Chapter 23
NOAH
considering how many people on the internet were making up the most unhinged theories about my secret relationship with Cat Kay, it was no wonder the police wanted to speak with me.
They’d have been negligent not to, but with my entire team able to vouch for my whereabouts and the fact that we’d never met, their questions were over pretty quickly.
The most shocking part of the whole experience was that Xavier wasn’t a dickhead.
We barely spoke on the way there, but he stayed with me the whole time—not budging even when one of the cops tried to intimidate him out of the room.
Xavier, and an attorney provided by Team Olympus apparently, kept any possible intimidation factor to a minimum, and the attorney kept the questioning on point.
“You good?” he asked when we were back in the car. It was Ace’s BMW, because apparently Xavier only owned bikes, and I would rather chew glass than be his backpack.
I flicked a curious glance his way, taken aback by his rare display of concern. “Yeah, fine. Shocked that Cat Kay is actually dead and it wasn’t all a stunt, but otherwise…fine.” Then I paused, debating whether to let silence reign supreme or say the thing on my mind.
“What?” Xavier demanded when I held my tongue.
I pursed my lips, turning to meet his suspicious glance. “Hmm?”
“You were going to add something more and then you stopped yourself. What was it?”
“No, I wasn’t,” I lied, giving a small shrug. “You must be imagining things.”
Xavier scoffed. “Bullshit. What were you going to say?”
Blowing out a long breath, I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“I was going to say, I’m fine but desperately need coffee, since we no longer have coffee at home.
But then I decided that you’d probably delight in bypassing every possible coffee shop between here and home just to torture me. ”
He glanced my way again, catching my eye for the briefest moment, but it was enough to show his genuine confusion.
He didn’t respond, so I let the matter drop and turned my focus out the window instead.
But to my surprise, a few minutes later he pulled into a Starbucks drive-thru and ordered for both of us without even needing to ask what I wanted.
“Thanks,” I said quietly when he handed mine over.
Xavier huffed. “Don’t make a big fucking deal out of it, Little Dude. I also quite like coffee.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I grumbled indignantly, taking a little sip of my coffee. “Just wondering why you know my coffee order.”
Xavier, international man of mystery, just grunted and said nothing in response.
And technically I hadn’t asked a question, so he was under no obligation to provide that information.
I, of course, was then too proud to rephrase it as a question and let him know how much I was fixating on the fact he knew how I liked my coffee.
So we stayed silent the rest of the way home.
To my disappointment, Skye wasn’t there when we got inside. Apparently he’d gone into the Olympus office with Ace to help brainstorm ideas for upcoming content alongside a host of stuffy corporate dicks who’d probably never made a Byte in their lives.
Harsh? A little. Possibly unfair, too, given I’d never met the management team, but if Mr. Leight was any indication, then they could all kiss my ass.
Crap. That reminded me of his attempt to strong-arm me into taking the Deity brand deal, which in turn made sense why Skye had volunteered to help on content ideas. He was looking out for my best interests in vetoing shirtless thirst traps.
“Short Stack, how did things go with the police?” Torin asked when I wandered outside to the porch. He was sitting on the edge of the rock wall with his sketchbook open and a pencil in hand while Z and August played tennis in the background. Shirtless, of course.
“Fucking hell,” I murmured under my breath, attempting to subtly wet my lips and ensure I wasn’t physically drooling as I headed over to Torin. “As good as can be expected, I guess? They seemed satisfied that I had never met Cat by the time I left, so…” I shrugged, because that was the best I had.
“Did Xavier stop for coffee?” he asked, gesturing with his pencil to my cup in hand. “Did he get some for the rest of us still suffering the aftereffects of his tantrum?”
I winced, giving my coffee a guilty look. “Um…”
“Rude.” Torin chuckled, shaking his head.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped closer. “I’ll let you have the rest if you show me what you’re drawing.”
His brows lifted and he gave me a funny look, then shrugged.
