Chapter 9 #3
“I’m from here, actually. A little more northern Cali, but the U.S.
is where I spent most of my time. My mother is American and she met my dad while working as a flight attendant.
You know how the story goes: they fell in love, had me, fell out of love, then decided it was best if I went back and forth.
So, I spent my summers with my dad’s side of the family and spent the rest of the year in Kiss Cove. ”
“That must have been difficult,” I vocalize.
He shakes his head. “Not really. I may have grown up in California, but Bristol was my home.” He smiles. “It was where my pack was.”
The confirmation that they are a pack hits me like a ton of bricks. “So you are a pack.”
The corner of his lips turn somber. “Yeah, we are,” he confirms. “We’re not allowed to tell anyone that our pack bonds have clicked in. I’m not sure what the long-term solution for that is, but we agreed to it when we signed the contract, so there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
I grimace. “I’m so sorry—”
He cuts me short. “There’s no need to apologize for something that you had no control over. The industry is… It can be toxic. None of us know what we’re fully getting into when it starts, right?”
I nod, knowing that all too well. We had no idea that the lenient contract we signed would demand weekly appearances or mandatory PR stunts or make us spend nine months out of the year on our tour bus.
Before I can say anything else, he turns to me. “What about you guys? I read that you’ve been together just as long as we have. How did you four get started?”
By the look in Jamie’s eyes, I can tell he looks back on his memories with fondness.
I wish I could reciprocate the lightness I see there, but my own memories flash over me like a cantankerous storm cloud.
All of our beautiful moments are a little bit tainted by the strain that lives between us now.
It has become a sentient entity, living and breathing alongside us, even in our happiest periods.
The acknowledgment of that has me bowing my head with contempt. I sigh before I can think better of it.
“It was on a whim,” I admit. “I wanted this for Cleo. Being a singer was always her dream but she’d never let herself have it.
She couldn’t even voice it to me, like saying it would automatically mean it was unobtainable.
So, I suggested that we start a band. I wanted to give her the support she needed to go for what she wanted.
“Lark came into the picture when I started attending this really pretentious private school that my parents forced on me. She had taken drum lessons at the local music center for years and knew Nicola there, so she brought her in to play bass. We all got along so well, it was like a puzzle finally coming together after so long. At first, it was just me having unrealistic dreams about what could be, and then… it became real. Like this thing I suggested on a whim could actually be everything I envisioned it could be.”
“It sounds like everything worked out. You guys are one of the biggest rock bands in the country,” he comments, and I wince.
“Yeah, I guess, but things that seem perfect often aren’t.
” I think back to that day, how Cleo said those words to me.
I can’t help thinking it was the universe giving me a warning.
My best friend didn’t know things would be this way, but she foresaw it all the same.
Things weren’t perfect anymore. They were heavy, and the weight of it is a burden more often than not.
“I just feel disconnected from them. Like we don’t want the same things anymore.
It’s always quiet.” I shake my head. “I hate the fucking quiet.”
“Especially with people that you were always allowed to be loud with,” he echoes observantly.
“Exactly,” I confirm. “Anyway, I’d rather be dealing with this weirdness between us than doing what my original plan was.”
Jamie allows the subject change, curiosity evident on his features. “Oh? And what was that?”
“A concert pianist.”
His eyes balk, the information new to him. I guess he didn’t read much about me, which I can’t blame him for. I haven’t exactly done my own Google search yet. Most of that information isn’t accurate anyway.
“You play piano?” he asks. “Well, excuse my French, but we had a common fucking enemy, and you didn’t think to tell me?”
My lips flatten as I try to hold in my laughter. “I did. I probably still could, but it would bring up bad memories. My parents called me a prodigy, but it was always boring to me.”
He nods. “If you didn’t enjoy it, then the accomplishments probably fell flat, huh?”
“Yeah. My mom wanted me to be the youngest person to ever play in Carnegie Hall, but she didn’t want that for me. She wanted it for the title. So she could brag about it to everyone she met.” I roll my eyes.
“And she isn’t bragging now?” Jamie asks in exasperation. “Does she not tell everyone in her vicinity that her daughter is the Josie Rosewood of Vicious Velvet?”
“Nope.” I mimic his “p” sound from earlier. “I don’t think they talk about me at all. They think rock music is of the devil.”
He lets out an angry hmph from his throat. “Their loss, Josie. You make beautiful music. Classical isn’t the only respectful genre anymore.”
Consciously, I know that’s correct, but to hear it from him, to let it be confirmed out loud, is something I really needed. I spot where he wears his bond mark proudly on his arm and smile. I wonder where his other one is.
“So… I know it’s not public information,” I start, pointing at the bond mark. “But Cleo told me about you and Cyrus.”
He startles a little bit by that information, but then sobers. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. You deserve to know the full dynamic of what you’re stepping into.”
“No, I’m not trying to call you out,” I say. “I just wanted it to be out there. I’m really happy that you guys have each other even if it can’t be public. You and Malaki, too.”
His face relaxes, relief tumbling through him.
“Thank you for saying that. Before we found out we were scent matches, we each had relationships. They were kind of open though, because we still didn’t know if we were a pack or not, so none of us wanted to get too attached.
” He bites his lip. “I used to be terrified that I was going to come between Malaki and Cyrus. I liked both of them too much to choose, and they seemed fine with sharing me, but I always feared that it would drive a wedge between them eventually. Thankfully, the universe helped us from having to deal with that in the long run, because we scent matched and became a pack and the rest is history.”
The recollection makes me smile. “I’m glad everything worked out. It sounds like your instincts were just preparing you for the inevitable.”
“Yeah, at the time it was confusing, but now it all makes sense. I can’t live without either of them.” He looks up at me and exhales a shaking breath. “And I don’t want to live without you either, Josie.”
I inhale sharply.
“With everything I’ve been given in this life, I want you to know… I feel beyond grateful that you’re now a part of it. If you want to be.”
In the aftermath of that statement, the air around us suddenly feels charged and heavy.
For the duration of our conversation, I’ve been able to ignore the elephant in the room.
His heightened scent is a conscious reminder as it furls around us, causing my eyes to flutter shut by the intoxicating pull of it.
This is my scent match, and my omega is super happy about our proximity, if the light, fluttery feeling in my chest is anything to go by.
Still, she’s a horny bitch, too, because I’m suddenly thinking about all the different ways he could cover me with that beautiful scent.
My intense moment with Remi in the nightclub bathroom flashes over me and my skin breaks out in a sweat.
Would Jamie be commanding like that, or would he be soft? Would it be hard and fast, or would it be methodical and intimate? If I leaned forward just a bit, would he ease the rest of the way or…
My brain can’t conjure up the rest of that sentence because he is already there, his lips touching mine.
It’s smooth and delectable, and when his tongue slides over my bottom lip seeking access, I give it to him without any second thought. Electricity nearly fries me from the inside out as he takes control of the kiss, his lips moving over mine in a hungry intensity.
Our tongues slide together with feverous movements.
I turn more on the uncomfortable stool, begging for our bodies to be closer, for our scents to tangle together until they are indistinguishable from each other.
Something snags against me in such a foreign but beautiful way that I pause for a moment, searching for it again with my tongue.
When I feel the stud of metal, he lets out a satisfied groan, the sound echoing down to my spasming core.
Oh my god, he has a tongue piercing!