Page 82 of Before Now

I’m not far behind him, wanting to fix whatever the fuck is going on. But when I step off the bus, my assistant waits for me. Pink hair and pretty amber eyes I’ve seen nearly every day for the past year.

Xander’s smile tells me before he says it. “God, I missed you.”

23

REMI

Before…

The visual medialab in my high school remains abandoned all but a few hours a day, so I take advantage when the temperature drops too low to hang outside in the commons. I rarely use the room for anything but a spot to disappear in the quiet since my needs have moved beyond the ancient software and outdated equipment. My phone has higher quality video, and apps offer better editing programs.

Having limited resources and tools helped hard-sell my skills and passion on my college applications. Raw, focused, and heavy in the story, which fits my style anyway. I may avoid the realities of my life as much as possible, but I expose it on film every chance I get.

I leave the lights off and settle in my usual corner by a window. The ledge has enough space to perch on, and I rest my temple against the cold glass. My breath fogs over a patch, and I go all gooey, watching it dissipate. Like the mirror on Halloween.

By now, most everything ties to Foster in one way or another. Even worse, I miss him during the in-betweens. I worry the fountain sealed my fate.

I check the message he sent earlier while I was in class. Raindrops cover a windowpane in the picture, the gray sky, the iron railing of his balcony, and everything else beyond out of focus.

He hasn’t signed intoWanderertoday, so taking a chance he’s staying at his flat because of the weather, I pause the song playing through my earbuds. Foster apologized for not educating me sooner and started sending me playlists after Halloween. He mixes genres in some; others stick to a theme. I’ve never used music outside of a way to check out, but the songs he’s been selecting are like a creative hit. Now I hear them when I film or they inspire me to seek out a shot to fit.

My video chat goes unanswered, but I haven’t even restarted my music when he returns the call.

“No tours in the rain?” I say, camera on the school emblem on my uniform sweatshirt. I flip it, giving him a view of the empty media lab while his stays on what looks like a jersey. “Not what I expected out of my favorite guide.”

“Oh, I’ll guide the fuck out for a voice like yours,” a guy drawls, catching me off guard. “Tell me what you wanna see, and I’ll provide in the absence of Daddy Foster.”

After pushing past the shock of not-Foster talking, I quickly identify the owner of the Texan accent. “Are you claiming Foster’s my daddy or yours, Chase?”

Foster’s best friend hums for a second, tipping the phone back and forth as one would their head. “If I say yours, will you start calling him daddy?”

I laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“Wait. Why the fuck am I hidingmyface?” He brings the camera up and purses his lips before perfecting his dark hair in the picture-in-picture. Square jaw, deep espresso eyes with a promise of the unexpected behind them. Chase is a wildcard, and I’m willing to admit I like him. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, where is the sexy beast with a voice like honey who charms my panties off daily?”

“Exactly the wording I would have used,” I say dryly. “Are you sure he’s not your daddy, Chase?”

He winks and straightens, his white backdrop ending up a wall. An open doorway appears behind him after he walks through, and then the video washes out from him turning on a light. It rebalances as he switches modes, and a muscular back appears. Tan skin and tattoos and a white sheet draped low on his hip, the band of his boxer briefs visible. Foster’s asleep in his bed with a pillow over his head and a bicep on top, pinning it in place.

“He woke up long enough to blame me for his hangover and curse at the rain that’s been falling since we got in this morning.”

And send me a picture of the damn rain.

My eyes trace the lines of his body from a new angle until Chase returns my view to him. “I take it you’re not mad at him anymore if you went out together?”

He screws up his face as he sits on the mattress, the pillow and arm visible behind him. “I haven’t been mad at Foster a day in my life.” His mouth hitches, despite him sounding all business. Then his head jerks over his shoulder when the arm shifts. “Our time together might be over, Tour Remi.”

A deep groan transforms into a, “Dude. What the fuck?”

I cover my mouth to silence a laugh as Chase jumps up, spinning around to get away from Foster.

“For the record, she called me.” He winces through a smile and appears to duck. “That only hurt the pillow.”

“Give me the phone,” Foster demands, deep and growly from sleep. He sounds almost as hot as when he issues commands to me in a very different scenario.

“We haven’t even gotten to the discussion of how she’s going to provide for you.” Chase ducks again, and a pillow hits the wall behind him. “Fine. Ruin all the fun.” He looks ready to relinquish me and the phone, but then he lowers his gaze to the screen, and a devious smirk curves his lips. “But first, can I see your face?”

I expect to say no, but the conspiratorial look from Chase causes me to reconsider. “Why?”

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