Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
“Are you from that band?” a beta asks me, practically screaming in my ear so I can hear her over the music.
Even so, her accent is strong, a perfect mix of Southern and Midwest that makes a unique sound with her alto vibrato.
Her blonde hair is almost silver, and she has so much glitter covering her skin that I’m afraid it will get on me if I stand too close.
She smiles kindly, or maybe she’s just really good at playing coy because her friendly demeanor seems earnest. Sincere.
Still, I don’t really want her here. She could be the most likable person in the world, and I still wouldn’t care.
“Sorry, I don’t know what band you’re talking about,” I tell her. “In fact, I don’t like music. I think music sucks.”
Her brows shoot up into her hairline. “What? You don’t listen to anything?”
“Just the abrasive stillness of pure sorrow and misery.”
She takes a step back, almost like my words frighten her, and I flatten my lips to keep myself from laughing.
She isn’t the first person to talk to me tonight, but after a while, hearing the frustrated huffs and sideways comments from your rejections gets old.
Turns out, weirding them out is much more effective, with a lot less guilt.
“Okay… I think I’m going to go.”
“Alright, have a good rest of your night.”
She watches me for a few more seconds, her eyes squinted with confusion. She can’t tell if I’m a madman or not, and it’s fucking hilarious. When she walks away, I turn back to my surroundings, feeling safe to brood once more.
Across the club, Vicious Velvet are sitting in an oval sitting area, their table littered with liquor bottles and empty shot glasses.
When they first arrived, my alpha nearly shot out of my chest with excitement, but then Josie’s absence was obvious when only the three other omegas sauntered in, their bodyguard in tow.
Looking at them now, I question how Josie fits in.
The blonde bassist is chugging a handle of clear vodka.
She doesn’t come up for air for a solid forty seconds, and I wonder whether or not she might get alcohol poisoning.
Cleo is sitting on the lap of some man, his long hair coming down to his chest. I can’t tell his designation from here, but she is looking at him with big eyes, her lashes fluttering as he pulls a tiny baggie out of his wallet.
He uses his pinkie nail to scoop up a bump of the white powder, his lips curling creepily as he angles it.
She snorts it without any hesitation, her entire aura lighting up from the drug as it enters her system.
She wipes her nose, ecstasy falling over her expression, and my stomach churns at the sight.
The last member, the redhead, is speaking with their bodyguard, her lips curved into a hardened frown.
She points at her friend, spitting out heated words just before the large man goes to get the drug dealer and remove him from their midst. I brace myself, thinking it’s going to turn into a violent scene, but the guy stands and puts his hand up in surrender, not wanting any issues with the bodyguard.
Cleo’s face changes from doe-eyed to pissed in two seconds, and she makes it known by arguing with the security.
I roll my eyes and turn away. I wonder if Josie is aware of what her bandmates do when she isn’t around. Maybe she is. Maybe she’s okay with it. I can’t sit here on my high horse and claim she has any qualms over it when I don’t really know anything about her yet.
Still, my instincts tell me that she wouldn’t be okay with this. Another small part makes me question if it’s the reason she isn’t here to begin with.
I sigh and turn to walk back to the section the guys are sitting in.
Normally, being out with them helps to take my mind off things.
The loud music, the thrum of bodies, the illusion of privacy with the flashing laser lights; it’s usually distracting enough to pull me out of my head, but not tonight.
Tonight, all I can think about is the last time I was in a crowded club.
A sweet melody moaning in my ear, champagne bubbling across my taste buds as I sucked my fingers clean.
The secret rendezvous with Josie is becoming a memory that I keep replaying, over and over again, both to soothe and torture myself.
It usually ends with an angry, frustrated wank or me cuddling Lennon until we both don’t feel so alone anymore.
Being the only two in the band without an attachment has left us to find comfort in each other, bonding over our mutual love for anime and old rock music so we don’t feel romantically alone.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s also very talented with his mouth.
Our drummer doesn’t come out with us anymore. He’s much more content to lie low so his symptoms don’t worsen before the next performance. He’s probably sitting in our tour bus, snacking and scrolling on his phone, waiting for us to get back so we can crash and wake up in a new city.
