Chapter Ten – Angel
Ramona sent me some homework—to listen to Black Sacrament’s old albums so I’d get familiar with the songs. I guess knowing more about Black Sacrament’s songs and singles wouldn’t be a bad thing, especially since it sounded like I’d have to perform them.
It gave me an easy excuse to stay in my room, away from the guys. After meeting the third and final member of the band… let’s just say my nerves weren’t assuaged. Deacon was a bit of an ass.
I mean, sure, I’d hit him, but it wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have been leaning over me like that while I was sleeping, for goodness sakes. Talk about creepy.
Bishop and Priest helped fix my TV, and they even helped me hook my phone up to it, so when I played YouTube videos of their music, I could watch and listen on the bigger screen. I sampled their songs, both the disc versions and the live versions people had taped and put online.
They were… like different people when they were on stage. All dressed in black, only their lips and chin showing from under the masks. With the white crosses, they were downright devilish.
And, I hated to admit, hot.
Deacon, I noticed, was especially different on stage than my first impression of him. His black hair had been pulled back into a low bun last night, but every time Black Sacrament performed, his hair was loose. A mess, but he was a master at throwing his head back and forth. I was never really attracted to guys with long hair, but even I had to admit Deacon looked good on stage.
I did watch Pope, too. Unlike Deacon, his hair was short, only a few inches long. He seemed just as tall as Deacon, and his mask was all black with a single large cross painted in white down the center of his face. On certain videos that were recorded with better clarity, I could see he had the same green eyes as his brother.
It still wasn’t my type of music, but I was starting to understand why girls loved them. There was something about them on stage that made me get a little hot in certain places.
Of course, Murphy’s Law dictated that while I was struggling to ignore the heat that had crept up to my face as I watched one of their live shows that my bedroom door opened and Priest strolled in, carrying bags. Bishop was right behind him, carrying more.
“Can you guys knock next time?” I asked, frowning. I prayed to God my face wasn’t visibly flushed. I went over to my phone to pause the video before adding, “What if I was changing?”
“Then we would’ve seen an eyeful,” Priest spoke with a smirk as he set the bags down. I think he’d carried in… seven bags? I also think he was purposefully flexing his arm muscles for me, which I pointedly ignored. “Not that I would’ve minded.”
Just like I ignored the memory of him rushing down the hall last night in nothing but gray sweatpants. Priest was covered in tattoos on his chest, stomach, and arms. Covered . And those sweatpants? Let’s just say they’d left nothing to the imagination.
Not that I’d imagined anything, because I didn’t.
I pretended not to hear Priest’s comment—I understood now he was a gigantic flirt—and let my gaze drop to the bags. “What’s all this?”
“Bellboy brought ‘em up,” Bishop told me as he set the bags he carried on the floor. “If I had to guess, I’d say Ramona went shopping for you.”
“You, uh, don’t really have a good sense of style, no offense,” Priest said with a nod of his head. As he got to his knees near the bags and started to go through them, ooh-ing and ah-ing when he found something he liked, I let my gaze linger on Bishop.
He still didn’t remember me. I doubted he would, if he didn’t already.
That was fine. I mean, just because we used to be friends, just because the world had randomly thrown us back together again didn’t mean we had to pick up where we left off. It hurt a little, but I’d get over it.
Someday. Not today, though. Today it still stung.
“Ooh.” Priest’s chest rumbled with appreciation as he stood, pulling out something from one of the bags. “Oh, yeah. We need to go somewhere ASAP so you can wear this.” He held it out toward me, as if imagining me in it right now.
And what was it, you might be wondering? A tiny slip of a black dress. Very small. I assumed it was also very tight. Strapless, and if I had to guess its length ended well above the knee. Not the kind of dress I’d ever be caught dead in.
Honestly, I couldn’t imagine myself wearing that at all, and yet that didn’t stop the heat from blooming across my cheeks. The way Priest’s eyes kept flicking between me and the dress… let’s just say it was clear he liked the idea of me in it.
Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever wear that particular dress.
“Dude,” Bishop said, reaching over to snatch the dress out of Priest’s hands, “you’re making her uncomfortable.”
Priest blinked, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Those gray eyes of his—such a peculiar color—rested on me once more, and he stepped over the bags surrounding him to reach me. Before I knew what he was doing, he dropped to his knees and brought his hands together.
“Forgive me,” Priest whispered. “It’s just… you’re so beautiful, Angel, you make me weak. You can turn the devout into sinners—” His dramatic and completely unnecessary explanation stopped, and he leaped to his feet, adding, “Ooh, that’s a good one. We should work that into a song.” He pulled out his phone to, I assumed, put the idea in a list or something.
