Текст книги "My Soul to Keep"

Автор книги: Kennedy Ryan

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

MY FATHER MADE IT A POINT to never miss my performances when I was a child. I knew even then that it wasn’t because he was so proud of me. It was because he needed to make sure I did well. I made a lot of money for our family, and as soon as I was old enough, my parents made sure I grasped the significance of that. But this one time, my father had pneumonia, and doctors said he couldn’t travel to Munich for my concert.

It was the worst performance of my life.

I missed notes. I rushed passages. I played with no emotion. Something was missing, and I knew it was my father.

And as I sit by his bed in this cold, sterile room, I realize that he has been missing. I’ve convinced myself that he doesn’t matter. That I don’t want his approval. That I don’t love him.

But he does. And I do.

I drop my head to the metal bar flanking his bed. He’s drifted back into unconsciousness, and they say when he wakes up, he may not be able to talk much or right away, but I’ll wait. If nothing else, he’ll be able to hear. If nothing else, he’ll hear me say I’m sorry for the bitter words we hurled at one another over the dinner table like javelins across a battlefield. If nothing else, I’ll empty myself of this acidic regret ulcerating the lining of my stomach.

At an unexpected touch, I raise my head. My father’s big hand brushes my hair back like he did when I was a little boy. His eyes, so like Grady’s, stare back at me, glazed and drugged with meds and pain, but with a clarity I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. And he steals all my thunder when his chapped lips open just barely over a word my ears aren’t sure they hear, but that land on my heart.

“Sorry.”

I JUMP WHEN THE FRONT DOOR slams shut downstairs. Voices drift up the stately staircase of the Grays’ home. I pick out Rhyson’s husky baritone from the trio of voices below, Grady’s and Bristol’s accompanying him. They talk for a few minutes at the base of the stairs. I can’t decipher what they’re saying until they make it to the landing.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” Rhyson says, right outside his bedroom. “Good night.”

The door opens, and he stops on the threshold.

“Kai.” He eyes me sitting on the edge of his bed for a second before glancing at his watch. “I thought your flight already left.”

So Bristol actually did what I asked her. She didn’t tell him.

“I asked Bristol if there was a later flight that would still get me back to L.A. for my call time. The time difference helps.” I stand up, brushing my damp palms over the chinos Bristol bought me from the GAP. “I thought you might need to talk after you saw your father.”

It’s only half the truth, but the other half scares me to death, so I keep it to myself for now. Rhyson just stares at me, questions hiding behind the cumulus clouds in his grey eyes.

“So you stayed back to ask me about my dad?”

“How was it? How is he?” I fix my eyes on the intricate pattern in the rope rug under my feet, wishing I could disappear into the tiny fibers. “Are you okay?”

Rhyson slips off his jacket and tosses it toward an armchair across the room. It misses, falling to the floor, but neither of us moves to pick it up. He runs weary hands through the burnished hair flopping into his eyes. I sit back down on the bed, patting the space beside me.

“Come tell me.”

He hesitates for a moment before taking me up on my offer. The bed dips under his weight, and his shoulders occupy much of the space between us, making me aware of how much smaller I am than him.

“I’ll never forget seeing him like that.” Rhyson flops back onto the bed, linking his hands under his head. “There were tubes everywhere, and he looks like he’s aged a hundred years in just a day.”

“I know how it feels to see your parent debilitated. Weaker than you’ve ever seen them.” I lie back too, tucking into his side. “It shakes everything up. Makes you question everything.”

“He couldn’t talk.” Rhyson fixes his eyes to the ceiling like the hospital scene replays there for him to see again. “Well, just a little. He said . . .”

Rhyson clamps his lips over the words he may not be ready to say.

“What’d he say?” I press, knowing if I don’t no one will. As much as his friends may love him, I don’t get the sense that anyone ever forces Rhyson to do anything, much less deal with emotions that will fester if he keeps stuffing them.

“He said sorry.” Rhyson clears his throat. “He said that he was sorry. I don’t know if he meant for the argument we had at Christmas, or . . . or for everything.”

“Is that all he said?”

“Before I left, he said, ‘Let’s try.’ I think he wants us to try again.” Rhyson smacks his lips. Derision, maybe for himself, maybe for his father, marks his face. “Grady wants us to go to family counseling once my dad is well enough.”

“And you think that’s a bad idea?”

“I think a heart attack doesn’t necessarily change your heart.” Rhyson expels a hard breath. “This made me want another chance, but I have no idea what to believe.”