“It’s not great.” He turned the sketchbook to show me the extremely detailed pencil drawing of a goldfinch sitting on a branch.
“He flew away a few minutes ago, so I’ve been trying to get his eyes right from memory, but something isn’t clicking. ”
Huh. I don’t know what I was expecting to find in his sketchbook, but birds hadn’t even crossed my mind. Why the fuck had Minho made it sound like he was drawing me?
“It’s beautiful, Tor,” I told him honestly. “You’re really talented.”
“I know.” He grinned. “But it’s nice when other people say it.”
On the tennis court, Z whooped his victory against August and came jogging over to us with a broad grin on his face.
He wasn’t as heavily built as Xavier or even August, more of a lithe, muscular tone similar to Minho’s dancer body.
Tattoos decorated a huge portion of his visible skin, mostly song lyrics and small illustrations relating to his music, and a primal part of me ached to study them closer.
To read all the lyrics that resounded so deeply that he needed to permanently wear them on his skin.
“For me?” he asked with a toothy smile as he plucked the coffee from my numb fingers, then took a huge gulp. “Mmm, Noah blend, delish.”
“Hey!” I protested weakly, trying to snatch it back, only to have him move it out of my reach again. “Not cool, Z.”
“Don’t be an ass. Noah earned that coffee,” Torin said, poking Z in the ribs with his toe. “Give it back to him.”
“Tor, can you please come play now?” August pleaded, swiping sweat from his tanned face. “Z cheats too much.”
“Noah’s here now. We can play doubles,” Z suggested enthusiastically, handing my coffee back to me after stealing another sip. “I’ll grab the extra racquets.” Then he disappeared into the house before I could tell him not to bother.
I shook my head, taking a step backward. “Um, thanks but no thanks. Noah can’t play tennis.”
Torin quirked a lopsided smile my way. “Did Noah just shift to third person because he’s nervous? Interesting.”
Glowering, I clutched my coffee and searched for a decent excuse. “Noah isn’t nervous. He just sucks at tennis.”
“Aw, come on,” August argued with a grin. “You can’t be that bad. But just in case you are, I’ll take Tor and you can play with Z so he gets a disadvantage. Fucker is too damn good at sports for a brooding musician.”
Torin closed his sketchbook and hopped off the rock wall to put it safely on the patio table. “I like this idea. Noah, can you let me and Augie win? Z needs the ego knock.”
I laughed despite myself, knowing they weren’t going to accept no for an answer here. Eventually they’d convince me, and I was too weak when they ganged up on me with those sinful smiles on their lips. Damn hormones.
“Fine,” I groaned. “I’ll play, but I’m not letting you win. You’re not streaming it, are you?” I gestured wearily to the camera tripods set up on each corner of the court.
August shook his head, sending out little droplets of sweat in a way that should have been gross but somehow he made it appealing. “Nah, not streaming, just recording raw footage. Ace and the crew will cut it all together later and remove anything we don’t want shown.”
That was a relief. “Can they remove me entirely? I would hate to drag you guys into my cheating scandal with me.”
Torin scoffed, stuffing his bare feet into a pair of sneakers. “Don’t dwell on it, Short Stack. The whole thing will be forgotten in no time.” Then he paused and grimaced. “Or it would be if there wasn’t a murder involved. But I’m sure PR will handle your involvement.”
“Yep, put your trust in the stuffy suits,” August agreed. “As unpleasant as they are to deal with, they only make money if we make money, so it’s in their best interests to cover our asses at all times.”
Z returned then with extra tennis rackets and an armful of cold water bottles, and I reluctantly dragged my feet down to the court with them all.
At least I was dressed appropriately in a loose T-shirt, baggy shorts that came down to mid-calf, and sneakers.
Boys clothes really were comfy as hell, I had to admit.
“You on my team, Rocky?” Z asked with a teasing grin, handing me one of the rackets.
I wrinkled my nose in question. “Rocky? Lemme guess, because I dropped off that high wire like a rock?”
