Page 7 of The Roadie
Alan wrapped his forearm around Jeremy’s neck again and Kira thought they were going to start wrestling once more, but Alan said, “C’mon, bruh. Let’s get lunch and leave these dudes alone so they can finish the song.”
“Lunch?” Derek stopped fingering his guitar and stood at attention. “I could use some chow.”
“You could always use some chow,” Alan said, over his shoulder, as he and Jeremy headed for the door, now arm in arm.
Derek turned puppy dog eyes on Brandon. “I’m hungry, Bran.”
Kira was about to suggest they order sandwiches, but Bulletproof’s manager returned to the studio with a crew of caterers, stopping Jeremy and Alan from leaving. In a matter of minutes, a table on the far wall was covered with a banquet of food and drinks.
“What’s all this?” Angel inquired. Immortal Angel never took lunch breaks. They always worked until a recording was complete, without distraction.
Felix rolled his eyes, exasperated. “If I don’t order food for these hooligans, they’ll get unruly. They need fuel. Especially this one.” He motioned to Derek, who was already filling a plate with . . . everything.
Derek pushed his waist-length black hair over his shoulder and presented a broad smile as he grabbed another chicken tender. “I have a high metabolism.”
Felix clapped his hands together in order to get the room’s attention. “Eat up, everyone.” He glanced back at Derek. “Before Mr. MacAlister devours it all by himself.”
Audra and Kira shared soft laughter at the camaraderie between the members of Bulletproof and their manager. Felix was a well-known disciplinarian when it came to business, but he was also extremely amusing. And he wore many hats. If anyone wanted to get near Bulletproof, they didn’t go through the band’s label. They went through Felix.
“I hope you don’t mind that I dropped by unannounced with lunch.” Felix addressed the members of Immortal Angel. “I forgot to mention that my boys are insufferable if they miss mealtime. Please help yourselves. There are a few healthy options hidden in between the meat and grease these Neanderthals consume.”
Kira made eye contact with her sister and almost started laughing at Felix’s over-the-top dramatics. After she had a small plate of couscous and broccoli rabe, Kira excused herself to use the restroom. As soon as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, a gust of warm air hit her, and she almost choked. Considering the high price of renting a music studio, they could at least keep the air on in the hallways. She stopped at the water cooler and drank a small cup of water. Fanning herself, she blew the hair off her face.
“Now I know why it’s so hot in the hallway.”
Brett’s voice made Kira freeze. She thought he was gone. There was no reason for the roadies to be inside the building, and she wondered if he was waiting for her. Unsure of what to say, she didn’t answer.
“Mind if I join you?” His eyes remained fixated on her while he filled a paper cup with water, and it overflowed onto his hand. He switched the cup to his other hand and shook the water from his fingers. “See what you do to me? I can’t concentrate when you’re around.”
She let out a giddy laugh, like a giggling teenager, and wondered where the hell it came from. She hadn’t laughed like that since . . . since shewasa teenager.
“You got a real pretty laugh, babe.”
She usually hated when men called her “babe” because she thought it was demeaning. But when Brett said it, thewayhe said it – with a sexy crooked smile and the quirk of his eyebrows – made a tingle dance over her flesh, and she let out a breath. “I’m going inside.” This was ridiculous. She did not flirt with rock stars or their entourage. Although they certainly turned her on, she had always dated professionals, when she had the time, which seemed like eons ago.
“Where are you running off to?” Brett asked, placing a hand on her upper arm. “I thought we’d share a cold drink. We’ve already had a hot one.”
Kira stared at his hand, then into those smoldering eyes. She wanted to be annoyed that he brought up their quickie at Starbucks, but the memory left her dizzy and made her stomach flutter. “It was a one-time thing. I don’t know why it happened in the first place.”
“I do.”
“Really?” she challenged him. “Why do you think it happened?”
“Because you like me.”
“I don’t even know you.” Was he used to women throwing themselves at him, as if he was a rock star? She wondered if groupies hooked up with the road crew when they couldn’t score with the talent. “I have to get back to work.” She spun around and marched toward the studio without bothering with the restroom. She quickened her pace when she heard his footsteps following her, stepped wrong and twisted her ankle in those God damn five-inch heels. Brett was suddenly there, one arm across her lower back. His other hand caught her by the elbow. “Thank you. But I’m fine,” she said, as she regained her footing.
“I think you broke your heel.”
“No!” She quickly examined her boot and realized he was joking. Relief made her smile. “Very funny.”
“I’m glad your shoe’s OK. They’re really hot.” He bent over to look at them more closely. “You have a scuff.”
She wasn’t falling for it again but worry made her look. “Shit. They’re brand new.” A white mark, probably from the cheap floor wax, streaked across the black leather.
Brett pulled a bandana from his back pocket and rubbed at the mark. When it didn’t come off, he licked his finger, wiped a wet trail along the toe of her boot, and tried again.
Did he just put saliva on her leather Christian Louboutin ankle boot? She couldn’t decide if she was offended or turned on. Heat flushed her cheeks. Turned on. It definitely turned her on.