Not for the first time, and probably not the last, Bishop said, “Ignore him. Really, ignore him. You’ll be better off if you do. That’s what Deacon and I do when Priest is too much, which is all the time.”
Priest must’ve been finished with his notes, because he slipped his phone back into his pocket and tossed me a lopsided smile. “Don’t you worry your pretty head, Angel. Soon enough I’ll grow on you, and then you won’t be able to imagine your life without me.” He tossed me a wink and sauntered out of my room.
He was too busy giving me that wink and trying to be sexy that he neglected to watch where he was walking. He tripped over one of the bags, his foot getting caught in the bag’s strap. Priest almost tumbled to the floor, but he caught himself right before he went down.
Bishop laughed, and I couldn’t help it; I laughed too. It was funny seeing Priest get taken down by nothing more than an ill-placed bag. The guy kind of deserved it.
Once he righted himself, he shot Bishop a look that told him he didn’t think it was too funny. Then he smiled at me. “You, my lady, have a melodious laugh that I know for a fact I will dream about—”
“Please just go,” I muttered, and he went with a shrug, leaving me and Bishop alone in my room. It didn’t escape my notice that Deacon hadn’t helped with the bags. He probably didn’t want to see me or deal with me more than he had to.
“If you guys would’ve told me, I could’ve helped with the bags,” I said, bending over to grab one. I brought it to my bed and spilled its contents onto the comforter.
Bishop was slow in walking toward my bed, standing on the other side of it. “It’s okay. Priest wanted to show you how strong he is. You saw him flexing for you, right?” He chuckled softly at that as he set the dress he’d taken from Priest onto the bed.
All I could do was nod.
“He’s… well, he’s a good guy, but he can be a little over-the-top sometimes. Don’t let him bother you.”
“I won’t.”
Bishop’s hazel eyes fell to the bag I’d emptied onto my bed, and then at the clothes I was sorting through—some pants that looked to be my size. I had no idea how Ramona knew my size. “Do you want some help putting this stuff away?”
I knew what I should say: no, I didn’t want his help. That he could go and leave me be. But for some reason, I found myself saying, “Uh, sure. If you want.”
The smile Bishop gave me made my stomach do a funny thing, and I had to look away. The smile was the same; it had to be Cody. The same smile, the same eyes. I mean, what were the odds of that?
As I struggled with my body’s reaction to his cute smile, he turned his head toward the TV mounted on the opposite wall, watching the video that was currently on the screen. I’d forgotten I was knee-deep in research before he and Priest had walked in with the bags.
“I see you’re watching one of our shows,” he pointed out.
“Oh, yeah. Ramona wanted me to get familiar with your older songs and your stage presence.” I bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know what I’m going to do up there with you guys. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to sing with you. I feel like our styles are very different.”
“Ramona has a good ear for things. If she thinks you’ll complete us, then I’m sure you will.” He went to grab more bags off the floor, bringing them to the bed and setting them by me. This time he stood on the same side of the bed as me, less than a foot away.
He was taller than he was when he was a kid. He didn’t tower over me as easily as Priest, but there was still a healthy seven or so inch difference. That height difference made me all too aware that he wasn’t the same kid I used to know.
He was a man now. An attractive one. And I was old enough to recognize the way my heart skipped a beat when he got close.
I decided to talk, to get the conversation off me. I took the pants from the first bag and wandered to the tall dresser on the far side of the room, mostly to put space between us. “Have you guys always wore those masks like that?”
“Yeah. It started out as a joke. Pope wanted everyone to keep guessing who Black Sacrament was, to the point where we didn’t talk to each other during school. We started going by our stage names, and any time we went out as the band, we dressed up like that.”
“So you guys do your own makeup and stuff?”
“It’s paint. It’s not that hard.”
I was in the process of folding the pants and slipping them into the bottom drawer of the dresser when I paused and looked at him. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but it’s makeup.”
He’d turned around, folded his arms over his chest, and shot me a look. The look was meant to be serious, but I could see the corners of his lips turned upward in a smile he was trying to hide from me. “It’s paint. Body paint. There is a difference.”
I tilted my head in mock thought. “Is there?”
“Oh, you’re mean, aren’t you?”
Chuckling at that, I stood up. I’d finished putting the pants from the bag into the drawer. Only had about million bags left. “You know, for someone who offered to help, you’re not really helping all that much.” I was slow in returning to the bed, where he was, trying to act tough, like he didn’t use a whole bunch of makeup when he went out on stage.