“A brush with death can change people.” I subtly wiggle a few inches closer until the heat from his body touches me. “If Grady thinks—”

“Grady thought at Christmas, but Grady was wrong then, and he might be wrong now.” Rhyson presses his lips together and closes his eyes before opening them again, as if he’s hoping the view will be different. “It’s just Grady wants to reconcile so badly with my dad that it may color his perspective. He’s still looking for the kid he grew up with, the twin he was close to years ago. That kid may be gone forever.”

“Maybe.” I nod and cross my feet at the ankles. “But if your father legitimately wants to try again, to make things right, maybe it’s worth the risk.”

Rhyson flips onto his side to face me, head propped in his hand.

“Am I worth the risk?” His deep voice caresses my senses in the semi-dark of the room. “Is that why you stayed? Why you’re still here? To tell me I am? Or that I’m not?”

Even knowing this was coming, knowing this is the conversation I stayed for, his questions make my breath come faster. This must be how skydivers feel just before they fall.

“We were talking about your father,” I say, my words barely a breath.

“And now we’re talking about you. About us.”

As much as my fears urge me to scoot away from the subject, unsure if these steps are wise, I only have my gut to rely on, and it propels me closer to Rhyson.

He pushes my wild hair back. After the blessed shower I finally got to take, I didn’t bother blow drying it, and it fans out behind me on the bed.

“I know you want to make it on your own, and you’re afraid people will think I got you where you’re going,” Rhyson says. “And I know your dad left you with a shitload of trust issues, and that you don’t want to depend on me.” He pauses, leaning in to nuzzle his nose into the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending shock waves over my nerve endings. “But I ask again, am I worth the risk?”

Those pictures are coming out. We won’t be able to stop them, and soon everyone will be speculating about who I am to Rhyson. I want what Rhyson wants. I’m his and he’s mine. I’ve been overthinking it. So afraid that Rhyson is a hazard to my heart that I hadn’t acknowledged how much he’s been healing it. I’m not actually sure that I’m ready for what being in a relationship with Rhyson really means, but the alternative—being without him—is no choice at all.

“You’re worth the risk.”

The words barely make it past my lips before Rhyson is hovering over me, supported on his elbows to spare me his weight.

“Then I’m yours,” he whispers over my lips, trailing kisses down my neck. “And you’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” I echo back to him, knowing we both feel the promise weighting my declaration.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers.

“Is it a secret?” I laugh a little, my heart feeling lighter already, buoyant in my chest.

“Only to you.” He pulls back, his face serious. His eyes probing mine, searching for something I hope he’s finding. “I’m pretty sure everyone who’s ever seen us together already knows. Hell, Gep just met you today, and I think he already knows.”

“What is it?”

He drops his head until our temples rest against each other, his warm breath floating into my ear.

“I’m in love with you.”

Nothing could have prepared me for those words from this man. Not the rock star. Or the child prodigy. The masterful musician. The celebrity. But this guy who has systematically taken possession of my heart, day by day, piece by piece, until I have half and he has half, and one part doesn’t work without the other. My throat holds my breath hostage. And my heartbeat? Prestissimo, my music instructor called it in high school.

Very, very fast.

Rhyson’s words set my heart free like a stampede of wild notes across a music staff, falling off the lines, running off the page. I’m a composition out of control, without form. Freestyled. Improvised. Unsure of where we’re going, but certain that it’s right. Sure that in the end, it will be a thing of beauty.

“You don’t have to say it.” Rhyson’s uncertainty is an anomaly, like a discordant note, but that’s the look on his face. Not sure. Not sure of me.

“Can I though?” I push my fingers into that glorious mess of hair that never stays tamed for more than five minutes. “Can I say it?”

Rhyson leans back a few more inches, until his arms are straightened, pressing our hips together. Rhyson pushes into the juncture of my thighs, separating them. Parting me like water.

“If you feel it, you can certainly say it, but I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Oh, now you don’t want to pressure me, Mr. Ultimatum.” I can laugh now even though his words this afternoon struck fear in my heart. Fear that I would lose him for good.

“Since we’re sharing secrets,” he says, a smile splitting those full lips I’m not sure I can resist much longer. “I was probably bluffing this afternoon, but now we’ll never know.”

“Well, I love you, so it’s a moot point, right?” Any leftover laughter dissolves under the heated intensity of his stare.

