Page 19 of Wicked Truths

After our storage closet rendezvous, he was supposed to do his best not to smell like me. Step one seems like washing his damn hands when we both visited the bathroom.

Jamen calls for Liam. Our new rhythm guitarist gives us a wide smile and a nod before heading over to talk to Jamen.

I need something to focus on outside of the awkward as hell situation I find myself in every time I’m alone with Sulli and Marcus.

“Right, does anyone know where Hawk is?” I glance around.

“Not a clue,” Sullivan mutters.

“No,” Marcus says.

Okay, they both seem super weird. I back away, tossing a thumb toward the door. “I’m going to grab a sandwich.”

I’m pretty sure neither of them care because they don’t say a word.

They simply continue to glare at each other.

I aim for the door without a backward glance.

ChapterSix

Liam

The drummer and the bassist square off. The pretty lead singer, Oakley, scoffs at something and heads out.

“Are we good?” I ask Jamen. “Do you need me for anything?” My accent rolls through my words, causing them to run together a bit. It’s a right mess of Irish and English at times from growing up in both countries.

“We’re good,” he says, clapping me on the back. “We’ll get you moved into the penthouse and set up someone for song creation.”

I rock on my toes.

I did all that in my last band back before it all fell apart, but I’m not trying to come off as the cocky asshole who thinks he can do it all.

I give him a grateful smile and hold out a hand for him to shake, but my eyes track the curvy chick as she heads out the door.

I need to talk to that woman and get some idea of what I’m walking into.

“Thank you.” We shake, and I direct my thumb toward the door. “I know you warned me, but I think I’m going to see for myself what the lass has to say.”

Jamen smirks. “Your assistant can get the information. Go on.”

I give Randall a nod and aim to follow Oakley. I have to book it to catch up. The elevator doors are almost closed, but I jam my finger against the button and the doors pop open.

“Hey.” I flash her a wicked smile. “Where are you headed?”

“I needed some air,” she mutters, crossing lithe arms over her chest.

“Gotcha.” I laugh, the sound echoing around the small space.

She was a lot friendlier in the room full of people. I wonder if this is the true Oakley Graves. Maybe that’s why Marcus calls herprincess. Most lead singers do tend to enjoy being the center of attention, and I’ve known a few with attitude problems.

I should know.

I did lead in the last band I was in.

Back before Lyric and Ryder showed up to scrape me out of the bottom of a bottle.

Yeah, I’m not going there. No fucking thank you.

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