Those pretty hazel eyes of his stared at me for a while, and he said nothing. Neither of us said anything right away. It was like we were locked in a staring contest, neither one of us wanting to bow out.
Something changed on his face, something small, almost indiscernible. A part of me wondered if he’d finally recognized me, if the past was finally catching up to him, but any small hope that might’ve been left in my body was dashed when he said, “I think you’re going to do just fine.”
It was stupid. Those words were meant to be comforting, I was certain, but I couldn’t help the way my gut twisted at hearing it. “Thanks.” My answer was short. I turned away from him and went for another bag of clothes. This one had two boxes in them; shoe boxes.
With freaking heels.
Where the hell would I wear heels? Surely not on stage. No freaking way.
I was so caught up in the sight of the skinny black heels that I almost didn’t hear Bishop say, “I mean it. I was worried at first, when Ramona told us about you, but I think you’re going to be great.”
The heels were, unfortunately, my size too. Had Ramona talked to my mom about my sizes? Because it was kind of creepy that she knew exactly what size shoe I wore. “You haven’t even heard me sing,” I muttered off-handedly, too engrossed with the heels.
“That’s right. We should change that.”
When I looked at him, I saw he was grinning. Unlike Priest, Bishop’s smile wasn’t lopsided. It was full and wide, the kind of smile that showed off his perfect teeth, accompanied by two tiny dimples in his cheeks.
“Lucky for you, I have a great idea.”
And then he told me that great idea. Let’s just say that I, personally, did not find the idea so great. I knew sooner or later I’d have to sing in front of them and prove that I indeed had the singing chops, but come on, really?
I repeated his so-called idea to him, “A karaoke bar?”
Bishop opened his mouth to either defend his idea or try to convince me to go for it, but before he had the chance to say a single word, heavy footsteps thudded down the hall, and Priest skidded to a stop right outside my door.
Priest glanced between us, acting like he was out of breath. “Did someone say karaoke?” He strolled into the room, grinning. “I know just what you can wear.” He picked up the dress from the bed, and he spotted the shoe boxes before me. “Ooh, you can pair it with those.”
“I’m not dressing up to go karaoke-ing.” I didn’t even know if that was a word, but I didn’t care. Not once in my life had I ever done any karaoke, and I didn’t want to start now.
“Sure you are. We all will. Even Deacon.” Still clutching the black dress, Priest strolled over to the door—careful to avoid the bags on the floor this time—and called out loudly, “Deacon, karaoke tonight! Wear your prettiest dress!”
I was pretty sure I heard a gruff “Fuck that” as a response, but Deacon’s less than enthusiastic reply didn’t damper Priest’s spirits at all.
Priest deposited the dress onto my bed, clapping his hands. “Oh, yes. Tonight. Be ready by seven. Then we go out and see what you’re made of!” He was practically giddy like a schoolgirl as he skipped out of my room, utterly blissful at the turn of events.
I had no idea someone like him could be into the idea of karaoke so much.
It was only after Priest left the room that I drew my gaze back to Bishop, who stood looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, that’s definitely a word you don’t want to say when Priest is within a hundred feet of you. He’s got hearing like a bat.”
It was my turn to cross my arms. “I’m not going.”
Bishop’s smile was back, and my willpower wavered. “Just think about it, okay? We can’t force you, but we have to know what we’re dealing with here.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a hesitant step toward me. “Besides, I think it’d be fun. We could all use a little de-stressing.”
Oh, way to put all the weight on me. Ugh. Did I really have to go sing karaoke in front of these guys?
Bishop left my room after that—so much for his help in putting away all of these clothes. It took me over an hour to do it, mostly because there were so many clothes I didn’t know what to do with. The walk-in closet, even with the shoes and shirts hanging, was still barren and empty.
Another thing? Most of the clothes were black. Black or white. Or black and white. The only thing Ramona didn’t buy for me were panties. Bras, yes, probably because some of the dresses she’d gotten required more than your typical, average bra underneath.
I put everything away, save for that black dress. It still lay on my bed, untouched, and as I walked over to my bed, I sighed.
I couldn’t wear the dress. It wasn’t me. And neither was doing karaoke.
But then again, being here, the newest member of a band I never listened to before, wasn’t me either. This whole thing was a new experience—one I’d be getting paid for, one I could use to kickstart a solo career after my contract expired. If that wasn’t a reason enough to push myself out of my comfort zone, I didn’t know what was.