“You love me?” he demands, eyes locked with mine.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I just want to be sure so when we make love you can’t pretend it didn’t happen this time or push me away or say you need time.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice falters. “I was so scared to depend on you. So scared to need you. I was afraid leaning on you would make me weak.”

I want to confess that in some ways, I still am, but I want him too much not to try.

“I know that.” Rhyson kisses my nose and then my lips and then my neck, lighting small fires over every surface of skin he touches. “I knew it then, even though I was so damn frustrated with you. I knew what was behind it. This time, we’re going to be absolutely clear about what this is.”

His fingers nudge the T-shirt I’m wearing up until cool air kisses my breasts in the push-up bra Bristol gave me. Not sure if that was a jab at my small breasts, but I can’t care right now because Rhyson looks at me like I’m a dream.

“The first time we made love was on a pool table.”

“I do recall,” I whisper, propping myself up on my elbows so that our chests almost touch.

“I think we can do better.” Rhyson rolls the cups of my bra down until my nipples peek out, pink and tight with anticipation. “When does your flight leave?”

“In three hours.”

Disappointment settles on his face for a moment, but with one glance at my breasts, his expression changes. Intensifies. Ignites me.

“We’ll have to make do.”

I’m not ready for the slow love he makes to me. The hurried coupling on the pool table exceeded any of my previous experiences, limited though they admittedly were. This deliberate seduction unravels me, starting with his lips at my breasts, tugging and biting and sucking until my head rolls back and forth on his pillow, frantic for a release he keeps just out of reach. He shoves the shirt completely over my head and reaches behind me to undo the clasp of my bra. His heated stare is foreplay, the way his eyes eat at my breasts, a promise of what’s to come.

I want in. I can’t be a spectator with this beautiful man whose desire is a palpable thing lapping at my body. I pull his T-shirt over his head, until his broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his abs are exposed for my touch. I run my fingers over the rungs of muscle in his stomach and brush my fingers over his nipples, over the musical notes and lyrics tattooed around his ribs and sketched over his arms. He sucks in a harsh breath.

“Pep, yes. Touch me.”

My eyes flick to his face, and I love the anticipation there. I reverse our positions until he’s on his back and I can straddle him, feeling decadent with my breasts hanging naked above him. I lean down, suckling at his chest, satisfied by the way he writhes beneath me, as desperate for me as I am for him. His nipple goes tight in my mouth, and I reach down to grip the stiff bulge through his jeans. His head snaps back, exposing the strong muscles of his throat.

“Damn, Pep. You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

Oh, I plan to.

I work the buckle on his belt, scooting down to slide away his jeans and the briefs clinging to the hard muscles of his thighs. My mouth waters at the sight of him, erect and already wet at the tip. I’ve never felt possessive of another person in my entire life, but I know that’s what I feel right now. This is mine. He is as much mine as I am his, and without a moment’s hesitation, I lean down and take him in my mouth.

I’ve never done this. Never wanted to. His gasps and groans guide me. I tighten and loosen my lips, play my tongue over him by instinct. His hands set the pace, twisting in my hair as he pumps into my mouth, the tempo at first slow and measured, then building to furious and urgent. My jaw stretches around him, and he’s tangy on my tongue.

He pulls back abruptly, and I’m immediately insecure.

“I did it wrong?” I can’t meet his eyes, thinking of all the groupies who have probably sucked him off in bathroom stalls and behind stages.

He tips up my chin, his eyes searching my face.

“Was that the first time you’ve done that?”

I hesitate, tempted to lie, but unable to in the honesty pressed between our nearly naked bodies.

“Damn, Pep, I hate to see you with experience.” He pulls me up until I’m flush against him. “On second thought, if that’s novice, I can’t wait to see you with experience.”

He leans into my ear.

“Do you know how it makes me feel that you’ve never done that to another guy before?”

I shake my head no, and he pulls my chin gently between his fingers.

“Like the luckiest guy in the world.”

“Then why’d you stop me?” I ask, embarrassed but curious.

“Because I want to be inside you.”

His words land on me like hot needles. He scoots to the end of the bed, taking me with him and standing me on my feet. He peels the chinos down, sliding his fingers beneath the tiny strips of lace hugging my hips and pulling down until they puddle around my ankles. His fingers brush across my nipples, tracing the words scripted under my breast and down the muscles in my stomach, lingering on the belly ring.

“You remember that day at Grady’s when I was teaching you that breathing exercise?”

I can only nod dumbly at this point because my body is livid. Passion leaks down the inside of my thighs. My fingers tremble with the strain of not touching him.

