Page 15 of Ticket to the Stars: Part Two

“What if,” I started, pausing to glance at the guys, “what if we did a trial run?”

“A trial run?” Angel repeated.

“Yeah, like a trial relationship. We give it a month or two, see where it goes, how we all handle it, and if, at the end of the period, we decide it’s too hard or too rough on us, we can end it with no hard feelings.” Even as I said it, I knew how I’d feel at the end of the trial run.

I’d still want her. I always would. Seeing her after so long had brought back all of the memories I’d tried to repress. I think, all these years, I’d been fighting a crush on the girl I’d left so long ago, and now that she was here with me, how could I ever look at her and say I didn’t want her?

But this way, it didn’t put pressure on Angel. Maybe she’d see how amazing it could be and she wouldn’t want to stop.

Or maybe it really would blow up in our faces. Who could say for sure?

Angel thought about it. Minutes ticked by, none of us saying a single word. Deacon, Priest, and I were glued to her, watching and waiting for her to say something. She must’ve been weighing the pros and cons of a trial relationship with us, and so much time passed that I started to worry she was going to say no, that she’d let her doubts take charge instead of hope.

But then she gave us an answer, and that answer made me smile the hardest I’d ever smiled in my life: “Okay.” Just one word, but it was enough.

We settled on two months. The guys and I had two months to convince her, to prove to her that we could do this, that it could work. I hoped it would be enough time, because now that I had her back in my life, I’d be damned if I let her go again.

Chapter Seven – Angel

I ended up telling Alexa that I’d agreed to a trial relationship with all three guys—though I still didn’t tell her who or why I had to keep it a secret—and my sister. Though, the latter I had to make her promise that she wouldn’t tell Mom a thing. Cleo was so excited and thrilled that I was following her plan that she agreed without being too smug or making a big deal about it.

“You have to make it work,” she’d told me once I’d called and relayed the news. “You have to. My future happiness depends on you.” Her future happiness was apparently in my hands. No pressure at all.

Turned out, life wasn’t much different with three boyfriends, considering I was already living with them and spending nearly every waking hour with them. We spent alot of time in the studio, recording for the upcoming album that we were simply calling Double Feature.

It was a double feature because it’d have older songs re-done with Priest’s and my vocals, and newer music, too. I’d actually come up with the Double Feature title, and the guys loved it.

After agreeing to a trial relationship, things weren’t very different, and it made me wonder if, perhaps, I’d exaggerated all of my worries. Maybe I’d let myself get so caught up in my concerns and the possible what-ifs that I’d been blind to the fact that dating them all might be the easiest thing ever.

Maybe I was just stupid.

Deacon did start cooking dinner for us more often, and he actually ate with us instead of waiting until eleven at night to cook himself something in the microwave. He never went out and got drunk anymore, either.

It was one Wednesday night when we all sat in the living room with our plates—meatloaf and loaded baked potatoes—that Priest quipped, “You know, Deacon, at least you always have a backup career. You could be a chef.” We had some stupid comedy show playing on the TV. It wasn’t my favorite, but I was a sucker for reruns. Something about reruns made my brain shut off.

Deacon sat on the floor, sprawled out as he used the coffee table as an actual table. The rest of us were on the couch, balancing our plates in either our hands or on pillows on our laps. He glared at Priest. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m just saying, your food is good.” Priest shrugged his wide shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do without Black Sacrament. Oh! I could be a model.” Okay, at that, everybody looked at him like he was crazy. “What? I could. With this body, this hair—” He swept a hand through his messy blond hair. “—and this chiseled face?” He pointed at himself. “I could definitely be a model. Don’t be hating because you ain’t as pretty as me.”

I didn’t want to laugh at his silliness, but I couldn’t help it. If there was one thing I’d learned about Priest other than how flirty he was, it was that his ego was sky-high. No one could ever hope to match it.

“I think I’d still like to work in the music scene,” Bishop said. His brown hair was getting a little long; it needed a trim soon. It was long enough to hang over his eyes and hide their pretty hazel hue. “Be a producer or something? What would you do?” That was asked to me.

Sitting in the middle of Priest and Bishop, I felt strangely at home, not like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin just to put some distance between us. I was growing more and more comfortable being close to them.

And kissing them.

“I don’t know. Probably go back to school… although, I always did want to be on stage. Broadway might be fun, if we’re able to pick anything.”

“Are you even a good dancer?” Priest asked, leaning closer to me. “I could picture your adorable face on stage,singing your little heart out, but I just can’t picture you doing jazz hands.”

I rolled my eyes. “Deacon, what would you do? Would you really be a chef, or is there something else you’d want to do?” I didn’t think any of us could forget the fact that Deacon had thought a lot about leaving the band. I wanted to make him see that he didn’t need his brother here to be happy.

And I think, lately, he’d been happier. But don’t quote me on it. Out of the three of them, he was still the hardest to read.

Deacon shook his head, and he quietly muttered, “I don’t really know.” That’s all he said, and I could tell he wanted to be done with this conversation. The guys must’ve sensed it too, because Priest started talking about how he wanted more tattoos.

After a while, Deacon got up to put his plate away, and I followed him. I set my plate on the counter near the trash can, where he was currently scraping off his, and watched him. There was at least thirty feet between us and the guys in the living room; not exactly private, but private enough with the TV going.

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