Page 9 of Yearn

I turned and grinned at Gabriella. She was a smoke show, and knew it, but not the same way as Landon. “No girlfriend to piss off,” I said easily, taking in her expression. I wasn’t sure if she wanted a hook up or was interested. She had a good poker face.

“Good. I’m tired of being in the mistress category over nothing. Heading home?”

“Yep, gonna walk it.”

“I’ll come with you for a bit. I like to stop by the bakery when they open. The bagels are sick.”

“I love that you eat carbs and don’t give a crap.”

She shrugged. “Life is too short not to eat. Besides, I like my curves. They’ve served me and my audience well.”

I studied her with curiosity and briefly wondered what we’d be to each other, if anything. I may not work at Red but I knew how tight our group was. Whether Landon liked it or not, I had a feeling Gabriella wasn’t going anywhere. She’d sniffed out a place for herself and the Queen Bitch wasn’t about to block her. Should make for some interesting entertainment.

Except for Max. He’d just be punished.

We started walking. The streets were mostly empty at 4:30am except for some delivery trucks and shops opening at 5am. Our heels clicked on the rain slickened sidewalks. The muggy summer heat was already beginning to steam up and clog the air.

She shook out a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lit one. “So, what’s your story?”

The question made me laugh. “Not much. I’m a college dropout. I write songs, play music, and work at a studio.”

“What type of music?”

I reached out a hand and she gave me the cigarette. I took a deep pull, enjoying the burn. I hated vaping, wasn’t into drugs, but loved a good nicotine hit now and then. Her red lipstick had made a ring around the butt. “Like Ed Sheeran. A male Taylor Swift. Adam Levine. Songs with something to say and not just for a pop beat.”

“Got a band?”

“Nah, tried that a few times but I don’t play well with others. I’m more interested in writing lyrics, but singing my songs is a way to get the word out.”

“Cool.” I sensed her approval but she didn’t expand. It was nice—too many women fawned over anything to do with music, like I was some kind of fucking lead singer that anyone gavea shit about. The actual work was tiring—a bunch of writing, figuring notes out myself, singing it over, then trying to find contacts to give a shit. But I loved it. Loved working in the studio around musicians.

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’m studying digital media and want to start my own business. Online fashion with free wardrobe appraisals. No sites offer it yet. Imagine jumping on a zoom call to have a meeting with a consultant who can direct you properly. You get to shop at home with the same benefit of going into a store.”

I was impressed and I told her. Handing back the cigarette, I watched her finish it and thought about kissing her. Thought about her in my bed, naked, all those hot curves on display for me.

The visual gave me mild interest, but it was almost like looking upon a perfect painting and not feeling excited. For some reason, there was no crazy chemistry or physical need to tear off her clothes. And fucking Gabriella deserved a hell of a lot more than what I was feeling. It wouldn’t be right. I was careful with who I slept with. Even though my reputation in the group was known as a male slut, I really wasn’t. I liked them to think that, though. Made things easier.

We reached the bakery. “Gonna grab a bagel?” she asked.

“Nah, gonna keep walking.”

“K’ay.” She stamped on the butt with her high heel sexy shoe. “I like you, Adam. I’d invite you home with me, but I can already tell we’ll be better as friends.”

Damned if she didn’t surprise me again. I nodded. “Agreed. Are you always this direct?”

“Sure, why waste valuable time? Especially when it comes to sex.” She tossed me a grin. “You don’t take orders from Landon too, do you?”

“No. You’re good with me, Gabriella. In fact, why don’t you join us at the Rooftop Sunday night?”

She raised her brow. “Your group cool with that? I got the impression I’m not wanted around.”

My smile was cold and deliberate. “Then you can be my date.”

Her laugh tinkled in the air. “Give me your digits.” I called them out and she typed in my contact info, then turned around. “Done. Let’s blow up some shit.”

I watched her head into the bakery, the scent of fresh baked bread and sugar floating in the air, and continued walking.

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