Skylar #2
And men say women are always jumping to conclusions and assuming the worst.
Josh scratches his chin. “I’m not sure about that. The chick could stand to lose a few pounds.”
Un-freaking-believable.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Appalled, I lift my head off his lap. “Stop body shaming her. She’s gorgeous.”
“Chill out, babe. You know I call it like I see it. If she lost a few—”
“You’re a fucking moron,” Memphis interjects from the living room floor.
Storm fluffs the pillow under his head. “It’s official. You’re dumb and blind.”
Josh reaches for his can of soda. “Okay, chubby chasers—”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Phoenix shouts, disturbing Chandler who was dozing off beside him on the loveseat. “She’s not fucking fat. Say that shit again and you’ll be eating through a straw for the next six months.”
Josh holds up his hands. “What’s your problem, dude? I’m just being honest. There would be room for him on that door if she was thinner. It’s basic science.”
“She doesn’t need to be thinner, dipshit,” Memphis snaps.
“And for the record it’s not a door. It’s wooden debris.
Which means it would be hard to support one of them, let alone two.
However, scientifically speaking, Jack is taller and weighs more, so Rose being on it solo was the best choice for survival. ”
Storm makes the motion of a mic dropping. “Boom.”
“Whatevs.” Rising off the couch, Josh heads for the balcony doors. “Gotta make a phone call.”
Storm presses a button on the remote and the movie begins playing. “After this we’re watching The Fast and the Furious.”
“Fuck yes,” Phoenix concurs. “No more of this sappy romance shit.”
I open my mouth to remind them that romances don’t end in tragedy, but I notice Josh pacing back and forth on the balcony.
Whoever he’s talking to clearly has him on edge.
My stomach twists with dread, but I don’t want to accuse or presume the worst when he’s been doing so well.
Needing a distraction, I pluck the nearly empty bowl of popcorn off Storm’s lap. “I’m gonna make us more.”
“Extra butter,” he calls out behind me.
Putzing around the kitchen, I melt some butter on the stove while waiting for the microwave to chime.
Once it does, I dump the popcorn into the glass bowl. I’m turning toward the stove so I can pour the melted butter on top. However, I startle, nearly having a heart attack when I catch Memphis rummaging through the fridge.
“Jesus,” I exclaim, the bowl slipping out of my hands. “You’re still a freaking ninja.”
I’m tempted to put a bell around his damn neck.
Dark brows lifting with amusement, he gestures to the bottle in his hand. “Just getting a beer.”
“Right—”
The sound of the patio door slamming shut cuts me off. “Fuck you then!” Josh screams. “I’ll find someone else.”
Uh-oh.
I take a step forward so I can get to the bottom of his outburst, but a sharp, stinging sensation shoots up my foot at the same time Memphis exclaims, “Watch out.”
I glance up at the ceiling, unsure whether I should laugh or cry. “Of fucking course.”
My poor tootsies are always getting injured in his presence.
Memphis peers down at the blood trickling on the floor. “Shit.”
Faster than I can blink, he hoists me into his arms and places me on the counter. “When are you gonna start wearing feet prisoners?”
The audacity. “When are you gonna stop being a feet ruiner?”
“Feet ruiner, huh?” A faint grin tugs at the corner of his mouth and he grabs a few napkins. “I think you mean healer.”
Ha.
Grasping my calf, he inspects my cut. “I don’t see any glass. Does it feel like there’s a piece stuck?”
When I shake my head, he applies pressure to the wound, his touch both gentle and careful.
A stark contrast from the other night.
This so isn’t the time—nor the place—to bring it up, though.
Then again, this is the first interaction we’ve had since and I’m not sure when—or if—we’ll have another.
I need inside that head of his, damn it.
I do a quick glance around to make sure we’re alone before speaking. “Are we gonna talk about what happened?”
The muscles in his hand tense up. “You mean you refusing to take no for an answer?”
Wow. So that’s how he’s going to play this?
“I don’t recall you saying no.”
He scoffs in disbelief. “A chick drops to her knees and offers to suck my dick, I’m not gonna walk away.”
“You walked away from the brunette,” I remind him.
A cruel smirk curves his mouth as he slowly peruses my body head to toe, lingering on every curve.
Tiny shivers break free when he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “I walked away from you too, Sky.”
As if punctuating his point, he stalks out of the kitchen.
Clutching my chest, I rub the knot of pain that both his words and absence creates.
Yeah…you did.
Sunlight beams through the balcony windows, rousing me from sleep.
Our movie night turned into a movie marathon, and I ended up nodding off somewhere between the second and third Fast and Furious.
Stretching, I pull myself into a sitting position on the couch.
Turns out I wasn’t the only one who passed out because Memphis, Storm, and Phoenix are all sprawled out on the living room floor of Chandler’s suite.
I look around for Josh, but don’t see him…which means he’s either in the bathroom, or he went back to our hotel room and slept.
Stepping over Phoenix and Storm who are most definitely spooning, I make my way into the kitchenette area.
I need coffee and I need it now.
I nearly cry tears of happiness when Grams greets me with a steaming mug. “Bless you. You’re a saint.”
“It was no trouble. Figured it was the least I could do given you’ve been stuck on tour with these boys.”
Laughing, I take a seat at the table. “It’s not that bad.”
I’m not sure what to make of the look she pins me with. “Yes, I imagine there are certain…benefits.”
I don’t quite understand her little innuendo, but I nod anyway. “Sure.”
Turning to the stove, she flips over the strips of bacon sizzling in a pan. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
Bringing the mug to my lips, I take a lengthy sip of my coffee. “Can’t wait. It smells delicious.”
“So…” she begins, cracking some eggs over a bowl. “Anything interesting happen lately?”
I’ll say.
“Not really,” I fib because there’s no way I’m about to tell this woman that I seduced my boyfriend’s brother—and bandmate—into screwing my brains out in the bathroom while my boyfriend slept less than fifteen feet away.
Grams is more open-minded than most, but even she has her scruples.
“You know…just the standard tour stuff.”
“I see.”
“So, tell me more about this temporary man of yours.”
Not only do I want all the deets, I’m hoping the change of subject will distract her from sniffing out the trail she’s trying to mosey down.
“Charles is sweet.” Humming to herself, she wipes her hands on a towel. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. How’s your foot?”
I blink. “My foot?”
She turns to face me, her expression giving nothing away. “Yes, dear. Your foot.”
I go still, despite the ball of anxiety whirling around my stomach like a washing machine stuck on spin cycle.
The only way she’d know about my injured foot is if she somehow overheard us talking.
And if she overheard us…
She knows.
“It’s…better.” Standing up, I hike a thumb behind me. “I’m gonna go get Josh.”
“Mmmhhh,” she says to my retreating back. “Although, leaving that boy to his own devices would do you a world of good.”
I’m not sure how much of the conversation she eavesdropped on, but one thing’s certain.
Grams and her grandson have yet another thing in common.
Their mutual dislike for Josh.