Page 10 of Rebel

They talk between themselves.

“No more band shirts. I’m thinking skin-tight dresses?—”

I’m losing every part of me.

I remind myself this is what I signed up for.

I have no say. To them, I’m a mannequin, an object to dress.

“Keep her style.” My eyes jerk up to see Chase leaning into the doorway, one leg crossed at the ankle.

How long has he been watching?

My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, and he looks at the gathered sharks. “Her style is raw, grungy, and real. Keep it. Enhance it if you want, but don’t change it too much. It wouldn’t be Beck.” He pushes from the door and wanders away.

I watch him go, my mouth slightly open.

He stood up for me. He likes the way I dress.

“Well, fine, what do we do now?” one of them mutters, but I’m still staring at the empty doorway where Chase just stood. Why did he protect me? Chase hates me, and it’s clear he doesn’t want me here, but he knows they need me. Is that the reason?

Maybe he’s trying to be nice to get me on his side, but something tells me Chase is not nice to anyone. Unsure what to make of it, I refocus on the team trying to nail down my style for the upcoming tour.

“How daring do you want to go?” one asks, waiting with her iPad at the ready.

My eyes go to the door once more, my heart skipping a beat.

That’s the question, isn’t it?

“Ms. Danvers?” she prompts impatiently.

“All the way.”

Escaping the prying eyes and commands for a moment, I hustle to grab a coffee, needing the kick more than ever. Peering around the corridor to see if they are looking for me, I almost jump out of my skin when a whisper sounds in my ear.

“Who are we hiding from?”

Clutching my mug and heart, I turn to find a grinning Kolton close behind me. “Wardrobe,” I admit.

“Ah.” He nods, jumping backwards and hoisting himself onto the counter, swinging his legs as he grins. “You get used to it, trust me.”

“Is it always so . . .?”

“Invasive?” he offers with an arched brow and easygoing grin.

Sighing, I lean into the counter next to him. “Yes.”

“Always.” He nods. “I remember the first time, I had to strip down to my boxers and let them inspect me.” He shudders. “There was an older guy then, and he was rough and used to touch us inappropriately. They are good at what they do, and you don’t want any wardrobe malfunctions while you’re diving around the stage, trust me.”

“Did that happen to you?” I’m unable to stop smiling.

“Once,” he admits with an adorable blush. “My pants split, and I had to play the rest of our set with my ass hanging out. There are still memes on the internet. I will never live it down.”

“Whoa, poor baby.” I grin, grabbing my phone. “I’m looking these up.”

He grabs for my phone, but I dart out of his way, laughing when I find them. I set one as my lock screen and show him. “It’s a nice ass.”

Groaning, he covers his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

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