“I thought this belly ring was so damn sexy, and I thought about doing this for days after.”

He leans forward, flicking his tongue into my belly button, curling it around the metal piercing the flesh. He sits back, his eyes making a slow journey from the tips of my toes past my legs over my hips and breasts until they rest on my face. I quiver under that look because it’s not just lust. There’s so much love in his eyes it almost hurts me to look into them. These moments feel so perfect they frighten me. In my experience, nothing perfect lasts, and I want this to swell into infinity.

He lifts one of my legs, pulling it over his shoulder, and buries his head between my thighs, licking at the juices trickling out of me. Tonguing me. Biting me. Driving me out of my mind with the way his mouth worships me. The explosion starts low in my belly and lights a path through every fiber of my body, like a lit stick of dynamite chasing fire over my skin and through my muscles and nerves, until I slump against his mouth still working between my legs. I clutch his head, tugging with numb fingers at his thick hair. He must know my knees are trembling and on the verge of collapse because he lays me down gently on the bed. In a daze, I hear him sliding on a condom.

“You’re on the pill?” Passion strains his voice, harshening it in the silence of the room.

“No, I’m not on anything,” I whisper. “I just . . . since I moved, I just haven’t . . .”

“We need to fix that soon. I want you raw, Pep.”

He pushes into my tightness slowly and carefully. My body remembers this. This sense of being so full I’m on the verge of pain, but dragged back by unfathomable pleasure. Pleasure that turns my mind to mush and drops my mouth open on a gasp. He pushes my leg back, holding my knee against my shoulder. The other leg I wrap around his thigh, twisting us together, opening myself up wide for him. He wastes no time pushing in deeper until I’m sure there is no farther he can go. I feel his knee behind my thigh, finding leverage in the soft mattress to press deeper and harder, and my hips keep tempo with the furious pace he sets. The headboard knocks wildly and loudly into the wall with every thrust, and the sound of it drives me higher and madder for him.

Another orgasm gives birth to a scream that bursts past my lips. He immediately covers my mouth with his, kissing the sounds into silence. He buries an elongated groan in my hair. His hands grip my butt, only intensifying the pleasure. We both go still, holding each other and whispering words of love and adoration.

And we take time. Time to explore each other’s bodies. Time for him to tell me my small breasts are a perfect mouthful, and that he loves the prayer wrapping around my body. I sight-read the music of his tattoos—a patch of Bach on his ribs, Chopin and Beethoven on his back. Rachmaninoff on one shoulder, and Mozart on the other. His chest he keeps clear because he’s waiting for the song that belongs on his heart. It may not be visible to the naked eye, but he’s written a song on my heart tonight, and I’m afraid the ink’s indelible.

SO I’M HERE ON THE SET of the music video Kai’s doing. Stop me at the part where that’s a bad idea. Oh. I already passed it?

Yeah.

In my defense, I like Luke, but I don’t trust his people. Specifically, John Malcolm, the mastermind behind Total Package, is a bottom feeding, manipulative, ruthless bloodsucker who never hesitates to take advantage of other people’s talent to further his own ends.

Him within ten feet of Kai makes me break out in hives because one thing he does have going for him is an exceptional eye for talent. That being said, I made sure things were settled at the hospital with my dad and promised to return soon. He’s speaking now, and I have to admit, he does seem sincere in his desire to repair our relationship. Maybe Kai’s right. Maybe the brush with death changed something in him so drastically that his priorities have shifted. Maybe a real relationship with me, not based on profit and gain, is something he will work for. Grady seems to think so.

My mother didn’t have a heart attack, and I’m not sure she’s had a change of heart, but she wants me to think so. Bristol calls me cynical. Oh, the irony. She’d double-check Mother Theresa’s credentials, so don’t get me started on just how jaded my twin sister is. She wasn’t pleased about me flying back to L.A., but she’ll have to get used to Kai being a priority for me. I haven’t actually told her anything about us yet, though it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure how gone I am for Kai.

Bristol knows something’s up, but I’m not ready to talk about it with her. One, I don’t want to hear her doubts or her skepticism about Kai. If she had any clue how hard I’ve had to fight to get this girl to take anything from me, she wouldn’t be so worried about Kai’s potential opportunism. Two, what Kai and I shared in my parents’ house that night will go down as one of the best nights of my life. And I’ve had some great nights. What we have, what we’ve built, isn’t something I want to share with the world yet. Not even with my inner circle.

