. You’ll be moved to the other bus once we resume the tour. Unless you prefer different sleeping arrangements immediately? If so, we’ll provide a hotel.”
“No,” I say. And I mean more than the goddamn hotel. “None of it’s necessary. Nothing has happened to warrant any of this.”
His gaze darts out the window to the parking lot, nostrils flaring. “Your assistant has arrived.” Attention flicks to me. “Thank you for allowing me to attempt to make things right for you, Miss Sinner. Please don’t hesitate to bring any concerns to me so I have an opportunity to act.”
The last part has a bite. A slip of the hurt. He believes I went to Heath and the label behind his back about being—what? Sexually harassed? I’ve never considered anything as such, and I’m certain if I’d displayed the slightest bit of unease, whatever had been said wouldn’t be said again.
Christian marches past me and leaves without another word.
I’m not far behind him, wanting to fix whatever the fuck is going on. But when I step off the bus, my assistant waits for me. Pink hair and pretty amber eyes I’ve seen nearly every day for the past year.
Xander’s smile tells me before he says it. “God, I missed you.”