Page 79 of The Sounds of Her
People bring me drinks, no questions why I’ve barely moved. I could watch him perform for hours.
When they come off after their second encore, I step away from the band, overwhelmed at the intensity of the night. They head to their dressing room to get cleaned up, and I stay with Remi, hanging away from the crowds waiting for them.
There is a meet and greet they have to do. I know from Jenna that this can take some time. The longer we wait, the more alcohol I consume until I’m tipsy, laughing at everything Remi is telling me. He’s as drunk as me, but we’re protected by BreakNeck’s security, so I’m not worried.
“You guys are good together,” Remi says when Jenna and Elsa head to the ladies’ room.
“It’s not serious,” I say, then slap a hand over my mouth.
“Girl, don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“That’s a stupid phrase.”
He grins. “A true one. You think no one sees how his eyes follow you everywhere?” He swipes up his drink and finishes it in a couple of gulps.
Remi has the mannerisms of an alpha male. For years he hid his true sexuality, but there is nothing forced about how he holds himself, the way he moves and talks. I guess it’s why he gets away with his leading man status in popular rom coms.
“I know a deep connection Brooke, you and Archer have it.”
I try not to let his words sink too deep. Being more than halfway drunk, it’s difficult to separate reality from what he is so obviously seeing. My mind is blaring a warning. It’s a business deal, it’s going to end. I will not fall for Archer Harris.
Then our eyes meet as he comes out of the room where they’ve been meeting fans. He gives Remi a cursory glance. I get the impression if he weren’t gay, Archer would have stormed over here. What would it be like to see him jealous? I hate that I want to.
“Now do you see it,” Remi leans into me, his voice is slurred, but he means it when he says. “Connection.”
Chapter Eighteen
Brooke is drunk, adorably so. She isn’t totally plastered or not in control of herself, but I still take care of her, making sure she gets out of the venue, into the waiting car.
Back up in the room, she assures me she is fine to change by herself. Only when I come back, she’s passed out on the bed still wearing her clothes. I take off her shoes and, despite feeling like a jerk, the leather skirt, revealing a black lace thong that has me biting my tongue.
Her tattoo is stark against her skin, even in the dim lamplight. The guy did a fucking amazing job with it. I’m glad I found her a good artist. Still can’t believe I convinced her to get a tattoo.
My eyes can’t help but take in the expanse of tanned skin across her hipbone. Oddly, I’ve never thought of a woman’s bones as sexy before, but hers are. She’s lying a few inches short of the pillows. Both of her hands are raised by the side of her head, like she is cheering or dancing. It’s cute.
Those thoughts soon leave my head when I contemplate the top. I can’t do anything about that because she isn’t wearing a bra. I grab the spare blanket from the closet, I will wake her if I try to get the covers she’s lying on.
I wash up as quietly as I can in the bathroom, and strip down to my underwear. As an afterthought, I grab a t-shirt from my bag and tug it on. Sleeping in the bed a few feet from her will be a fucking nightmare.
I’m worried about her getting sick. Every time she turns, or moans in her sleep, I lose a little more of my sanity. I keep picturing those lacy panties.
My dick is painfully hard. Jerking off over a woman while she sleeps beside me is gross. Maybe in the shower… No, damn it. I lie back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. The low whir of the air conditioning and Brooke’s breathing are the only sounds in the room.
I might have come on too strong tonight. What in the fuck was I thinking, asking her to stay where I could see her? She soothed my racing thoughts, even if I tried not to stare. When we sang Hope She’s Numb, I kept my eyes on her, especially during the parts which hurt the most.
The last thing I need is to become dependent on her.
This isn’t real.
Brooke goes back to New York soon.
We’ve only partially accomplished what we intended in a few short days, in the press at least. Everyone is talking about us, wanting to find out more.
We haven’t done it long enough for the press to get off my back. If anything, it will look like a fling rather than a relationship. Telling people we’ve been together for two months won’t convince the press I’m like the rest of the band.
How are we going to ‘break up’? Or do we carry it on? We may not have to. Once Brooke confronts her parents, she’ll tell them their stupid idea to save their asses won’t happen.
With all this shit in my head, it takes a long time to fall asleep.