Page 17 of Before Now

By the time he and Christian saunter out the door, the room has cleared out. Remi must not realize I stayed back. She pulls her phone out, and a second later the steady drum and bass beat cuts off. It’s replaced with a slow intro. Guitars and then soft vocals. Familiar.

“Mazzy Star.”

She startles and spins. Her eyes crush closed when she sees me by the window. “I thought everyone left.”

“Would have, but apparently the director requested me for an interview.” I move toward her and the table of equipment, and her gaze falls to it too.

“We should get you set up with a mic pack. I can show you how to change out the batteries, and then?—”

She cuts off as I drag my fingers over the black-framed glasses. They feel so familiar, and as if sinking into a former life, I slip them on. The silence echoes in that moment. I look over to find Remi staring up at me, her lips parted and eyes glued to my face.

“I always wondered what you’d look like with them on.”

We stand there a few more seconds, staring at each other. Even after everything, it feels wrong not to be touching her right now. Just like in Prague, when it seemed like such a waste not to put my hands on her, my lips. It’s easy to forget something so soft and beautiful is heartless.

I swipe off the glasses and toss them in front of her, not giving a shit about the ripple of tension spreading between us.

“The weight of the camera in the bridge will leave marks on the nose,” I tell her. “Might want to think about that before we wear them. Make sure there aren’t photoshoots or appearances scheduled after.”

She nods and then finally lets her gaze fall to the table. “Right. That’s a … really good point.” The last part comes out with a breath of air, either surprised I’d think of it or bothered she hadn’t. “So, the mic pack.”

When she turns with the black box in hand, her attention lowers to the bottom hem of my T-shirt. I get another flash of the discomfort she showed earlier, only this time I want more of it. I lazily lift my shirt, and a blush rises in her cheeks while her eyes skate over the ridges of my abs. They settle on the tattoo slightly dipping below the top of my jeans.

Restless.

“We don’t have all day, sweetheart,” I tell her in a bored tone.

Remi’s gaze jerks to mine, and I point my chin to the mic pack still tightly clutched in her hand.

She releases an annoyed huff of air and starts hooking me up without another word. I watch her fingers brush my bare skin, my teeth clenching together with every second of contact. With her so close again, the same hint of jasmine from Prague floats through the air, something darker underneath.

I’d never admit it to a living soul, but I once sniffed my way through a perfume aisle, wondering which she’d use. A fragrance with flowers was my pick, but not dark. The memory of standing in the store like a creep surprises me. Especially when one side of my mouth turns up the slightest bit, remembering how much I didn’t fucking care because it made me feel closer to her somehow.

The redness from her cheeks dips down her neck when she has to slip her hand farther up my shirt to attach the mic. “Lee said to keep the mics hidden as much as possible when filming,” she says in a quiet rush. “God forbid we ruin the aesthetics withtoomuch honesty.”

I lean forward to give her less of a reach while she clips it on. “No one behind this wants honesty,” I tell her. “They only want the profitable illusion of it.”

“I want it.” Green orbs flash to mine, then she’s back to fucking with the battery pack on my waistband.

We’ve both kept our voices low, despite the room being empty. Maybe a shared habit of being around recording equipment. Yet some part of me says it has more to do with something more specific to us. A history of not wanting to be overheard by parents or roommates and to avoid aggravated stares from tourists in galleries and museums.

A section of her hair falls forward. She gives a slight shake of her head to move it, but it tumbles over her eye again. It’s not until my fingers are brushing the strands away that I realize I’ve moved. The backs of my knuckles brush her forehead as I tuck the lock of hair behind her ear with the rest. The gesture stills her hands. Her lashes flutter along with her breath.

It takes a second for my arm to lower back down to my side. Remi looks up, and I have to look away before those eyes land on me.

“Basic mic pack. I think I got it,” I tell her.

She takes a step back then and roughly swallows. My eyes wander up to find she’s plastered on what I know is a fake smile. “Perfect. If you just want to finish hooking it up, then we can get this over with.”

I nod, but my jaw tightens.“Yeah … about that.” My fingers undo the microphone, and I snake it back down my shirt.

Remi shakes her head, the fake shit sliding right off her face until she’s almost glaring at me. “What are you doing?”

“I realized I have somewhere else to be.” I toss the pack next to the glasses.

“Oh really?” she says, the annoyance palpable in her tone. “And where might that be?”

“Anywhere but here.” I give her a quick smirk and wink before I stroll off toward the elevator.

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