Page 81 of Cherry Beats

I wanted to be free like him, to try new things. I wanted to walk around with my head held high, not saying sorry for things I’d never done wrong or always thinking of other people. I wanted to figure out who I was behind the mask I hadn’t even known I’d been wearing until he came along. I wanted all the things I knew Presley could deliver.

“Please,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. “Please, let me just have one day with you without you overthinking every single second of it.”

“This is so weird, Presley.”

“I know.” He sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, she was shit. Had nothing on you.”

A burst of laughter escaped me as I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Idiot.”

“Come the fuck on, guys. Fuck in the car if you have to. We’re going to be late as shit!” Rhett Ryan cried out, making us both turn his way to see he had his upper body hanging out of the window of one of the cars up front. “Get moving, Elvis.”

Presley grinned and flipped Rhett the bird, and just like that, the thoughts of what had happened with Presley while I’d been away were pushed down into the back corners of my mind. For today, I had a band to follow around.

A band who were at the top of their game, making waves, history, and epic music.

* * *

“This is Benny Dean from River FM and, listeners, you will never believe it, but the rumours are, indeed, true. The members of Youth Gone Wild are sitting in front of me, and I can confirm that eighty percent of this band are as good looking as the media has us believing. Sorry, Coops.”

The band members laughed quietly, each of them sitting around the circular radio station table with their headphones in place and microphones in front of them.

I was in the next room, standing behind a glass window, watching on in absolute awe and wonder. Julia was by my side, her thumb in between her teeth as she studied every move they made and word they spoke.

Rhett was obviously the leading member on all fronts of the band. He was the performer—the guy who loved the sound of his own voice and every single minute of his time in the spotlight. He was a good-looking guy, and if Presley hadn’t been sitting to the right of him, all eyes would have been on Rhett without a shadow of a doubt. Unfortunately for Rhett, Presley shone without even trying. His blonde hair hung over his face as he rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward, letting the other guys do most of the talking. However, Benny Dean, the presenter, clearly wanted some of Presley’s time. Even when a question had been answered by Rhett, Big D, Hawk or Coops, Benny would always add in a line similar to, “And you, Presley? What are your thoughts on performing at this year’s charity concert, TriFest?”

Presley would look up at his bandmates and simply shrug. “Yeah, man. What the other guys said. I’m down for anything as long as I get to play the music.”

I hadn’t realised I was smiling so much until Julia nudged me gently with her elbow.

“Grin any bigger and you’ll crack your foundation.”

“I’m not wearing any,” I replied quietly, keeping my eyes on my man.Myman. Apparently, I was claiming him now. “Didn’t exactly have time to get pretty when you gave us the five-minute warning.”

“Sorry about that, but if I don’t threaten Presley, he tends not to listen.”

I turned my head to look at her, not saying a word in response.

She pursed her lips and looked around the group of men on the other side of the glass. “He’s the one who has the ability to make or break this band. You know that, right?”

“I thought they were pretty much made already.”

“After three years?” She turned to me; her brow raised. “Come on, Tessa. Everyone knows three years at the top doesn’t make any band legendary. Presley wants his music to matter in fifty years, not just today. They need at least five years to make their name stick. Ten to be great at what they do. Twenty years to be classed as legends. They’re still starting out, even if they have had major success in that time. It’s all fleeting. It could all disappear tomorrow. Just like that.” She clicked her fingers before she pressed her thumb against her bottom lip.

I looked back at Presley. “Why do you think it’s him who can make or break them?”

“Aside from the fact that he’s the real musician here? He’sthatguy. Every band has one. The one the men want to be, and the women want to be with.”

“What about Rhett?”

“He tries too damn hard to be that guy. Not that we don’t love him for it, obviously, but Presley has the X factor. It’s not something that can be rehearsed or copied. It’s just in him. It’s who he is. This brooding, silent type who sees more than he lets on, and who doesn’t take crap from anybody.”

I felt my own smile rise as I watched him, and right on cue, he looked up through the glass and offered me a smug little smirk of his own.

“He’s never brought another girl to anything like this with him before,” she told me, her voice almost silent like the thought shouldn’t have been spoken.

“I’m not here to be a problem.”

Julia glanced at me again. “I know a wannabe when I see one, and you aren’t it. The fact that you’re standing here dressed in that outfit, with that hairstyle, wearing no makeup tells me everything I need to know.”

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