“Rhyson, we didn’t know you were coming,” Delaney, Luke’s publicist, says to me by the Craft services table loaded with food for the break. “Let me get you a badge. They’re being kind of tight today.”

It’s been a while since anyone offered me a badge. You reach a point where identifying yourself feels redundant because everyone knows who you are. I’ve been there for a long time and take it for granted.

“Luke invited me.” I slip the generic badge over my head anyway. “I hope it’s okay.”

“Rhys, any time you wanna come around, it’s fine. I’ve told you more than

once.”

Her big blue eyes tease me, but I’m not playing. Her eyes aren’t dark and tilted. Her tits are too big. She’s too tall. Her scent is off. Nothing is right about her because she’s not my girl. I just want to slip her a note with the word “no” written on it because she has never taken any of my hints.

“Are they on lunch break?” I hope she’ll lift her eyes from cock level and look at me when I’m talking to her.

That’s not yours, sweetie. Eyes up.

“Yeah, they’re on break,” Delaney finally drags her eyes up from my zipper to look around the set. “Luke is here somewhere. He’ll love having you. I’ll go find him.”

“That’d be great.” I smile as she walks away, relieved that I can now find Kai and hope she doesn’t pull my balls through my nose for this stunt.

I see her before she sees me. She’s chatting with Dub by the fruit spread, munching on a handful of grapes. Her hair falls down her back in loose waves, dark against the white robe covering her down to her ankles. The high heels give her a few inches, but she still looks tiny beside Dub’s bulk. She laughs up at him, her face more dramatically made up than I’ve ever seen it. Even though she looks so gorgeous I’m hard in my jeans in seconds, I want to scrub her face free of the paint. I love her natural.

Dub starts demonstrating a move for her, and she pops the last of the grapes in her mouth so she can mimic his motions. As she’s executing a turn, her eyes meet mine across the room. They go wide and then narrow. She says something to Dub before heading in my direction.

Fuck. This could be bad.

“Rhyson, hey.” She glances at the crew milling around, setting up for the first shot after the break. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, Luke invited me. I think I told you that.”

“You didn’t say you were leaving the hospital to come here though.” She gives me a careful look through the false lashes they’ve put on her. “How’s your dad?”

“Better. Improving. I’ll go back when he goes home.”

She speaks after a brief pause.

“I wish you’d told me you were coming.”

“Is it okay?” I can only be around her for so long without touching her, so I grab her hand. “I wanted to see you perform.”

She looks from our clasped hands to the people around us. I feel their stares too. People have been pointing and staring at me since I was the three-year-old freak who could play Beethoven with my eyes closed, so I’m used to it. But I know this is more than recognition. This is rabid curiosity. They thought she was just some dancer, new on the scene. Me showing up, holding her hand propels her into a new stratosphere of interest. Exactly what she wanted to avoid. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

“It’s fine. It’s just . . .” Her words disappear behind a small frown.

“It’s just what?”

“This is a very sensual song, and the routine is pretty . . . provocative.”

Sensual. Provocative. I need blood pressure meds.

“What are you . . . what do they . . . uh . . . have you doing exactly?”

“I’m dancing.” She tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear, eyes dropping to the floor. “You know that.”

“Like dancing how?”

They’d have to drag me out of here now. There’s no way I’m leaving until I know what my girl is doing. What kind of sensual and provocative shit are we talking?

“It’s just—”

“Kai, it’s time.” A petite, pink-haired girl reaches up to slide the robe from Kai’s shoulders.

Kai’s anxious eyes find mine, and I already know I’m going to hate whatever she was hiding under that robe.

I’m so right.

It’s mere scraps of material masquerading as a decent outfit. A strip of silk binds her breasts. Another strip of studded fabric bisects her torso leaving everything else bare. The black bikini bottom cuts high on her hips, leaving her round, firm ass completely exposed. I yank the edges of the robe closed over her small body, looking around to see if anyone saw all that flesh.

“Rhyson!” Kai’s voice is a low, outraged hiss. “Stop it.”

“What the fuck are you not wearing?” I snap. “You can’t wear that, Pep. No way.”

“I’ve been wearing it for the last four hours, so I think we’ve all gotten past the shock by now.”

“Four hours?” My fingers tighten around the terry cloth lapels. “You’ve been prancing around this set for everyone to ogle your naked ass for four hours?”

“Kai, Dub was asking for you.” Pink hair’s eyes flit between my tight fingers and my scowling face.

