Page 112 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“Shit.” I slipped on the puddle I was making on the marble and kicked my phone for good measure.

I stormed back into my room and dried off. I didn’t have time to deal with my hair, so I plaited it into a loose fishtail braid that wouldn’t leave it too funky for later. A pair of skinny jeans and a Van Halen T-shirt with my leather jacket kept me looking rocker chic. I pulled on my boots, then did a few little quick hit fixes with blush and liner.

There had been plenty of times in the early days of the band when I had to do my own makeup. I also wasn’t really the type to have an entourage of people fixing my hair and face all the damn time. Genie gave us enough attitude before a show. I didn’t want her to do me up for a freaking interview. But I also didn’t want to look like a dead fish.

Ten minutes later, I was passable for a radio spot. I tugged on Nash’s scrunchy hat to finish the rest of my look. I was tempted to take my backup phone off the charger, but I didn’t want to obsess over more texts from Nash. I was mad at him, but the hat would save me for pictures. I wasn’t exactly the baseball cap type.

The lobby was blissfully quiet when I got downstairs. George was waiting for me outside in the car with Jamie in tow. The rest of the band was probably still sleeping it off. Jamie and I were the ones who did the brunt of the interviews unless it was a full band meet-up.

I’d had enough of Oz’s shenanigans last night anyway. Way too much booze had been flowing.

God, that whole thing with the guitar. What had happened? Were we going to be sued? Stuck with a massive bill from whatever damage Oz did from that bass landing in the hot tub?

I slid inside the car and found Jamie mindlessly scrolling through her phone. She was stone-faced and obviously pissed. Even more, I knew she was hurt. And it wasn’t easy to hurt Jamie’s feelings.

“Did we get nailed for the guitar thing?”

She shrugged. Didn’t speak. Either it was a non-issue or I was basically dead to her.

Probably door number two.

I nodded to George and he slid away from the curb smoothly and headed toward the interstate. We were heading into downtown Chicago for the interview.

“I fucked Nash.”

The crude words surprised me just as much as Jamie since her thumb froze mid-swipe. She recovered well enough and continued to ignore me. I knew she was still listening so I just kept going. It would be easier to just blurt out the whole thi

ng in one long stream.

“He was working on the project with Logan. It happened about halfway through the sessions.”

She turned to me, too surprised to stay silent. “You? In the studio?”

“No. The Barn.”

“You fucked him in a barn? Jesus.”

“No, not a barn—well, it was at one point. The Barn. You know, where we play for the summer festival.”

“Oh. So, you actually fucked on a stage? Who are you?”

I felt the heat creeping up my neck. Not only had I fucked on a stage, but in a seedy bar on a piano three years ago. I wasn’t sure if I should say the rest, but it seemed like it was better to purge now than to get her even more pissed at me.

“It wasn’t the first time.”

“What?”

I took a long, slow breath. “Yeah, we hooked up once before. It ended better this time, I thought. Well, I’m not sure about that to be honest. He’s…”

“Prickly as a hundred-year-old cactus? What the flying fuck, Lindz?”

She definitely wasn’t far off there.

I turned in my seat to face her and grabbed her hand, but she twisted it away.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me about that?”

I curled my fingers into my palm. “I don’t know.”

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