Page 80 of Unrequited (Unrequited 1)

Maeve

My saving grace onthis tour was having my own private dressing room. The boys all shared, and more often than not, I hung out with them. But when it got too crowded with press and fans vying to meet their idols, I had a closet-sized retreat I could escape to.

I was in the middle of lining my eyes when someone knocked on my door. That someone did not wait for a reply. The door swung open as soon as the last knock sounded, and Murray stuck his head in, his eyes screwed shut. “Are you dressed, Princess Mae-Mae?”

“Nope. Tits are totally out.”

His eyes sprung open, and his lips formed an immediate pout when he saw me fully dressed. “That’s a cruel thing to do.” He slid into my dressing room, closing the door behind him. “Don’t joke about things like that.”

I pressed my hand to my heart. “I promise that’s the last time.”

“What’s happening in here?”

“Gettin’ pretty. What’s happenin’ in your dressing room?”

“Mo’s bullshitting with some Czech reporters. Talking about his process like the dude didn’t write an idea on the back of a receipt and hand it over to Santi to make something of.”

I scrunched my nose. “Mo’s takin’ credit for Santi’s work?”

“Nah.” Murray flopped down on the small armchair in the corner, his long legs stretched in front of him. “Santi doesn’t like to talk to the press, and our Moses does come up with most of the ideas for songs, he just can’t sit still long enough to properly structure them.”

“But Santi can?”

“Santi is the most disciplined guy I’ve ever known. You give him a task, he crushes it. His dad was a hard-ass on him. Still is, from what I’ve seen.”

I swiveled around on my stool to face Murray. He was the one member of the band I knew the least. Sure, he talked until the cows came home, but his version of talking was cracking jokes and standing on his head.

“I grew up the same way, but with a hard-ass mama,” I said.

He nodded. “I see that. I’ve always thought the two of you were a lot alike, only you know how to chill.”

That made me laugh. “True. Santi has no chill.”

“Right? He was born without the chill gene.”

I held up my eyeliner. “You mind if I finish puttin’ on my makeup?”

He leaned forward. “You mind if I watch?”

“I don’t mind, just as long as you accept I’m not takin’ my tits out.”

He sighed with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. I accept. I suppose I’ll have to enjoy your company rather than waiting for you to come to your senses and show me at least one of your breasts.”

I nearly stabbed my eye with my eyeliner. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m going to end up lookin’ like a clown.”

He got up, lurking behind me and watching me in the mirror. “You should draw one of those teardrops in the corner of your eye.”

“Isn’t that a gang symbol?”

“Yeah. It’d give you street cred. Clark gives you shit, you point to the teardrop. You don’t even have to say anything.”

“Because he’ll think I’m about to murder him at any moment?” I asked for clarity.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know if I want that kind of street cred.”

He tapped his cheekbone. “Draw one on me?”

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