Page 97 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Jamie and Molly raced to the doorway.

Jules and Denver were a little slower, but they were laughing about something. Jamie craned her neck to make sure I was still following. She knew me too well. If I wasn’t already feeling guilty about not telling her about Nash, I’d probably have found my way to our suite.

But nope, I was prepared to pay for my sins tonight.

Not that I should have felt guilty, but not telling Jamie always felt a little wrong. And yet, I’d bitten my damn tongue instead of spilling my guts.

Elle left me to run and jump into the arms of her mountain-sized husband, who was nursing a beer along the side of the room. He didn’t even grunt. Just caught her close and spun her around with a quick, slashing smile. Then their mouths were fused together. I had to look away because dammit, I was jealous.

Even if I was able to tell people about Nash, he didn’t seem the type to allow me to leap into his arms. And to be fair, I wasn’t exactly the kind of woman liked public displays of affection. Still, the green-eyed monster was snapping at my already abused neck.

Remembering that my best friend had too much of an eagle eye even when she was half drunk made me pull my hair down around my shoulders. Jamie was already wondering just what I’d been up to in Winchester Falls. There hadn’t been enough time between getting ready for the show and getting on stage for anyone else to ask me about my trip yet either.

Come to Jesus might as well be the motto on the T-shirt I wore tonight.

The room was decadent, just as promised. Huge chandeliers hung over lush purple velvet circular couches. A wide obsidian colored bar was stationed across the back with more of the purple neon lights lighting up the clear shelves behind our resident bartender, Ethan. It was a private bar, fully stocked.

Luc and Molly were stationed on the other side, leaning against the slick black surface and helping themselves to a few shots. More of the purple lights shone under the lip of the bar and each of the black stools.

There was a large area to dance in as well as longer lavender couches around the perimeter. The space was made for either a big old bash, or a private party like our two bands hanging out for the night.

Before long, I found myself in the center of a group of my friends, gyrating to some club music. Teagan was dancing on one of the long chaise lounges, shaking her ass and dropping down low enough to make her jeans gap in the back. The tiny red string of her thong was on full display. And I didn’t see a problem with the miniature peep show when I had my third shot glass filled with one of Ethan’s concoctions tipped to my lips.

Maybe fourth? Who even knew.

I’d checked my silent phone some time ago during a genre switch on the music and had gone back for another round. I wasn’t drunk, just pleasantly tipsy. Enough that I didn’t warn Teagan about her near underwear misfire.

Funnily enough, even with all the insanity around us, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. A quick glance at the velvet couches just outside of the dance area proved that Cooper hadn’t missed a thing. From the way he was lounging like a lazy panther, his gaze glued to Teagan’s ass, he didn’t mind the view either.

Hmm. Interesting.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer,” I called out to him, half expecting him not to hear.

The bar was at maximum decibel right now, between the laughter, talking, and pumping music. But he turned his head and pinned me with his green gaze, his lips curved. He just shrugged and sipped from his beer—much more slowly than I was currently sipping—and went back to watching Teagan’s show.

Most bands were incestuous times seventeen. It was just a natural consequence of spending so much time with people in close quarters, working and playing together and dealing with them 24/7 while we were on the road. Relationships happened. Usually, they fizzled out as quickly as they occurred, although Warning Sign had a few examples of ones that had lasted. Molly and Luc, Warning Sign’s lead singers, were in a committed—and seemingly very happy—threesome with Ethan. Elle and Mal couldn’t go five minutes without groping each other, audience or not. Lo sat in with the band and she and West had just gotten married, for Pete’s sake. Even Denver and Ryan had met on the tour bus while she was driving them from place to place.

Their band was basically a shining example of making it work despite the perils of a music career.

Brooklyn Dawn? Not so much.

We’d had a few changes in personnel over the years, but other than Teagan, we’d been a solid group for quite a while now. I didn’t know why there had never been any serious sparks between any of us, except for the fact we were truly a family in all senses of the word.

Teagan was new blood. And if my spidey senses were right, Cooper had his fin out and was circling.

Which, hey, good for him. Them. Whatever. But the band came first. We couldn’t risk anything fucking up the special chemistry we had together. Everyone knew how bad a bet it was to get involved with a rockstar.

And two rockstars in a relationship? Just begging for trouble.

I sipped the last of my drink and turned, stumbling a little as I caught myself against the edge of the bar. I should know, right? Might as well take out a billboard announcing how very fucked I was. Although Nash wasn’t a typical rockstar

any longer.

Not that it mattered. He had been once, and he still worked with enough of them to be rockstar-adjacent.

His voice had a haunting rasp to it now, different than his old sound, yet even more intriguing. From the bits and pieces I’d heard over the years, his vocal damage from his accident had been part of why he’d dropped out of sight for so long. But the full story had never been fully revealed. It wasn’t as if meeting Kyle had provided any answers either.

Someone passed me another drink, this one pink, and I didn’t even ask what it was. I was with my people. If I couldn’t trust them, who could I trust?

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