Page 85 of Tell Me When It's Over

One of the guys asks, “Was it difficult transitioning into a big brother role after finding out about her?”

Was it? Maybe for a couple days. I said some shit I shouldn’t have, regret it, but moved on. We both have. “Not really. Like I said, we get along really well. Having her in the family is the best thing that’s happened to us.”

Emily grins. “That’s one lucky girl.”

She brushes my arm, which I subtly move away from with an easy smile. Flirting with people is practically another language of mine, but I’m not about to lead the poor woman on thinking she has a shot. Especially not when Lenny is here. “I’m the lucky one,” I go with.

Before they can ask another question, there’s a sharp inhale behind me followed by a familiar accent saying, “Is that Little Bishop?”

I turn in time for Garrick, shirtless now for some fucking reason, to approach Leighton. Her eyes grow twice their size, making him grin like he won a prize.

Nope. Excusing myself, I walk over and stand close to Lenny while eyeing the Aussie fucker who’s grinning ear to ear at me. “When I heard the Bishops were at our concert, damn near pissed myself, mate. I’ll be sure to tell the merch people to hook you up with some great VW fan swag.”

He wiggles his brows and turns his attention to Lenny, who squeaks at the rockers’ sole attention. “And who might this beautiful soul be, hmm?”

“Fifteen,” I warn.

He lifts his hands innocently.

Lenny croaks out, “Leighton. My name is Leighton. Or Lenny. Most people call me that.” She blinks, then blinks again, her face turning redder by the second. “You’re not most people though, so you can call me whatever you want.”

Even I can’t help but snort at her awkwardness, but I get it. I was about two seconds away from peeing myself when the frontrunner of Journey shook my hand after a Grammy performance and told me he liked my sound.

Zayne gives Lenny a once-over before smacking Garrick. “I’m thirsty as fuck. Let’s go to the room before we have to deal with the sharks.”

Chuckling over his accurate description of the people calling out to them, I nudge Lenny and give her a silent “you okay” look. She nods once, her throat bobbing as she glances back at Garrick with awe in her eyes.

I’ve never seen her this starstruck. Not even when she met me. Maybe a little bit of jealousy rises in me, but I brush it off because it’s not important. I’m still her favorite person, she’s told me as much.

Before I can walk to the back room set up for them, one of the reporters call out to me again. “Mind if we ask you and Garrick a few questions before you head out?”

The Australian and I share a look. I don’t particularly want to do a dual interview, but I’ve already dodged my fair share of questions the past couple of years. Gordy and my agent both told me I need to start talking to them more to stay involved with the fans, even if they twist the crap I say.

“Sure,” I relent, after making sure Leighton will be okay.

The oldest of them is a reporter who made a name for himself in the industry for being blunt. “There’s no short speculation about the fallout between the two of you after your split with Kylie,” he begins, eyeing me, then Garrick. “Has that feud since passed since you’re both here?”

It’s the prick who answers, “Not even bad blood can stop people from enjoying good music. Isn’t that right, mate?”

I refrain from glaring at him. “Anything that’s happened in the past has stayed there. There’s no point in bringing up old issues.”

A new person chimes in as soon as I finish answering. “Can we expect a collaboration between you two in the future then?”

I say, “No,” the same time Garrick replies, “It’s a possibility.” We both look at one another, his face amused, mine blank. It’s him who turns back to the crowd. “I’ll let you work that out more. I’m sweaty, tired, need a drink, and have a pretty girl waiting for me. Thank you for coming out.”

The wink he shoots me as he backs away has my nostrils flaring. “Hands to yourself, Matthews.”

He lifts them again and smirks.

Lenny is smart, and Garrick is—for the most part—harmless. All talk, no show. So, I grin and bear it.

“When can we expect new music from you?” That comes from Emily.

“Will you consider doing a performance with a band like Violet Wonders?”

“There are rumors about Single Division getting back together, can you confirm or deny?”

On and on it goes for another ten minutes until I answer all their questions and give them each a handshake. Emily slips me her number and winks before acting like it never happened when someone asks her a question. It’s been weeks since I’ve gotten laid, and I’m tempted to use the number, but decide against it.

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