Page 3 of Siren's Game

"That means you're definitely still here tomorrow, though," he points out with a grin. "Remember that video of the restaurant with the rude waiters I sent you? Want to go there?"

An exhausted grin spreads on my face.

Josh and I started out as friends, more than five years ago now. When we met, he was in a long-term relationship until he found his girlfriend cheating in their bed with one of his, now-former, friends. He was devastated. He already had a ring picked out for her and everything.

Half a year later, we decided to add the 'benefits' to our friendship. He didn't want to date anymore, and neither did I.

As far as I’m concerned, that's still the case today, which is why I'm here, at his apartment and in his bed. Scratching an itch without having to deal with finding someone new to do it with.

"Are you ready to be in the news again?" I ask him with a raised eyebrow, only my eyes peeking out under the covers, making him chuckle.

"'Ready' is not the term I'd use, but it's been forever since we’ve had some fun outside the bedroom." Then he clutches his chest dramatically, looking at me with wide eyes. "Or are you only using me for sex?" He blinks dramatically as though he’s about to cry, and I laugh.

"You got me there," I say with an exaggerated eye-roll. "Seriously, though, I'd love to go." I hide a yawn behind my hand. "Let's talk more about it tomorrow."

"Are you staying over?" he asks, surprised, and I can't blame him. In all the years, I can count the number of times I've slept at his place after hooking up on one hand.

But I'm tired. So fucking tired. And the prospect of going back to my quiet, empty apartment doesn't seem very appealing today.

"If that's okay," I say softly, already fluffing up my pillow. "I'm beat."

"Of course," he assures me and climbs into bed again. "I know you don't like cuddling, but the offer is there."

I chuckle, my eyes closed and already about to drift off to sleep. "Thanks."

Within seconds, consciousness leaves me, and I drift into a dreamless sleep.

Kayla

Idon'tlikethiswoman who's showing us around this stadium.

The rumors proved true and Millie—the other half of the Sirens’ pop duo and my best friend—and I will play the halftime show of the charity event of the year: basically a knockoff of the Super Bowl, in front of thousands of people with millions more viewers expected to watch it on TV.

No pressure at all, it’s only the biggest show of our damn career. My heart started pounding so damn loudly the second the stadium came into view on our way here. This is nuts!

But before I flew in, Josh and I went to the restaurant he'd talked about and had an amazing time. Millie already teased me about the resulting headlines when we met up with our manager that afternoon.

Then, the next day, we already flew to Philly. And just like that I'm here, in the stadium we're going to have the biggest show of our careers in.

No biggie.

And the woman who's showing us around the stadium where the charity match and rehearsals are happening, Lila, is kind of a bitch.

Not that I'd say that to her face, I don’t want to get that kind of a headline, but I’m pretty sure she has noticed me glaring at her ever since she opted for taking a picture with just me and not Millie.

Because now she's downright ignoring my best friend and only talking to me as she announces that we’re actually meeting some of the celebrities that will be playing in the match.

This kind of shit happens more often than I like, and I’m growing tired of it. Millie is just as, if not even more, talented than I am. She deserves all the love and recognition. Oh, the way my fingers are itching for confrontation whenever it happens, but Naroa made it very clear that I’m not to have that kind of image. So I have to bite my tongue.

"Wait, what?" Millie hisses to me once we step into the field and Lila is walking a few meters ahead of us. "We're meeting the players? Why didn't Naroa say so?"

I shake my head and roll my eyes, swallowing a chuckle as she complains about not wearing any makeup today.

When I point out that she's, in fact, wearing BB cream and mascara, which are considered makeup in my book, she starts to calm down a bit. Ever since we’ve made it to our first headliner tour, I can’t remember having seen her without any makeup when we stepped outside. Only at her home. At least she looks cute without makeup; I’m so pale, I look like a ghost.

As we walk up to the group of men, I see her try to fix her hair, though.

I don't understand what she's so worried about. She looks great, as always. Her curly blonde hair frames her round face perfectly, while mine hangs down my back, very boringly. I wasn't going to straighten it today, but I know how much our manager hates it when I don't.

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