Page 4 of Wicked Truths

“Whatcha doing?” Sullivan asks against the shell of my ear.

I jump, letting out a squeak.

My hands fly to my chest as I glare at him over my shoulder. He knows I hate it when he does that shit.

“Can you believe that?” I nod to Marcus.

“He’s all right,” Sulli mutters, swiping sweaty hair away from his face.

I scoff. “There’s no reason he should be doing backup vocals. He’s insanely talented.”

Sullivan stares at me, blinking his big blue eyes. His scent fills the air around us as he studies my face. I’m not sure what he smells like to the rest of the world, but Sullivan smells like sex on a stick to me. It doesn’t matter that he’s not an alpha. I crave him with a level of desperation that’s embarrassing. His sweaty manly scent is stronger than normal because of his workout.

I’m wearing a thin tank top and cotton sleep shorts, but if I’m not careful, the scent of my perfume will remind him of my ridiculous crush. I clench my knees together, awkwardly wrapping an arm around my chest to hide my hard nipples.

Things have been uncomfortable between us since a couple weeks ago.

I got drunk and tried to kiss him. Okay, so I wasn’t actually wasted. I had two drinks, one of which I didn’t finish, but it’s a convenient excuse.

Since then, I’ve pretended I was too sloshed to remember how he immediately shut me down. It was one of the most mortifying experiencesof my life. It’s not like I can escape him.

I’m not going to give up fifteen years of friendship just because my pride took a blow. Okay, so it would actually be a million times easier to handle if it were only my ego that took the hit.

My heart physically hurts when I think about it. So I don’t. I shove that shit down deep and lock it away.

I won’t let my wounded pride, or a slightly broken heart, convince me to do something stupid, like end fifteen years of friendship. It’s already led me to make other questionable choices.

“I need a shower.” Sullivan draws me out of my thoughts as he turns and saunters off, while I’m still standing dumbfounded over how easily he manages to walk away from me.

We used to be a team.

I really miss it. I misshim.

Marcus is singing the hell out of the last verse of the song. My eyes rake over his slender form. He looks like the ideal rock star with his tattoos, piercings, and long hair. If bad decisions have a vibe, Marcus fits it to perfection. Between Sullivan and all Marcus’s wasted talent, nothing in life seems to make any sense.

The song ends.

I jump back in some ridiculous attempt to pretend I wasn’t creeping on his private jam session.

“Did you enjoy the show, princess?” Marcus asks, turning to face me fully. “You do realize the entire wall I was facing is one big mirror, right? You were kind of hard to miss with your mouth hanging open.”

My cheeks burn, but I shrug like it’s no big deal I was watching him in awe. “Why aren’t you fronting your own band?”

Marcus scoffs, pulling off my Gibson before carefully placing it in its stand. He turns to face me as I wander closer.

I should be bitching him out for touching my guitar, but I’m still completely freaking baffled.

“You’ve got an insane amount of talent. Why bass?” It’s bothering me, and I don’t know why. It’s not my business, not really. Watching him play it’s clear he has the skill to do lead or even rhythm if he wanted to. Bass is an important part of any band, but it doesn’t give the player the ability to do the complex and intricate patterns that the guitar does. Bass players are usually dependable and laid back.

“There was already someone on lead.” He shrugs, swiping long hair away from his face. “After a shitload of failed auditions, I picked it up to see if I could keep time. Spoiler alert: I did.”

“That’s crazy,” I say, shaking my head. “Why aren’t you famous already?”

“I’m plenty famous,” he says, scoffing. “Angel made sure of that.”

I cringe. Angel Rae Sinclair is the famous frontwoman for Madness. She’s an icon in the music industry and she also gave Marcus up for adoption when he was born. Any conversation that includes her feels like dangerous territory.

“Aren’t you sorry you brought up my mommy issues?” Marcus prowls closer as his dark eyes narrow. I instinctively take a step back and then another. My back bumps the nearby wall as he continues until he’s only a foot away. “I can think of several ways you can apologize.” He flashes a cutting smile. “Most of them involve you on your knees.”

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