Page 39 of Give Me What I Want

“As hilarious as you two might think you are, you’re not getting anything done. Come on, Cole. Hair.” He snapped his fingers, and I almost flew out of my seat.

But Mav was on his feet before me, his chest pressed up against Ro’s as he snarled in his face. “Sit. Down. Ronan. We’ll get ready in our own time.”

“Well, I guess we’ll make it out in time for lunch instead then,” Ro snapped back.

“Ooooh,” Cece said quietly, leaning close to me. “Is this what you meant when you said they get into these little pissing matches?”

“Yep,” I whispered. “It’s not just me who fights with Ro-bear.”

My mood had snapped again, calming instantly as my new friend—I supposed that was what she was—giggled quietly, covering her mouth and ducking to hide her head behind me, clearly not wanting to draw the attention of the two guys still pushing their chests together, waiting for the other to back down.

With a sigh, I got up and grabbed Mav by the arm, dragging him out back to find him a pair of trousers to replace the basketball shorts he had pulled on. He started to complain, but he didn’t attempt to stand his ground, even though he easily could. Annoyingly tall, strong, beautiful man.

When we came back out to the lounge everyone was ready and Cece had left. I found her waiting outside One Last Time’s bus, her blonde hair twisted up with a claw clip, a strappy black sundress sitting on her petite frame. She was laughing with their drummer, Kellan, a South African guy who was almost double the size of my own drummer, which was pretty impressive as Cole wasn’t exactly small, not like Jordan, who was gracefully slender. With his perfectly smooth, tanned skin, and inky black hair, Jord was pretty, not that I’d ever say that to his face. I recalled one time a girl had said that to him back home, he had immediately kicked her out of the backstage area of the venue we had played in Camden.

“You ready to go?” I asked as we approached them.

“Heck yeah, bru,” the drummer said enthusiastically, bouncing from foot to foot. His good mood was infectious, and Cece smiled wide as she caught my lips twitching.

The rest of the other band joined us, even their injured guitarist, and with a small security team in tow, we made the short walk to a nearby café that, according to Cece, was a local treasure.

She hadn’t been wrong. The pastries were incredible, the people didn’t speak a word of English, and we ended up leaving with a bag filled with all sorts of items that we had passed on during our visit. Apparently, the owner of the café had insisted we try everything. I had just taken whatever she had handed to me and left it up to the guys to deal with. Ronan, being the most cultured member of our band, spoke to her in what sounded like pretty awful French, but then Kellan had chimed in, surprising everyone by sounding way less touristy than my bassist had.

“Do you guys wanna join us this afternoon? We have that boat ride and we’re gonna do a little sightseeing, I hope,” Cece asked with a giggle as one of her guys pulled her close and started to whisper something in her ear.

We were walking back, taking a slow stroll and enjoying the warmth of the late morning sun. We were all thoroughly stuffed and at least two of the guys had declared that they could do with a nap when we got back.

Ronan was holding my hand and smoothly transitioned to sliding his arm around my shoulders. “I think we’re going to stay in,” he replied for us all.

Jordan made a disgusted noise from behind us, and Cece raised her brows at me.

“Right,” she said slowly. “Well, ifanyof you wanted to come out, the invitations there. We’re probably going to go out in about an hour if you guys don’t mind?” She aimed her question at the security guys trailing a few feet behind us.

“Maybe,” I said quietly. “Thanks, girl.”

“No problem.” She widened her eyes at me just enough for me to pick up the hidden message. She wanted details when we were alone, and she wanted to discuss how Jordan was acting, just like we had in every city since she had joined us on tour.

“Beatrix! Beatrix! Over here!” someone called out, and then a flash had me blinking and spinning on the spot.

Ro’s arm was now around my chest. He held me close, his arm protective as our security created a small barrier, blocking us from the view of the cameras. But there were too many of us, two entire bands out here on a quiet street in the middle of Paris.

I peered through a gap between the two men who were firmly telling the reporter to back up. There was only one man speaking though, not a swarm of vultures circling like usual. Just him and three people with cameras.

“I think,” I said loudly, “that they could probably take a couple of pictures.”

Ronan hissed against the top of my head, his lips buried in my hair. “Are you sure about that, Queenie?”

“We could always do with some good press, and so could they,” I jerked my head towards the One Last Time guys. “Anyway, what’s the worst that they could say? Deity and One Last Time enjoy breakfast and a walk. It’s harmless.”

Joel—one of the security guys—turned to look at me with a raised brow. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. Unless they attack. But you’ll jump in before that happens, right?” I smiled sweetly at him, and he nodded sharply before stepping to one side, allowing us to properly come into view.

Ronan’s hold on me tightened a fraction, and I leaned into his body, relaxing in his embrace as his other arm banded around my stomach. Mav and Cole were on either side of us, smiling mildly at the reporter as Jordan took a step away from us all. I turned my head, about to demand that he join us and ask our friends to huddle in, but the reporter stopped me in my tracks.

“Just the happy couple, merci.” His gaze snapped between my bandmates, it was hard and cold, not matching the kind tone of his voice. It was unnerving, and my bandmates each took a few slow steps away from Ro and me, all looking dejected. Apart from Jord, who, as I had grown so used to, looked like he was torn between wanting to vomit on me or rip my eyes out.

I forced a smile as the cameras flashed, my body turning inadvertently stiff in Ro’s arms. He felt it and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. He had started to do that every time it was clear that I was uncomfortable. If the reporters wanted to label us with a ‘thing’, that would be it, but none of them seemed to pick up on it.

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