A Few Seconds Later—Studio, TMS Records, LA
“Shit! This is not fucking good,” Sonny says the second the door slams shut behind Zane.
“It’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.” I pat Sonny’s hand, hoping that I sound more convinced than I feel.
“But how the hell is he gonna get a manager? Fucking impossible, if you ask me,” Sonny fires out.
“He’ll get us someone,” Cale says, sounding sure.
Sonny shakes his head. “I don’t know, man.”
“Cale and Ly are right.” Van stands. “He’ll get us another manager.”
Sonny throws him a confused look. “What? You’ve changed your tune. A few minutes ago, you were the one asking him the same goddamn question.”
Van shrugs. “Zane might be a jackoff, but he said he’ll get someone, and we have to trust him.”
Looking at Van and then Cale, I wish I could feel as sure as they do, but I don’t. I feel the same worry as Sonny. I’m just not vocalizing it. I’m doing what I do best, hiding my feelings and avoiding the problem.
“Screw waiting around to hear the news though. I’m gonna hit up some bars.” Van raps his knuckles on the table. “You guys coming?”
“I’m in.” Sonny gets to his feet. “Could do with a beer after that, and it’s been days since I had any pussy.”
“Days?” I lean forward. “What about the girl I made breakfast for this morning? You know, the one you hopped out on before she woke up.”
“Ah, yeah, I forgot about her.”
Does he actually have the memory of a goldfish?
“Sorry, Ly.” He gives me his best smile with his puppy dog eyes, looking contrite, as he runs a hand over his shaved head.
It’s hard to stay mad at Sonny.
And making breakfast for the guys’ hookups, especially Sonny’s, is not an unusual experience for me.
If Sonny brings someone back to the apartment, he has a tendency to duck out before they wake up. It’s his specialty. Then, I feel bad, and I end up cooking breakfast for the girl.
In many ways, my boys are too good-looking for their—and my—own good. But their looks do work awesome in alluring the female fans. The women just lap the guys up, and the guys let them.
Bunch of muts, but I love them like family.
Oh, Mut is my term for man slut.
Sonny is the worst. He’s just inch upon inch of muscular dark skin. He’s a total gym nut. Women don’t stand a chance. They love him, and he lets them. Repeatedly.
Cale is the stupid kind of beautiful—as in, it makes women go stupid over him. He’s not as much of a player as Sonny, but Cale gets around. Perks of the job, he calls it.
When I was younger many, many moons ago and Cale was just Dex’s best friend—before Cale became my best friend—I had a colossal crush on him. It was hard not to with his beautiful face and dark brown hair that fell into his chocolate brown eyes. And he has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.
But my crush quickly passed, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
And Van has the gorgeous brooding rock star down pat. Women flock to him like birds to bread. He’s less vocal about it, but he’s racked up more notches on his bedpost than Sonny. I know because I’ve made all the women breakfast. Van reminds me a lot of Jake Wethers—all tattooed, dark hair, striking blue eyes. I’m just hoping that Van has the same magic touch in the music world as Jake does.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re completely sorry.” I give Sonny an unconvinced look.
“Ly, you know I’m sorry.” He grins, flashing me his perfect pearly whites. “Cross my heart.”
“Do you even have one?” I joke.
This is how it goes with Sonny and me. We banter around the same stuff.
“Wounded.” He slaps a hand to his chest. “I’ll show you what a big heart I have when I get up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow and make my awesome pancakes for you.”
Sonny does make the most amazing pancakes.
I rest my chin on my hand. “So, does that mean you won’t be bringing tonight’s hookup back to our apartment?”
He flashes me a grin. “Well, I can’t make any promises, except I do promise to make those pancakes for you, whether the hookup is there or not.”
I shake my head, laughing.
“So, you two coming or not?” Van asks Cale and me, already halfway out the door.
“Sure.” I lift my butt from my seat.
Cale points a finger at me and says, “Stay put.”
I pause midair, my brow raised at him. “Um…what?”
“We need to talk,” is all he says. Then, he looks at Van, who seems amused at our exchange. “Text me where you are, and we’ll meet you there.”
The minute the door closes behind Sonny and Van, I’m on Cale. “Um, what the hell was that?”
“That was me knowing something is up with my best friend. You were fine before we left for the studio. Then, you took a call, and your mood went to shit. Who called, Ly? Was it him? I know he still calls you all the time—”
How does he know that? I haven’t told Cale that he calls me every day because I know it would piss him off.
“Hang on.” I lift a hand, stopping him. “He doesn’t call every day. And even when he does, I don’t answer.”
“Don’t bullshit me. He calls you every goddamn day. I know because you have that depressing ringtone set for him.”
Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” is his ringtone because, well, I want him to cry me a river.
“I know you, Ly. You’re bound to cave soon and answer his calls…because you still care about him.”
My eyes snap to his. “I don’t care about him, not anymore. I’m not that stupid, blind weak girl I used to be.”
He moves two chairs closer, so he’s sitting in front of me. He takes my hands. “You were never stupid, blind, or weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know, but you have a good heart, a kind heart. I know what he meant to you.”
I grit my teeth. “It wasn’t him who called.”
“Who was it then?”
I pull my hands free and cross my arms over my chest. “Does privacy count for nothing these days?”
I’m being a bitch, and Cale is the last person I should be a bitch to, but all my pent-up anger from before is desperate to spill out.
“Not when it takes the smile off your face that I’ve spent the last ten months trying to get back on there.”