Chapter 49
Alara
O ne week. I've lived with the band for an entire week, well, six days, and every day feels just as intimidating as the first. I thought they would be busier than they are, but it's the exact opposite. They're almost always home, and their eyes are constantly on me. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.
If it's not one of the guys, it's security. It’s like I’m at the center of whatever is happening here at all times.
The only time I'm free from their obsession is when I'm hiding in my room or sleeping. I’ve considered inviting Rayne over to level the playing field a little bit.
Her fangirling over them would be a nice dose of their own medicine.
Today is my first day off after being in the studio for the last five days straight. It’s been a ton of fun, but my voice is thankful for the reprieve. I’ve got this plan to do a whole lot of nothing for the entire day, and it’s going to be glorious.
Deciding to keep it casual, I throw on a black hoodie and a pair of leggings before sneaking into the hallway.
I need to start my day right, and the only way to do that is with a giant cup of coffee.
It doesn’t look like anyone is up and moving yet, so with any luck, I’ll be able to make it to the coffee pot and back to the privacy of my room without being seen.
It’s not that I haven’t been enjoying my time here.
I love getting to know each one of them and their little quirks.
It’s just been an adjustment after living by myself for so long, and there’s no routine for us to even get used to since we will be starting the tour soon.
I still don’t know when the reality of that is going to fully sink in.
As I make it into the kitchen, I reach up into the cabinet to grab what I’ve deemed my official coffee mug and place it under the coffee maker. It’s nothing special, brown like the rest of them, but this one has a big white spot on the side.
The coffee drips into the cup quickly, but not quick enough for me to grab it and make my escape like I was hoping for.
Dishes clank in the sink, making me jump, and I turn to see none other than Lane’s stupid smiling face.
I already know he’s about to do something to annoy me. This man lives for it.
"Whatcha thinking about?" He raises a brow.
"Nothing," I blurt out too quickly.
"Are you lying, little bell?"
"Bell?" My face scrunches.
"Ding. Ding." He grins, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger.
Fucking hell. Yep. He’s annoying.
"You know, you shouldn’t be walking around here like that." I try to shift the conversation to the obnoxiously short shirt he's wearing. The man doesn't even try to cover himself .
"Does my slutty little crop top turn you on, trumpet?" He takes a step closer, and I can’t help but let my eyes roam down to the few inches of midriff he has on full display.
Does the sight of his abs turn me on? Yes, but I’m sure as shit not telling him that.
"You know, calling me those nicknames is getting old."
"What if I reach for something on the top shelf so you can have a full view of my muscles?" he teases, knowing exactly what he's doing. "Would it be enough to make you want to drop to your knees? Would you beg me to show you more?"
My jaw drops. There's no way he just said what I think he said. Thoughts of myself on my knees looking up at him like a good girl plague my mind, but I shake them away. It’s too damn early for a conversation like this.
Still, heat begins to build in my core. I shift uncomfortably, rubbing my thighs together, and hope that he doesn’t notice. The last thing I need is for him to get some kind of preconceived notion about how I feel about him. Time for me to make that swift exit.
"I'll see you later," I say, before scooping up my coffee cup and practically running back to the security of my room.
Once inside, I close the door and let my head fall onto it.
What the hell was that? Did I really just let a little midriff turn me into a puddle of water?
They’re just abs. I would react that way for anyone.
It has nothing to do with it being him. I swear, these guys are always tempting me.
A freaking rockstar in a crop top?! How the hell is a girl supposed to think under these conditions?
Placing those thoughts aside, I spend the next couple of hours getting lost in what I’m calling work. Studying these poems to figure out how to turn them into songs hasn’t been easy, but I’ve already managed to turn four into songs and memorize two. It’s a step in the right direction.
Grabbing my phone, I decide it’s time for some best friend time. My roommates will just have to deal with my need for female interaction.
Me: Pssssst
Rayne: Tell me all the things.
Me: Want to come over?
Rayne: Girllll hell freaking yes!