I’d rather be hanging out with him than wallowing in this pathetic misery a moment longer.
I seek out the exit, looking for the easiest way to escape this hellhole when Cyrus comes up beside me, his arm loosely hanging around my shoulder.
“You going to head out?” he asks, and I fight a grin. Even without a bond, he can read me like a book. There might as well be a link between us with the way he can see right through me, right down to the sore spots that I usually keep under lock and key.
“Yeah, I think I’d rather be with Lennon right now.”
He nods, expecting that answer, before he muses, “You’ve turned down half the club for a dance.”
I shoot him a warning glare. It’s not an accusation, just an observation, but my lips pull into a snarl anyway. “Dancing with someone else doesn’t feel right.”
His alpha doesn’t react or take the bait, still lying idle beneath the surface. Instead, my prime’s face softens, an emotion flitting over his features that looks way too much like pity for me to handle right now.
“What if she never changes her mind, Remi?” he questions, voicing the unspeakable.
My body hardens, not wanting to take in his implication, but it’s true.
For all my optimism, I have to accept the possibility that my scent match doesn’t want me.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but one that I have to take nonetheless.
Still, it’s not one I haven’t thought of before. She may be keeping a distance right now, but it doesn’t dampen my need for her or erase my memory of having her for a short, glorious moment. For me, it will always be her, and nothing else will ever tempt me away from that.
I shrug. “I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life, Cy.”
He watches me, then nods when he sees the honesty in it. “Why don’t you head back? I’ll make sure the two goofballs don’t get into any trouble.”
My lips twitch. “You love those goofballs.”
“Shut up,” he laughs, practically pushing me toward the exit.
Despite still being on the west side of the country, the air is getting brisk. It’ll be much colder as the summer comes to a close, especially now that we’re traveling north to Canada.
I’ve noticed recently that the girls get recognized a lot more than we do in America.
Maybe it’s because they’re more famous or because it’s their home country, but it’s a significant difference.
I no longer feel the need to travel incognito.
Walking back to the parking lot where our buses are located is anything but troubling.
I find myself relaxing after the chaotic noise of the club, my hands in my pockets as I stroll down the empty street.
The idea of going to sleep on the bus is a little bit daunting.
I like when we get the luxury of staying in a hotel so I can spread my body across a king mattress and stretch my limbs.
The bunks in our bus are not meant for someone of my height, and after a night in one of them, my bones feel like crushed pottery bits.
Still, tonight we don’t have a choice as the buses plan to take off while we’re all sleeping.
The parking lot comes into view, the buses plain as day as they sit in front of each other in the corner, both entrances facing toward me.
I walk a bit faster, but then halt when a tiny figure comes from the direction of the parking deck, a variety of snacks balanced in the crook of her elbow as she sips on something colorful in a clear cup.
When Josie sees me, she freezes, her mouth wrapped around the straw. Even in her black sweatpants and the worn-down baseball cap on her head that’s meant to obscure her face, she leaves me completely breathless. She looks stunning, and I can’t help myself from stepping towards her.
“Is that a late-night smoothie?” I ask.
She pulls the straw back, swallowing the contents before replying. “Yeah, the delivery driver couldn’t find the bus so I had to head to the security desk for the parking deck.”
I turn around to look at the buses. “They couldn’t find these massive things?”
“Right.” Her lips twitch with amusement. “But it’s probably for the best; we don’t want random people showing up.”
I nod, temporarily distracted by the rose tattoo peeking out beneath her shirt above her collarbone. This mundane small talk feels like the biggest gift, and I never want it to end.
“I saw your bandmates at Phire,” I comment.
“Yeah, I…” She swallows. “The noise is sometimes too much for me.”
“Same. It’s not the same when you’re no longer twenty-one.
It just feels like a waste of time.” I scratch the back of my neck, feeling anxious.
I never feel anxious, but somehow this omega has a way of pulling the most unfamiliar emotions out of me.
“I like America, but the nightlife is overstimulating. I much prefer the pub scene in London.”
Her brows raise, and the sexiest teasing grin appears on her face. “Too much drama for you, Ainsworth?”