Page 93 of Crimson Desires

“Yeah?” I snorted.

Zephyr raised a brow at me. “You think I’m joking, don’t you?”

“Are you not?”

“I’ll just say this: I don’t know how invested you are in this relationship that you and Jack have going on—but if it’s anything even remotely close to how invested Jack is in it, I’d start packing your bags as soon as you get back to Boston.”

My throat dried a bit as I considered Zephyr’s words.

“I’ll...” my voice faltered. “I’ll think about that.”

“Think all you want—but for the love of God, do it quietly, please,” Ava snapped from the mixing booth. “I’m trying to record the single of the fucking year, here. Jack, are you ready?”

Jack gave Ava a thumbs-up.

Ava started the track from the beginning. And as I listened to Jack sing After Aster for the third time, I started to wonder if maybe—just maybe—the idea of falling in love with Jack Maverick wasn’t as crazy as I’d originally thought.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jack

The opener for our Nashville show was a heavy metal band called Killing Kiss.

Killing Kiss was on their own tour right now, and our paths had just so happened to cross in Nashville.

Initially, I’d been excited to work with them. Killing Kiss had been one of Wicked Crimson’s biggest inspirations both sonically and aesthetically. Damien adored them—he’d been a diehard fan since middle school. He liked their harsh-sounding instrumentals, their dark and depressing lyrics, and the fact that their lead singer had a facial scar just like his.

Back when we were younger, Damien used to talk about how he wanted to open for them one day. When Ava revealed that she’d worked out a deal for them to open for us, Damien literally jumped for joy. It was the most expressive I’d ever seen him.

On top of that, after the show, Ava had reserved a bar for us all to party at.

Playing with the band that had inspired our sound, fulfilling one of my best friend’s lifelong career dreams, and partying at a Nashville bar with some of the most prolific metal musicians in the industry? It all sounded like a dream.

That is until I caught the lead guitarist flirting with Aster.

The lead guitarist of Killing Kiss was a guy named Arnold Renner. He was at least forty years old, and he looked as though he’d tilt his head like a confused dog if he ever heard the word “shower.”

I narrowed my eyes as I approached the merch table that Aster had just finished setting up. Arnold leaned up against it, talking animatedly with her. He wore a leather vest, which exposed his pinup girl tattoos.

Arnold said something that made Aster laugh. I clenched my jaw and walked faster toward them.

“...but hey, that’s what happens when you mix Five Hour Energy and Triple Sec,” Arnold said. His voice was gruff and low. “What kind of drinks are you into? I’m getting a whiskey vibe. Or maybe gin? Something tough.”

Aster grinned. “I’m usually down for anything. My favorite spirit is vodka, though.” As she saw me approaching, her smile widened. “Jack, I had no idea that you guys would be playing with Killing Kiss!”

“You know them?”

“Do I know one of the most famous hardcore metal bands of the late nineties?” Aster raised her brow. “You could say that, yeah.”

“Right. Stupid question.”

Arnold offered me a playful nudge. “You’re Jack Maverick, aren’t you? Hey, man, on behalf of the whole band, we’re honored to be opening for you guys tonight.” I couldn’t tell if I was imagining it or not, but I sensed some bitterness in Arnold’s voice. “You guys do great stuff. And you’ve got a killer crew. Especially your merch girl.”

Arnold winked at Aster.

I expected Aster to flash her middle finger. Or, at least, to tell Arnold to fuck off for his blatant flirting. Instead, she giggled.

I forced a tight smile, nudging Arnold with a bit of excess force. “The honor belongs to us.”

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