Z barked a laugh, tossing his head back. “Nailed it. Come on, let’s kick some ass.”
Torin and August snickered, and I realized Z hadn’t heard me protesting how dreadful at tennis I was. And weirdly, I didn’t want to tell him, because he was so enthusiastic about winning. I just had to hope the ball would come nowhere near me and he could carry our team.
Of course, that is the opposite of what happened. Z served, a perfect overhead swing that caused his bare torso to ripple with muscle contractions as he sent the ball whizzing over the net. August intercepted before it could hit the turf, smacking it straight back and directly toward me.
Damn it! I swung my racket in a genuine attempt to hit the ball but missed by a mile. The ball bounced and I staggered as my center of gravity shifted, and both August and Torin erupted into peals of laughter.
“Good try, Noah!” August cackled.
Z just stared at me in shock, his mouth open as he scooped up the ball. “What was that?”
My face heated and I scuffed my toe against the turf, but August’s and Torin’s whoops and chuckles had me almost on the edge of laughing myself. “So I did try to explain while you were fetching the rackets that I really suck at tennis.”
Z swiped his fingers through his merlot-dyed hair and groaned.
“You fuckers set me up!” he accused, pointing a finger across the net to our opponents.
“It’s fine, just… Here.” He tucked the ball in his pocket and wrapped his arms around me to adjust my grip on the racket handle.
“Hold it like this, okay? Then swing back like so…and whack! Easy as that.”
Something something swing, whack, fuck his arms feel so right around me like this… His girlfriend is insanely lucky to have Z holding her like an actual—
“Got it?” he asked, letting my hands go and ruffling my hair. “Don’t worry, Rocky, I can still win two against one. You can just stand there and look pretty.”
Christ. Time had just stopped when he held me and I had no clue what he’d said. But I certainly wasn’t going to go admitting that, so I swallowed hard and nodded in what I hoped was a reassuring kind of way.
Of course Torin and August took every opportunity to hit the ball to me, and I missed every single fucking one of them.
To my surprise, though, it wasn’t the humiliating, frustrating experience I expected.
Instead it was fun. The guys were teasing and taunting, but it was all from a good place.
By the time Z and I admitted defeat, my stomach and cheeks hurt from how hard I’d laughed the whole time.
Z tossed water bottles to us all, and I took a grateful gulp.
“Uh, do you guys hear that?” Torin asked, frowning in the direction of the house. Now that he mentioned it, a sharp masculine voice yelled “Stop!”
Before any of us could react, a skinny guy with bright blue hair came sprinting around the side of the house completely naked, making a beeline for the tennis court. And us.
“Torin Mura!” the guy shrieked in elated shock. “I’m your biggest fan!”
Torin grinned and scoffed, eyeing the dude’s flapping dick. “Are you, though?”
He said it quietly enough that the streaking fan wouldn’t have heard him, and two of our security guards were right on the nude dude’s ass so he didn’t slow down, instead performing a couple of cartwheels across the tennis courts—in front of our cameras—before being tackled by a huge guy named Steve.
“Sorry, please—” the other security puffed, slowing beside us as he weakly gestured to the house. “Can you head indoors while we check the grounds?”
Z quickly took charge, wrapping his fingers around my wrist to pull me along behind him as August and Torin followed. Because despite the fact that our security had caught the streaker—who seemed to have no malicious intent other than showing his little dick on camera—we were rattled.
Or I was, for sure. The fact that I’d forgotten about last night’s murder so easily sat uncomfortably in my gut. We’d all been out here laughing and having fun, while a girl no older than me was lying dead in a morgue somewhere.
She had just been doing what any of us did: live streaming, talking to her fans, garnering Cliks. And someone broke into her house and slit her throat for the whole internet to see.
My pulse thumped hard and my chest locked up tight with fear. If Cat Kay could be murdered on a live stream in her own home, what was to stop it from happening to any of us?