Page 7 of Before Now

Christian glances up from his phone as we approach, the irritation palpable by the time I drop into the seat across from him at the table. I feign innocence, shaking out the napkin and blinking at him with a smile.

“Foster.” It’s his entire sentence but represents a full paragraph at least.

I toss my sunglasses on the plate in front of me, not planning to eat, and drag a hand through my hair for about the tenth time today, frustrated as Colton lowers into the chair beside me.

“Why don’t you tell me how you think this conversation is going to go, Christian. Save us some time.”

He nods, checking if anyone’s within earshot other than Colt, and then he leans forward to close the space between. “Of Men and Wolves are doing the Mac Records documentary.”

My jaw clenches as he goes on.

“You’ll tell the other guys you changed your mind. We worked out an agreement, minimal extra people on tour, no one allowed in during writing sessions.”

“If I don’t?” I ask.

“You will,” he counters. “Because this isn’t just you saying fuck off to the label. It’s taking money out of everyone’s pockets—including that chick from last night.”

Just the mention of Remi is equivalent to the lobby glare, and I squint as if I’d been blinded.

“She’s fucking good, Foster. And she’s hungry for this,” he adds. “You watch that video I sent you?”

I nod as Christian relaxes back in his chair. His demeanor even calms enough he eye-strips a woman sauntering past. His attention stays on her long enough Colton clears his throat, and our manager finally brings his focus back to me.

“Then you know she has the talent. Her style is the vibe I thought you, of all people, would want for this thing.” He rushes the last few words, looking up when the server stops at the side of the table.

The problem is he’s not wrong. Remi has theexactstyle I envisioned when I first heard about the possibility of a documentary. She’s perfect for it.

While Christian orders his five-star meal, my gaze lowers to my phone, partially obscured by the table. I tap the screen, bringing the video I was watching earlier back to life. Not the one Christian sent me, but one that cuts deeper than some kids at a skate park. This one’s personal. This one has a part of me tainting it.

The battle of the bands sign hangs behind the all-girls punk band on the stage, and then it cuts to the singer’s POV, the drums hitting behind her while she nails a riff on her guitar. She turns to the grinning bass guitarist, spinning off to the side. Then the video switches to a camera in the crowd, right in the middle of the excitement and pulse of the show. I swallow, knowing whose eyes I’m looking through at this exact moment.

I thought my mental well-being had finally taken the long-awaited swan dive last night when I looked offstage and saw her at the base of the stairs, watching me perform for a fucking arena full of people. The mic stand might as well have electrocuted me, my entire being in shock. Felix shouted at me, and I glanced away long enough for her to disappear.

It was so surreal. By the time I walked out of the shower, I’d convinced myself she was a full-body apparition. Until I saw her standing in the middle of the dressing room.

“Excuse me.”

I look up at a girl standing beside the table. She has a skittish smile and glances over her shoulder to another girl, seated a few tables away from us.

“You’re Adams North,” she tells me.

When I nod, her eyes light up, her smile spreading before she turns to say something in Czech to her friend. Colton adjusts in his seat like he might need to tackle her, so I pat his leg. “Down, boy.”

The girl whips around, pen already in hand, as her friend rushes to her side. “Might we get your autograph?”

I pluck the pen from her, and the new chick steps forward enough to place a napkin on the table. After I sign it, I hand it back and grab the other napkin the first girl is wiggling in her hands.

“From signing IOUs to napkins,” Colton mutters under his breath. “So proud.”

The corner of my mouth tips up at that, and I shake my head, giving the girls a smile.

“You two catch the show last night?” I ask, sliding the napkin to the edge of the table.

“Yes,” the first one says, snatching it up. “You were incredible.”

“Wasn’t he?” Christian hands the menu off to the server, his eyes dancing over the girls, who seem more than happy with his attention. “Now, you just need to tell him how much you want to see an Of Men and Wolves documentary.”

My eyes snap to his, and he smirks with a shrug.

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