Page 208 of Second Sets Omnibus
“Wait, what?” I ask with a renewed energy taking me over.
“You said it once when we were in bed with River. Lyrics came to you, and you said…”
“Lyrics come from the heart and out of nowhere. They’re unexpected…” Callum trails off with his eyes widening. “You don’t think she…”
My heart beats double time. “That she named Lyric that because she was unexpected?” I will not cry in front of the guys. I will absolutely bawl into my pillow tonight. No tears here. Nope.
It isn’t until that night, when I’m staring up at the ceiling do I let my tears fall. If what Cal remembers is correct, he’s usually spot on and all. Hello, photographic memory. Then my girl named my baby girl after something I said. One day, I’ll bring itup to her. For now, I’ll savor it in the palm of my hand and keep the knowledge to myself.
“Yo dummy, are you putting a fan on your shit?” Kieran grunts, throwing a water bottle at me and knocking me out of my thoughts.
I furrow my brows, realizing I’m dangling a massive box fan above my junk. On fucking high. Huh. No wonder I’m starting to cool off. But also, there are enormous fan blades inches from my crotch. Geez, that was close. I could have cut the boys.
“Yeah,” I murmur, setting the fan beside me so it still blows the cool air across my flesh. “I think this is a punishment.” Definitely a way to get back at us for being dicks. Rightfully so. We were major fuckers.
Here I thought we were on the right track to forgiveness. Maybe we aren’t doing enough to prove ourselves. Shit. We need to step up our game and get it together.
We’ve already been on a date. Well, I mean, I joined her and Rocco again because you can’t get rid of me. I’m Rad, the never-ending rash that sticks to you even when you put ointment on me. Can’t get rid of me! At least she didn’t kick me out this time. I was allowed to sit at the table and eat my Italian food like a good boy.
Take that, Pretty Girl. I’ll never give up until you’re completely mine.
Like an angel in six-inch red heels, River burst through the backstage door with an adorning smile.
“Did we do good, Pretty Girl?” I ask, lifting my head off the cold ground and giving her my best puppy dog eyes.
“Color me impressed, boys,” she says, giving us a little clap. “You put in the work out there. I felt more included in the performance. Kieran, your voice was on point. Rad, your drumming and smiling brought the crowd out. Asher and Callum, you guys did good, too.”
I beam under her compliment, peeling myself off the sticky tile floor. “Thanks, Pretty Girl. We’re always here to impress.” I grin when she snorts.
“Right. Well, you might want to put your clothes on. You have a line of rabid fans begging for autographs and pictures.”
“We don’t really do autographs,” Kieran grumbles with displeasure.
“Oh, but now you do, Knight. I expect you by the bar in five minutes! Look alive, boys!” she shouts, clapping her hands again.
“This is a goddamn test,” I hiss, finding my pants crumpled in the corner. “Avoid the titties and ass signatures as much as fucking possible! No flesh.” I grumble in disgust when my wet T-shirt sticks to every inch of my upper body. Usually, I waltz out of here half-naked, not caring who sees me nude. Not now! My Pretty Girl is watching our every move. I will not fuck this up.
My body is River’s fucking temple. She’s the only one who can worship me now: no more ogling eyes or touchy hands from fans. I am a one-woman man. Forever. No matter what.
“She wants to watch us with the fans,” Callum surmises, rubbing his chin.
“You think she’s trying to see how we handle the girls?” Asher asks with uncertainty.
“My bet? Yeah, she fucking does.” Kieran smirks when he stands, running his hands down his ripped jeans. “Our girl is secretly jealous. So, let’s show her we can be as professional as her. We sign autographs but stay close to her.”
Ohhh, I like secretly jealous Pretty Girl. She gets all stabby and punchy. It makes my dick hard just thinking about it.
“Let’s do this. Operation prove ourselves commences,” I say, throwing a fist into the air with a whoop.
“Have a good night, boys,”I say, sauntering out of the band house at midnight with my head held high.
Three days of running them through the wringer has every muscle in my body wound tighter than a damn spring. Ready to unload.
Three days of watching their asses sway on stage.
Sexy, stupid bastards. Why do they have to look so damn good and delicious in their natural habitat?
Three days of watching the sweat drip down their bare chests as they move with grins on their faces. Three goddamn miserable days of watching girls flock to their sides, pawing at them, and helplessly watching as I kept my shit together with gritted teeth and fake smiles.
