Page 19 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

I look up into his smirking eyes. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Right.” I turn with a nod. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“Jordan.”

I pause by the door, slowly turning back around.

Bronson drops his smirk, replacing it with the supportive face of my oldest friend. “Are you good?” he asks.

I take a breath — the biggest breath I’ve taken in a long time — and smile. “Yes,” I answer. “I’m good. Thank you.”

He nods and moves to fetch his clothes.

I duck out, quickly and quietly closing the door behind me to hide my shame. No, my conquest. My glory?

Nah, it’s shame.

I had sex with my talent.

I’m not supposed to do that.

But he wasn’t always my “talent.” Once upon a time, he and I shared crayons. There’s history here. And factors. So many factors and...

Shame.

I shake it off, taking steps toward the elevator down the blue and gold hallway.

A door opens ahead of me on the left. I throw on a polite preparatory smile, which instantly drops the moment August Boyd is shoved out into the hall wearing nothing but his socks and boxer shorts.

“Mistress, please!” he says, twisting back as the door slams behind him. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean?—”

He notices me standing here and shuts his mouth. “Hi, Jordan,” he says, clearing his throat.

I blink, my eyes wide with shock. “Hi, August,” I say.

The door flings open.

“I don’t hear you begging!” Chrissy pops her head out, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She’s wearing a royal blue Botsford Plaza robe that’s tied off in front, but not enough to cover the scarlet red negligee she’s sporting underneath.

Her glare shifts from August to me, and she smiles. “Oh. Good morning!”

I say nothing.

“August, you’re dismissed,” she says to him.

“Thank you, Mis—” He stops himself, his eyes flicking in my direction. “Christina.” One step down the hall, and he spins back around. “My room key is in my pants...”

Chrissy simply stares.

“I’ll ask the front desk for a replacement,” he says, lowering his eyes.

“Good boy,” she says.

August rushes off.

Once he’s gone, I look into Chrissy’s smiling eyes.

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