Page 90 of Fire
She and Zara may look a lot alike, but they couldn’t be more different. It’s obvious right off the bat that Violet is a people person and takes the time to greet and fawn over every person in the room without an ounce of nervousness.
When she reached me, she gave me a once-over, as if she was making sure I matched the glimpse she got of me on that video call. Then she gave Zara what I assume was a nod of approval and said, “Don’t hurt my sister, pretty boy.”
Then she hugged Zara and started talking a mile a minute about LA traffic, backstabbing models, and asshole men.
I back away right around the asshole men part of the conversation.
“Have I told you how ridiculously hot you look right now?” I whisper in Zara’s ear. My arm is slung over her shoulder as we make our way to the stage. She looks insane tonight, opting out of the usual jeans and T-shirt she wears under her white coat. Instead, she’s got on a tight black miniskirt and a cut-off Manic at Midnight tank. It shows off her midriff and the lace bralette underneath. I have a feeling Elena had something to do with this look, because tonight, she looks like she’s with the band. She looks like a rock star’s girlfriend.
It’s hot as fuck.
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she says, as her gaze roams over the tight black tee and jeans that have become somewhat of a staple for me on stage.
I tilt my head to kiss her. She laughs as I stumble, attempting to walk and kiss her at the same time.
“Gross.” Presley pretends to gag behind me.
I grin over my shoulder. “Consider this revenge for all the times I’ve had to watch you suck face with Jace.” Speaking of fuckboys… “Hey, where is Myles? I haven’t seen him all night?”
“He’s around here somewhere,” she answers vaguely. “Probably in a dark corner somewhere.”
“Well, I’m so glad he could make it,” I mutter sarcastically.
“I’m sure he’s proud of you,” Zara says, reaching up to kiss me once more. I ignore the teasing from behind me and lean in.
Just as she’s pulling away, I hear her gasp and then freeze. “Tanner.”
My head whips to where her eyes are glued to the figure ahead of us. He stands out like a sore thumb in his dark blazer and jeans. His blond hair is slicked back in some vain attempt to look cool, and he has a VIP badge wrapped around his neck.
How the fuck did he get one of those?
He searches the crowd, looking a little lost until his gaze lands on me, quickly followed by Zara. Anger flashes in his expression as his eyes scan Zara’s appearance. An odd mixture of lust and displeasure washes over him as he takes in the short skirt and her bare stomach.
Then he zeros in on the way my arm is wrapped around her waist. How I’ve slid my fingers just below the waistband of that tiny skirt she’s wearing, because I just can’t help touching her bare skin.
And how I’m making no attempt to move them.
His eyes narrow, and he surges forward.
“What are you doing here?” Zara demands.
“I need to talk to you.”
“You’ve said plenty.”
“How the fuck did you even get back here?” I demand.
His eyes slowly turn to me, and the look he gives me is pure disdain, like I’m beneath him. But, then again, he’s always treated me this way.
Disdain, with just a touch of jealousy.
Only now, there’s a hell of a lot more jealousy in the mix.
“I’m a senator’s son,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Do you think my father can’t get me a ticket to some frivolous concert?”
“Frivolous?” someone says behind him. He turns, and Asher is standing there with his arms folded across his chest and a menacing smile. His hair is perfectly mussed, and he’s opted for the no-shirt route tonight, showcasing all of his tattoos. It’s a stark contrast to the clean-cut vibe Tanner has going on. “This frivolous concert, as you call it, employs over a hundred and fifty people—not including the locals we bring on at every stop.
“Over the next five months, thisfrivolousconcert will gross over eighty million. When we come to town, hotels are full, restaurants thrive, and tourism gets a boost. I’d say our frivolousconcert is doing more for the economy than your father, who, last I heard, was trailing in the polls by nine percent.” He fakes a grimace as he casually shoves his hands in his pockets, and I physically have to hold back laughter. “But what do I know? I’m just a dumb rock star.”