“Give me just a sec, Ella.” Kai offers the girl a phony smile, waiting for her to walk off.

“Such a huge fan, by the way,” Ella whispers to me before leaving. “Already got tickets for your show at Staples.”

She walks off, leaving Kai and me in a tight angry silence. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. The last time I saw her, she was against a shower wall at my parents’ house. I was sinking into the bliss of her sweet pussy, counting the hours until I would see her again. This isn’t how it was supposed to be, but this is how it is.

“You shouldn’t have come if you were going to act this way, Rhyson.” Kai frowns, biting her lip. “Look, I know it’s skimpy.”

“Skimpy? It’s indecent.”

“And if a girl in one of your videos were dressed this way?” she fires back, dark eyes hot and slitted. “Would it be indecent then? Or would it be the job?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is.” Kai’s face softens, and she takes both my hands between hers. “Let me do my job. We’re only just starting, but this is exactly the kind of behavior that will sabotage us.”

“Sabotage?” The word ice picks my heart.

“I’m just saying it’s situations like these that made me hesitate in the first place. You interfering and controlling. Just like you did with my mother’s bills.”

“Oh, excuse me for making life easier. For clearing the way for you to do jobs like this without massive debt hanging over your head.”

“That’s what I mean!” A long, fake red nail tips the finger she points at me. “That is exactly what I mean by if you give it to me you can take it away. You can take credit for it. It’s not mine, it’s yours.”

“I’m not taking credit. I’m just saying don’t threaten me by saying that my concern over this . . .” I gesture to her robed figure, “Nudity is sabotaging our relationship.”

“Nudity!” Her disbelieving laugh cuts into the thick air between us. “I’m not nude, and I’m not some little girl who needs your protection or your guidance.”

“Someone needs to tell you that gyrating on a pole isn’t exactly your big break.”

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, and it’s a lap dance, thank you very much! Not a pole.”

“The fuck!” I explode, gripping my head with both hands. “Who the hell are you giving a lap dance?”

“Your friend, Luke. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Kai slips off the robe and lays it over one arm. “He’s the star on set, and I’m keeping him waiting.”

She stalks off without another word, her bare ass and high tits and taut waist drawing all eyes as she strides over to Dub for last-minute instructions.

The last thing I need is Luke, the guy who is about to get a lap dance from my girl, coming over to me, but that’s exactly what I get.

“Dude.” Luke fist pounds me. “Glad you could make it. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, it was kind of spontaneous.” I hope he doesn’t notice how plastic my smile is. “But I don’t think I can stay.”

“Oh, you want to stay.” He leans in, eyebrows raised like he’s passing on a secret. “You gotta see this dancer they got for me.”

“What?” The blood congeals in my veins and then rushes hot like boiling poison. “What dancer?”

“You know I love short chicks, right?” A grin complements his All-American look, the blonde hair and blue eyes. “She’s all curves and muscles and kinda Asian eyes. I—”

“Stop. I gotta stop you before I have to punch you in the face.” I run agitated hands through my hair. “The dancer’s mine. She’s my girlfriend.”

Luke holds his hand up only so high, to his shoulder.

“Short girl?” His eyes go wide. “That’s your girlfriend? You lucky son of a bitch! Wait. You have a girlfriend? Since when do you do girlfriends?”

I don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll stay, but I’m gonna go say good-bye.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“Yeah. I mean, I won’t.”

I spot Kai in deep conversation with Dub, and I hesitate to interrupt, but I can’t leave things like this between us.

Dub looks up from their conversation, a frown pulling his dark brows together under the shock of his platinum hair.

“Gray, what’s up?” He doesn’t bother with any other greeting. “You need something?”

This guy just keeps rubbing me the wrong way.

“I need to speak to Kai for a minute.”

“We’re in the middle of a shoot,” he says, the Irish lilt more pronounced with his irritation.

“I’m so sorry, Dub.” Kai crosses her arms under her breasts. “Could we just have a minute? I’ll be quick. I promise.”

“We only have this space today, sweetie.” Dub’s voice softens some, even though his expression stays hard.

Sweetie?

“I know. “ Kai takes a step closer to me. “Just a few minutes.”

He gives me one more considering look before walking just a few feet away.

Dickhead.

“I’m an asshole.” I may as well lead with the apology she deserves. “You were right. I shouldn’t have just shown up like this. I compromised your professionalism. It wasn’t a good look, and I’m sorry.”