Page 45 of 4-Ever

The elevator ride down was awkward, with no one uttering a word. Faise stood farthest away from me, biting his lower lip, his toe tapping out a nervous rhythm. I wanted to reach out but when Faise looked over his shoulder, the pissed look on his face stopped me short.

When we stepped out of the elevator, we were greeted by Averell’s EA, Caley, who introduced us to the photographer, a thirty-something guy named Evert Jackson, and his assistant, Bailey. There were the usual lights, backdrop, and camera equipment being set up.

Evert’s face was familiar to me, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly where and when I’d met him.

“Evert? Didn’t you do the cover shoot for our second album?” Brodie asked.

“That’s right, about four years ago,” Evert replied with a smile.

“You’re from down east, right? Boston?” Holls mentioned.

“Maryland, but I split my time between Nashville and LA. And please, call me Ev. It’s an honor to work with you guys again. New label, new look, eh?”

“Only if we can convince Ro to shave his head,” Holloway joked.

“Never gonna happen,” I replied, and placed a protective hand over my hair.

No one touched my hair. Except my boo. If he still was my boo. I glanced at Faise but he refused to look at me.

“I’m with you there.” Ev pointed to his head.

Like me, Evert had long hair. But while mine was loose and messy, he wore his dirty blond hair worn in a tight braid down his back.

Wearing a pinstriped vest—no shirt—and baggy jeans with chains that hung from his belt loop, he had that effortless style that celebrities paid big money for. Colorful tattoos snaked up both his arms, and beaded bracelets rattled as he moved his hands. His green eyes were framed by wire-rimmed glasses. When he smiled, the crinkles at the corners of his mouth deepened, the glint of his gold lip ring catching the light. As an artist who captured the essence of rockstars on film, he could have easily been one himself.

“I’m just finishing my setup. Head on back to wardrobe, hair, and makeup.”

We were ushered into a change room and given our first outfit for the shoot. A denim kilt for Brodie and skin-tight jeans for the rest of us. Nothing else. Nothing odd about that.

An hour later, our hair styled, make up done, and our bodies oiled up, we headed back to the set. Evert was standing on a ladder, adjusting one of the lights.

“You guys look great,” he offered with a smile. “Hold on one sec.”

I spotted Averell entering the room, moving to stand on the periphery, watching us. I could feel his stare. Not aimed at me, but at Faise.

Not in the mood to share, I turned and gave Averell my back, blocking Faise from his view.

Fat chance, fucker.

CHAPTER 13

RONIN

“Okay, guys, we’re good to go,” Evert called out as he hopped off the ladder and walked around to grab his camera. “First pose, Faise and Ronin, I want you on your knees, and spread them wide.”

“I thought the sex party was happening later on,” I quipped.

Evert sighed and shook his head. “As I was saying, on your knees. Ronin, your right leg should be touching Faise’s left. Brodie and Holloway, stand behind them.”

Forcing back an eyeroll, I kneeled down as instructed, and thankfully, on a thick rug that covered the floor.

For the most part, I hated posing for pictures. Being on stage was one thing. Being under this kind of spotlight was another. Because I wasn’t a model and I sure as fuck wasn’t as pretty as the rest of the guys. I looked more like a bearded mountain man than a rockstar. Plus, posing for any length of time made me restless.

“Ronin, put your arm around Faise’s shoulder,” Evert instructed. “Lean into each other.”

I did as he directed, but when my palm touched Faise’s slick skin, he jolted. And he wasn’t the only one.

That’s weird. I touch him all the time.

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