Rayne: Do you think they would sign one of my records or something?
Rayne: Maybe I should have you sign too. Don’t forget me when you’re big and famous.
Me: LOL get your ass over here.
Rayne: I can't today. Gabby took me to the zoo. Did you know they have an ocelot? I want one now.
Me: You do have a thing for cats.
Rayne: Meow
Me: This weekend then?
Rayne: I'll be the crazed fan pounding my fist on your front door.
I smile, swipe out of our messages, and hover a finger over the internet icon. It's a bad idea. I definitely shouldn't Google myself, especially because I promised Rayne I wouldn't, but one glance can't hurt. They can't be saying anything that bad. I’ll just ask her for forgiveness with wine later.
Before I can change my mind, I type my first name into the search bar.
A slew of articles pop up. The first couple I see are mostly kind…
mostly. They’re reporting on the mystery woman who has taken over as Nowhere Forever’s tour opener.
Claims about how I secured the position range from me being a childhood friend to an industry plant to the daughter of someone at the record label .
Then, I see the ones that are less than kind.
One said I was blackmailing the band, and that's why I got the spot.
Do they really think that? Reading the comments is where I think I fucked up the most. There are multiple about how I'm clearly sleeping with the whole band. I’m not, but even if I was, why the hell would that even matter?
I back out of that article, but end up finding several focusing on that same exact theory.
So many people are insisting I’m having sex with all four of them.
There's even a podcast joking about the different positions we might be trying.
My lip curls up in disgust. Nobody is talking about my talent.
Nope. It's all about how they think I’m spreading my legs.
What the actual fuck?
Is the media really this cutthroat?
"Alara." Nix’s voice seemingly comes from nowhere. “What’s wrong?”
He rushes over, immediately concerned when he gets a good look at my face. What’s wrong? What’s not wrong? The whole damn world thinks I’m some giant slut who’s getting dicked down by four dudes.
Rayne told me not to read them. She knew it was going to get to me, and she was right.
The sad part is, they’re not entirely wrong.
I’ve only been with Nix, but I’ve been thinking about the others.
If I’m with them now, it would only further provoke the accusations.
This makes me want to say fuck this whole thing.
"I shouldn't have read them," I whisper .
He doesn’t ask me what I read. He just pulls me into his arms as the tears begin to flow down my face.
"They don't know anything," he tries, but it doesn't help.
"They think I’m a slut. Did you see the articles? Did you read them?" I sniffle, hating the conflicting feelings inside, because part of me does want to be the person they're writing about.
He pushes my chin up, forcing me to look at him.
"When they hear you sing, they’ll understand why you’re touring with us.
They’re just grasping at straws right now because they don’t know you.
Not only do you have an exceptional voice, but you're one of the most amazing humans I've been lucky enough to get to know. "
"But why are they so brutal about it?" I choke out, mouth twitching.
"These people will do or say anything they can to make a quick buck off of you. They don't have your best interest in mind, and unfortunately, nothing is out of bounds. I'm sorry I couldn’t protect you from that hurt, but it’s not going to stop. I need you to resist the urge to look at things like this. Please. I don’t want to see you upset. ” His eyes silently plead with me.
"They think I'm sleeping with all of you."
"Let them. Even if you did sleep with all of us, it wouldn't factor into whether or not you deserve to go on this tour. Your talent and who you are as a person achieved that."
"What if they find out you and I have been together?" I stubbornly refuse to accept his rationality .
"Who is going to verify that with the press?" he asks, making me pause. "Whatever happens between you, me, or any of the other guys is strictly between us. The only way anyone outside this apartment would have confirmation of that is if we agreed to tell them. We, as in all parties."
"I can't even consider doing that now."
"Doing what?" He looks confused.
"Be with more than one of you." I sigh. "It doesn't matter if that’s what I want anymore. Can you imagine how much worse the articles could get if somehow they saw something?"
"This is ridiculous. Don't go anywhere. We're dealing with this today." He stands and marches right out of my room, and I’m left to try to decipher what he means.