Page 27 of Accidental Baby For My Brother’s Best Friend

Locke

Imiss two different cues, and Inevermiss cues, but frankly, I’m pissed off and a little drunk. Okay, maybe pretty drunk. The concert goes by in a blur and I don’t even care when “Keyed Up” is the last song and everyone cheers so loud it hurts my eardrums.

I can only stare at the back of Gemma’s head and wonder why I’m so fucking angry. She’s not my little sister, that much was proven the second I started to watch her ass as she walked away or appreciate how long her legs seemed in those little skirts she always wears. I’m loyal to Jackson. Hell, he’s my best friend. But at the end of the day, his hang-ups about protecting his baby sister are his own.

I drank enough tequila before the show to be a little honest with myself—I am jealous, but the reasons why escape me. Is it because I wish I’d gotten to her first? That’s not like me, I don’t lay a claim on a woman just because I think she’s hot.

But is it more than that? The way Gemma got the giggles when she was tired, how her green eyes sparkled when she laughed, how excited she got, bouncing in her seat when I agreed to try blue Takis dipped in strawberry milk: something strange is happening the more time I spend around her.

She’s just a kid, I tell myself, but then I remind myself that Axel certainly didn’t see her that way and I taste blood in my mouth as I bite the insides of my cheeks.

“Kincaid!” Jackson barks, and I start, looking up at him.

“Show’s over,” he says in a low voice. “Get your shit together.”

Sure enough, Samuel and Axel have fled the stage, allowing the group of roadies we’d hired specifically for the big Vegas show to load the equipment up onto the bus.

I should just let it go. I should just stand up and leave the stage and go back to the hotel room we booked that’s connected to the casino. Sleep off this bad mood and the tequila.

“Youget your shit together,” I snap back. “You’ve been distracted this whole tour, and you were flat during the last two songs.”

Jackson’s eyes narrow as he sets his jaw. He’s clearly angry, and part of me craves it, wants him to hit me so that whatever is rolling around in my gut will stop and I can give in to the physicality of a brawl.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t throw a punch even when I stand up to my full height and take a step towards him. I don’t get what I want and I’m left with all this anger rolling in my stomach, and it's uncomfortable.

Usually, when I'm in a bad mood after a concert, I say my goodbyes and go somewhere I can be alone. Most of the time, I'm in a bad mood because my social battery is drained or I feel down because I didn't drum as well as I could have. I would like to say those are the reasons now, but I've had enough tequila to know that's not the case.

Tequila keeps me honest, and sometimes, it tells me what to do (the Janis debacle was often tequila fueled), and right now it's telling me two things.

1. Drink more tequila.

2. Confront Gemma and Axel.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know that I could just tell Jackson what happened and he would take care of it, or find a half dozen other ways to handle this situation that don't involve me much at all. I'm not Gemma's protector. I'm not her family. I'm not even really her friend.

The thing about tequila, though, is that all those intellectual, rational thoughts take a backseat to whatever impulse I feel at the moment.

After a double shot of Casamigos (bless Vegas and their mostly free liquor), I catch sight of Axel at the far end of the wrap-around bar. Sure enough, Gemma is sitting to his right, her head thrown back, green eyes sparkling. I swallow hard, tasting the unique flavor of reposado on my tongue, and stride over, tapping her shoulder.

Her smile fades when she turns to me, and that only makes me feel worse.

"Shouldn't we go back?" My words come out lower and slower than I expect, and when Gemma looks up at me, her face fades in and out of focus.

When she stands up, she wobbles on her feet, and I wonder if she's been going shot for shot with Axel. Jackson and Axel are the tanks, and while I can hold my own due to my size, Gemma can't weigh more than a buck-forty soaking wet. I feel myself frowning.

I slowly realize that she responded to me and I didn't answer.

Something like "Go back where?" I think she said, and I don't know if she's being a smart ass or she really didn't hear me.

I'd planned on confronting Axel instead of Gemma, but now that I'm standing here, I barely even notice his presence, even when he says my name twice.

Without allowing myself to think (which is a lot easier with my blood flowing with tequila), I wrap my fingers around Gemma's right wrist and tug. She stumbles toward me, bracing her left hand on my chest, and her touch makes my breath catch in my throat.

"Can we go outside?" I ask, low, my voice husky, and Gemma blinks those glassy, pale green eyes and nods slowly.

She leans down to whisper something to Axel, who whispers something back and nods. I can't bring myself to let go of her wrist. Her skin feels so soft beneath the pads of my fingers.

"He stays here," I command, but again it comes out quieter and slower.

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