Page 7 of Finding Emotion

“Wait, big-time Damon Lynch flies commercial?” Skylar laughed. “But you outsell me, what with all that pandering to the teeny boppers.”

Damon’s smile fell. “I don’t pander.”

“Please.” Skylar rolled her eyes, continuing to drag him toward her manager.

Mandy turned to fall into pace with them, raising her phone. “I’ll let the crew know we’ll have two additional passengers.” Her eyes flicked to his manager. “You mentioned Damon was traveling to the same destination last night. We should have coordinated after the interview this morning, now that things have changed.” She looked behind her at the crowd they had left behind.

Damon’s hand turned so that their fingers linked together. He raised their hands, kissing hers, and more fans swooned as they passed. Skylar considered gagging but knew better. “Are you visiting your sister then?” he asked, moving his mouth toward her ear.

Their shoulders bumped when she glanced at him. “How do you know about Jami?” A tidbit from her last conversation with her sister came back to her. “Oh, right. You’re friends with Muscles.”

Damon chuckled. “Muscles? Is that what you call Malcolm?”

“I saw the hottie only once,” Skylar admitted, filing the name away again. Jami had given her Malcolm’s name more than once, but she kept forgetting. Not that her sister hooking up with him wasn’t important. He was much better than that fucker Andrew Raneer, whom her sister had finally broken free from. Realizing the extent of their relationship had fucked with Skylar’s head for a while. The earlier protein shake weighed heavily on her stomach as she remembered the asshole had approached Jami again recently. Maybe she’d have to pay him a visit while she was in town. Her hand tried to curl into a fist, but it was still linked to Damon’s.

“I asked, does that mean Malcolm is your normal type?” Damon repeated.

Skylar shoved down the snarl inside. Emotions like that were pointless. “I don’t have a type.” That was true enough. As long as she found something she was into about someone, that was enough. After Jack, she’d tried out women, but he’d managed to fuck her up no matter which way she went.

“Skylar,” Damon said, and she realized she’d been squeezing the shit out of his hand.

She pulled free, wincing at the thought that her many rings had probably been painful. “Sorry, distracted.”

“No problem.” Damon wasn’t manly enough not to rub the hand she’d gripped with his other one.

She avoided his gaze and shifted closer to Mandy. “Any issues with this?”

“You’re asking that now?” But there was humor in her manager’s tone. “No, it’ll be fine.”

Skylar nodded. Her skin felt too tight, especially on her forehead. She tried to ignore it as they closed the distance to the jet.

Chapter 5

Damon studied Skylar. Even on an airplane, she couldn’t seem to keep still. Oh, she gave in during the required seat-belts-fastened time before takeoff, but after that she was up again, pouring herself a drink at the bar in the back instead of waiting for the flight attendant. The guy had grinned at her, so he wasn’t too put out.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” the attendant asked, though his gaze was still on the wet bar, where Skylar was slamming one back.

Damon watched as she added some pills to her mouth, bolting them down with another drink of whatever clear liquor she’d topped it off with. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she was drinking and doing drugs. She definitely lived more of the typical rock star lifestyle than he did. It was likely one reason she preferred the private jet.

He slid his hands over the supple leather of the seat. Not that there was anything to complain about with the furnishings. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.” Skylar already thought he was a prude. He could at least show her he held his own with drinking.

“I don’t recommend it,” the attendant warned. “Miss Skylar has unusual tastes.”

Damon wondered what that could be, but if he was going to match her drink for drink, he should pick something he knew would be kind. “Do you have Patrón?”

“Right away, sir,” the attendant said.

Skylar was pouring again, Damon realized with a lurch in his stomach. Three shots in about as many minutes. “Make it a double,” he called.

Jimmy turned from farther ahead, raising an eyebrow. Damon pretended not to see it.

Skylar plopped down in the seat next to him, smelling like that cloying flower again, only with something tangy added. She tilted her head as she studied him. “Are you a nervous flyer or something?”

“Not really.” He nodded toward the glass she clutched. “Just trying to catch up.”

She smirked at him. “It’s club soda.” She chugged it back, and from so close the bubbles inside were more obvious. “I don’t drink.”

The attendant paused next to him, holding out Damon’s double shot of tequila. He took it, and the first sip burned, moving through him with his guilt. He’d always hated when people made assumptions, and here he’d been doing the same to her. “Sorry,” he murmured, staring into his glass.

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