Page 4 of Before Now

“Who says I don’t have a dick?” I ask, tipping my head to the side.

My mouth perks when his eyebrows shoot up, and Felix snorts out a surprised laugh. Dev leans forward, ready to fire something back until Christian cuts him off with an exasperated sigh.

“Donotsay whatever you’re about to.”

Dev holds up his hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence.

“And Colton thought I’d be the problem,” the manager mumbles beside me.

Dev slumps back then, whispering something to Felix that makes them both chuckle, and Christian’s still shaking his head when he rotates toward me.

“Now, with those incredible first impressions out of the way, we’ll let you do what you came here for.” He winks, backing away. “Floor’s yours, gorgeous.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes as he drops into a chair, angled near the couch.

Whoever decided I should talk to these guys after a show had no idea what they were doing. They’re still keyed up from performing, and I’m between them and whatever they usually do to come down from the high. The musicians on set are similar after a long day, not quite the same as a sold-out concert, but it still leaves their adrenaline pumping.

It’s why I avoid musicians’ dressing rooms immediately following a shoot. The number of times I’ve gotten an eyeful of ass is almost impressive.

“Like I already mentioned to Christian,” I start, “I want to go a different direction than what the label was talking to Heath about. Most of the filming would be more low-key than you’re probably used to. We’d rely on hand cams or spy glasses.”

“Spy glasses?” Felix gives me a look. “What are we, fucking assassins now?”

“That’s just what they’re called,” I tell him, “but they’d give a really cool perspective. Like you are the lens?—”

The door off to the side of them jerks open, and when I look over, my gaze hits a bare torso, the skin tan and stretched tight over muscle. As my attention drops lower to the word tattooed just above the low-slung jeans, a maroon T-shirt pulls down over it. My eyes jerk the rest of the way up to his face, and the same eyes from the stage are locked on me.

Adams North.

The lead singer and guitarist for Of Men and Wolves is shoving his hands through his wet hair, straight out of a shower, but he stops moving. The same expression touches his face from before, his lips parting slightly. The room warms from the steam pouring out from behind him, and one of the guys gives him a “Hey, man.”

His throat bobs in a swallow before he blinks, and then he glances at the rest of the room like he wasn’t expecting them to be there. A split second later, he’s back to me, something about him making me more nervous than the others.

I flash a smile, and Adams gives me a quick once-over. His gaze crawls up me, and by the time he reaches my face again, he looks bored, almost dismissive, as he nods on his way past me.

Well, then.

“Feel better?” Dev asks, sliding to the end of the couch to make room.

Adams nods once and settles between his bandmates.

“Adams, this is Remi Sinner,” Christian says. Adams’s jaw clenches at the introduction, his attention already on his phone, so Christian continues, “She was just telling us her plans for the doc since the label pulled a fast one on us.”

As Adams continues to show a complete disinterest in my existence, I lick my lips and force another smile. It’s not the first time a musician has acted like I’m shit on their shoes, and I doubt it will be the last.

“Right,” I whisper before taking a deep breath. “Well, the shooting itself should be pretty straightforward. The crew and I will tag along, filming you guys through the end of your rehearsals and on the last leg of your tour. And the label said you plan on writing your next album, so we’ll be sure to get footage of that. Fans will want a glimpse into the magic behind Of Men and Wolves.”

“So you’re going to be in our faces while we’re trying to write?” Dev asks.

He glances at Adams, and for the first time since he sat down, Adams looks from his phone to his bandmate. They seem to share an unspoken moment before they both turn to Felix, sharing the same one with him.

“Not in your faces,” I say fast, not liking the way the vibe in the room is shifting. “On them, maybe. I think it would be pretty awesome if we could get footage from your guys’ points of view during concerts and writing.”

“Is that where the glasses come in?” Felix asks.

Adams looks up then, and this time his gaze bores into me. His jaw muscles work overtime under the skin, and to say this guy doesn’t like me would be an understatement. I have to lower my eyes to my black-heeled boots to regroup before I can nod at Felix.

“If one of you doesn’t mind wearing them. I know a guy who can make almost any pair of frames work, and since the label’s paying, I say we take advantage of it.”

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