Chapter Eight
Paige
The smell of espresso beans and vanilla hits me as soon as I open the door, my mouth instantly watering, desperate for my morning coffee fix. Anything to replace the taste of yesterday.
Annoyance still percolates through my system, the full-body rage that was near a boiling point now a simmering irritation.
He pulled a power move mid-song, then had the nerve to act like it wasn’t a big deal, like he was only keeping me on my toes and not trying to humiliate me.
And for what? Because he found out about my account?
Is his ego honestly that fragile that he’s going to act like a goddamn child every time someone challenges him?
I join the small line, bobbing my head in time with the music playing through my headphones. It’s the same three albums I’ve had on repeat for the last two weeks, listening and mentally playing in time with Austin’s beat, trying to learn everything before the tour starts.
Stepping forward, I close my eyes, my brow furrowed, concentrating on a particular song I know has a tricky beat, my hands tapping out the rhythm against my leg as I try to keep up.
“Be with you in a sec,” the barista says as I reach the front, sliding my headphones around my neck.
Blinking, my hands pause mid-air, my brain trying to catch up with what I’m seeing. Beau stands on the other side of the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tattoos on full display, his dark hair tucked beneath a backwards cap.
I know today is our day off, a rare one at that, but I wasn’t expecting to walk into Rise and Grind and straight into a bandmate. Especially not one with a green apron with the coffee shop’s logo stitched at the bottom, tied around his waist.
“How did I not know you worked here?” I ask, leaning forward to watch him slide a tray of pastries into the glass display with the same ease he has when playing guitar.
Beau looks up, a flash of surprise crossing his face before it melts into an easy grin. “Gotta fund the dream somehow. Waiting around for our big break doesn’t exactly pay LA rent.” Shutting the case, he wipes his hands, coming over to the register. “What can I get you?”
I glance up at the board behind him, my eyes quickly scanning the menu. “Just a caramel latte, please.”
“You got it.”
“Oh, and one of the chocolate croissants warmed up, too?”
“Sure.” He nods behind me, and I turn, following his gaze. It’s early, but not dead for a mid-week morning, and tucked in the back corner by the window is Eli, a sketchpad open in front of him, coffee cup in hand. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring it over, okay?”
Nodding, I dig into my bag for my wallet, only for Beau to wave me off. “On the house.”
“You sure?” I ask, not wanting to get him in trouble, but pull out a twenty-dollar bill anyway, dropping it into the tip jar by the register.
“Paige, that’s more than what your order would’ve come to.”
Shrugging, I wave him off, watching as he smiles and turns his back to start making my coffee. I head toward Eli, hunched over his pad, shading something with the tip of his pencil, his eyebrows pinched in deep concentration.
“Hey, stranger,” I say, taking the seat opposite him. “Mind if I join you?”
His blue eyes widen as he glances up. “Drummer Girl!”
Thumbing back toward the counter, I say, “I’ve been coming here every day since I came home from New York last year, and I haven’t seen Beau once.”
Eli smirks as he sets his art stuff onto the table. “I didn’t know you used to live in New York.”
Letting out a breath, my lips curl up into a half-smile as I lift a shoulder. “I guess even though we’ve been spending so much of our time together, we don’t actually know all that much about each other, huh?”
“True, so let's change that.” Eli sticks out his hand. “Eli James, full-time bassist for Sip Station, part-time tattoo artist.”
“Wait— Seriously?”
Eli smirks, turning his sketchpad around and sliding it across the table. Eagerly, I drag it closer, my jaw dropping when I see the intricate lines and shading of a dragon that seems to be leaping off the page.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my fingers hovering over the sketch, too scared to touch it. “This is beautiful.”
“These lines will be different shades of blues and greens, hopefully giving an iridescent look to the piece.” He waves over a section of the wings that glints in the light where he’s already shaded each scale in charcoal.
“My client is into the whole Dungeons and Dragons vibe so I’m trying to get this finished for his approval before we head on tour. ”
“You won’t be doing it yourself?” I ask, glancing up before my eyes are immediately drawn back down to the page.
