Page 19 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

Bishop and Priest helped fix my TV, and they even helped me hook my phone up to it, so when I played YouTube videos of their music, I could watch and listen on the bigger screen. I sampled their songs, both the disc versions and the live versions people had taped and put online.

They were… like different people when they were on stage. All dressed in black, only their lips and chin showing from under the masks. With the white crosses, they were downright devilish.

And, I hated to admit, hot.

Deacon, I noticed, was especially different on stage than my first impression of him. His black hair had been pulled back into a low bun last night, but every time Black Sacrament performed, his hair was loose. A mess, but he was a master at throwing his head back and forth. I was never really attracted to guys with long hair, but even I had to admit Deacon looked good on stage.

I did watch Pope, too. Unlike Deacon, his hair was short, only a few inches long. He seemed just as tall as Deacon, and his mask was all black with a single large cross painted in white down the center of his face. On certain videos that were recorded with better clarity, I could see he had the same green eyes as his brother.

It still wasn’t my type of music, but I was starting to understand why girls loved them. There was something about them on stage that made me get a little hot in certain places.

Of course, Murphy’s Law dictated that while I was struggling to ignore the heat that had crept up to my face as I watched one of their live shows that my bedroom door opened and Priest strolled in, carrying bags. Bishop was right behind him, carrying more.

“Can you guys knock next time?” I asked, frowning. I prayed to God my face wasn’t visibly flushed. I went over to my phone to pause the video before adding, “What if I was changing?”

“Then we would’ve seen an eyeful,” Priest spoke with a smirk as he set the bags down. I think he’d carried in… seven bags? I also think he was purposefully flexing his arm muscles for me, which I pointedly ignored. “Not that I would’ve minded.”

Just like I ignored the memory of him rushing down the hall last night in nothing but gray sweatpants. Priest was covered in tattoos on his chest, stomach, and arms.Covered. And those sweatpants? Let’s just say they’d left nothing to the imagination.

Not that I’d imagined anything, because I didn’t.

I pretended not to hear Priest’s comment—I understood now he was a gigantic flirt—and let my gaze drop to the bags. “What’s all this?”

“Bellboy brought ‘em up,” Bishop told me as he set the bags he carried on the floor. “If I had to guess, I’d say Ramona went shopping for you.”

“You, uh, don’t really have a good sense of style, no offense,” Priest said with a nod of his head. As he got to his knees near the bags and started to go through them, ooh-ing and ah-ing when he found something he liked, I let my gaze linger on Bishop.

He still didn’t remember me. I doubted he would, if he didn’t already.

That was fine. I mean, just because we used to be friends, just because the world had randomly thrown us back together again didn’t mean we had to pick up where we left off. It hurt a little, but I’d get over it.

Someday. Not today, though. Today it still stung.

“Ooh.” Priest’s chest rumbled with appreciation as he stood, pulling out something from one of the bags. “Oh, yeah. We need to go somewhere ASAP so you can wear this.” He held it out toward me, as if imagining me in it right now.

And what was it, you might be wondering? A tiny slip of a black dress. Very small. I assumed it was also very tight. Strapless, and if I had to guess its length ended well above the knee. Not the kind of dress I’d ever be caught dead in.

Honestly, I couldn’t imagine myself wearing that at all, and yet that didn’t stop the heat from blooming across my cheeks. The way Priest’s eyes kept flicking between me and the dress… let’s just say it was clear he liked the idea of me in it.

Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever wear that particular dress.

“Dude,” Bishop said, reaching over to snatch the dress out of Priest’s hands, “you’re making her uncomfortable.”

Priest blinked, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Those gray eyes of his—such a peculiar color—rested on me once more, and he stepped over the bags surrounding him to reach me. Before I knew what he was doing, he dropped to his knees and brought his hands together.

“Forgive me,” Priest whispered. “It’s just… you’re so beautiful, Angel, you make me weak. You can turn the devout into sinners—” His dramatic and completely unnecessary explanation stopped, and he leaped to his feet, adding, “Ooh, that’s a good one. We should work that into a song.” He pulled out his phone to, I assumed, put the idea in a list or something.

Not for the first time, and probably not the last, Bishop said, “Ignore him. Really, ignore him. You’ll be better off if you do. That’s what Deacon and I do when Priest is too much, which is all the time.”

Priest must’ve been finished with his notes, because he slipped his phone back into his pocket and tossed me a lopsided smile. “Don’t you worry your pretty head, Angel. Soon enough I’ll grow on you, and then you won’t be able to imagine your life without me.” He tossed me a wink and sauntered out of my room.

He was too busy giving me that wink and trying to be sexy that he neglected to watch where he was walking. He tripped over one of the bags, his foot getting caught in the bag’s strap. Priest almost tumbled to the floor, but he caught himself right before he went down.

Bishop laughed, and I couldn’t help it; I laughed too. It was funny seeing Priest get taken down by nothing more than an ill-placed bag. The guy kind of deserved it.

Once he righted himself, he shot Bishop a look that told him he didn’t think it was too funny. Then he smiled at me. “You, my lady, have a melodious laugh that I know for a fact I will dream about—”

“Please just go,” I muttered, and he went with a shrug, leaving me and Bishop alone in my room. It didn’t escape my notice that Deacon hadn’t helped with the bags. He probably didn’t want to see me or deal with me more than he had to.

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