Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I shadowed Alex silently. He let me have my space, but then again he never really tried to talk to me anyway, other than that time in the hallway. When he stepped onto the stage and started the show, I let out a sigh of relief. I needed my alone time. As soon as Alex left my vicinity, I plopped on the couch in his dressing room—brown leather this time—and used Luc’s laptop to scroll over pictures of Flora and Bruce Bellamy. Craig had made his profile public on that day because he knew I’d want to see them.
My mother’s smile had been infectious, and Dad used to laugh with his entire body. I ran my fingers over Luc’s laptop screen, sighing. “Don’t hate me for leaving them. I’ll come back with enough money to get us out of trouble,” I told them, but I knew it wasn’t as simple as that.
When the show was over, Alex walked in, dripping sweat. Drops trickled from his chin onto his bare chest, and my stomach clenched and knotted in an unfamiliar way when his tight abs constricted with every step he took. I bit my lower lip, setting the laptop aside.
“Good show?”
“No,” he grunted, scooping a bottle of water and unscrewing the cap. Instead of drinking, he splashed the water onto his face from above, then crushed the empty bottle on the table with his palm. “Bloody amazing show.”
I didn’t even have a smile to spare him, so I got back to staring at the wall. Alex nudged my foot with his boot, plopping beside me and nearly breaking the laptop in two.
“Midnight in the hallway, Stardust. I reckon tonight’s gonna last a bit longer. I’m behind schedule with the songs.”
“What are you talking about?” I mumbled, rescuing the laptop and placing it on a stand by the couch.
“Gig night is Muse Night. That’s what we do after a show.” He stared at me like I’d grown a second, green head from my shoulder.
“We’re doing that again?” I blinked, trying to kill the butterflies dancing in my stomach.
He rolled onto his side, giving me a spectacular view of his inked chest and abs, his head propped on his bulging arm, his stare as intense as his husky, drugging voice.
It felt different. So different.
Different from the way he usually looked at me.
Different from the way anyone had ever looked at me.
Something happened to my body that prompted me to cross my legs and clamp my inner thighs. His lips were close to mine, ruddy and plump from screaming into the mic. I needed to get up. Why wasn’t I getting up? Jesus, it was like my ass was glued to the sofa.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Stardust? You’re weirder than usual, and that says a lot.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” My eyes dragged up to the window. There was always a window. In each and every one of his dressing rooms. I wondered if he specifically asked for it, and if it made him feel less trapped. Trapped in a situation. Trapped inside himself.
“Well”—he slapped my thigh lightly, and fireworks, in different colors and sizes and shapes burst inside my chest—“I’m not asking you courteously. You’re on my payroll, under my wing. You’ll be singing like a canary.”
I sniffed, ignoring the dull headache that came hand in hand with crying for hours on end. “Technically, you’re under my wing.”
“Impossible,” he said, lifting my limp arm. His touch was like a blanket. Warm and oddly protective. My body felt like a phoenix rising up from the ashes of dormancy and rediscovering it had muscles, and nerve-endings, and flesh that craved to be touched and bitten and nipped at. I swallowed hard.
“You can’t fit me under this thing. My knob is probably the length of your leg. You’re under me. All puns intended. Now tell me what’s wrong. Trouble in Lucas and Stardust paradise? Finally figured out he’s a knobhead?” One of his devilish eyebrows arched sarcastically. He made it sound like Lucas and I were a couple, which wasn’t the case, and I wanted to believe there was an edge in his voice, but why? He wasn’t interested in me, and even if he was, Jenna had warned me about him. The world warned me about him.
“Seriously, Winslow, you don’t want to know.” I gave him one last fair warning, waving him off tiredly with my hand. It wasn’t my job to protect him from the truth. The truth was ugly, and real, and open like a wound full of puss. The way I figured it, Alex was used to the photoshopped version of women. Not the likes of me, who came with two tons of baggage and actual flaws.
“Spit it out, Bellamy,” he enunciated.
“It’s my parents’ deathaversary.”
“Come again?” He leaned forward, his muscles taut with…what? What exactly was he feeling?