“Nah, don’t have the time.” Lifting his mug, he takes a sip. “Besides, I’m still learning, and this guy is a bit too complex for me.”
“Bullshit,” Beau says, appearing at the table with my order. “Eli sometimes lacks confidence in his ability with the tattoo gun.”
The tips of Eli’s ears turn pink as he scratches the back of his neck.
“Do you have any tattoos?” I ask, quickly scanning his clean skin. Beau barks a laugh, smothering it with a cough. “What?”
“He has one. A teeny, tiny, little one near his ribs that says, Sip Station.”
“I’m more of a giver than a receiver,” Eli says, shrugging off Beau’s teasing.
“He cried like a baby,” Beau whispers conspiratorially.
“Hey!” Eli gasps, slapping his arm playfully.
“I cried like a man. Big, burly tears.” He glances at me, his grin lazy as I chuckle.
“I like to inflict pain, not take it. Besides…” Grabbing the bottom of Beau’s shirt, he tugs it upward to reveal a chest covered in ink.
“I’ve got him as my human canvas. Why would I need more than that? ”
He leans forward, his hand slapping Beau’s stomach, fingers lingering over his abs for a beat too long, making Beau’s muscles flex. I don’t miss the way their eyes catch, Beau almost leaning into his touch.
“Dude,” Beau mutters as he yanks his shirt back and tucks it into the waistband of his apron, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks.
“What?” Eli says, holding his hands up. “They’re fucking hot. Let her see.”
Fighting back a smile at whatever that was, I take a bite of the warm croissant Beau brought over, the chocolate oozing from the middle, coating my tongue.
“So…” I say, brushing crumbs from my lap. “I know about you two, but what about Maddox?”
“What about him?” Beau asks as he leans on the back of a chair in front of him. “Eli and I work, while he writes the music.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I say, frowning. “No side job for him? Or does he just freelance as a grade-A dickhead?”
Eli grimaces, taking a long, pointed sip of his coffee. “Ouch.”
“I’d like to say he doesn’t usually act like that,” Beau says.
I quirk my eyebrow. “But…”
“But he’s gone through a lot lately. Just…don’t hold it against him.”
Crossing my arms, I settle back into my chair. “Like what?”
I don’t miss the way Eli’s eyes flick to Beau, or how his mouth pulls tight like he wants to say more but won’t.
“That’s not our story to tell, but honestly, Maddox works just as hard as we do,” Eli says instead. “His grandma? She left him a boatload of money when she died, and he’s put every penny toward the band.”
Beau nods. “He’s complicated, stubborn, dedicated as hell, especially now we’ve got the tour looming over our heads, so yeah, to say he’s stressed is probably an understatement.”
“We’re all stressed,” I mutter, playing with a flake of pastry on my plate. “Doesn’t mean you take it out on everyone else.”
“We know,” Beau adds quickly. “If you want, we can talk to him? Get him to back off?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can fight my own battles.”
Reaching for my mug, I wrap my hand around the porcelain, letting the heat flood through my palms. It’s true; I can fend for myself, but I won’t let someone like Maddox Knox treat me like shit and expect me to lie down and take it.
Not when all I got was a muttered apology when I walked back in and collected my sticks, which were halfway across the room.
“If he wants to throw a temper tantrum, that’s up to him, but I’m not letting it slide again,” I say, sipping my latte. “He gets this one. That’s it.”
“Damn.” Eli blows out a light whistle. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“Smart choice.” I smirk from behind the lip of my mug.
Beau straightens, rubbing a hand absently over his chest. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have to get back to serving customers.”
Eli lifts his cup, giving it a light shake. “I’ll take another.”
“Fine,” Beau says, snatching it from him before turning back to the counter. “But you’re paying for it this time.”
Watching him go, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as Eli returns to sketching, his pencil gliding in slow, deliberate strokes across the page.
I lean back, shifting my headphones over my ears again, counting out the beats as Sip Station’s music fills my ears, popping the last of my croissant into my mouth.
Maddox and his attitude can wait until tomorrow. Today? I’ve got caffeine, great music playing, and two bandmates who know how not to be dicks. And I’ll take that as a win.