Page 65 of Revel
TAYLAN
I don’t think I’ve ever been talked about in the media more than I have since coming on this tour. And I can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.
The moment we step out of the hotel the next morning, we’re bombarded with press digging into our personal lives.
They catch us outside the Hyatt in Beverly Hills, as expected. “Can you comment on your recent involvement?”
“No,” I tell them. Ha. I’m getting good at this. “Thank you.” I had to be polite, right?
I look to Revel for approval, only he rolls his eyes at me. Frowning, I thought I handled that well.
“Revel—” That’s as far as they get before he shoves his hand in the guy’s face, effectively dropping the phone in his hand.
“No comment,” Revel mumbles, looking at the guy, then his phone on the pavement as he kicks it out of reach. Finally, his eyes lift to mine. “That’s how it’s done, Red.”
I sigh and get into the limo waiting to take us to the venue. “Noted.”
The burning curiosity gets even worse once we’re at the venue.
“What’s the nature of your relationship with Taylan?” one brave reporter asks Revel.
Everyone looks to him. “You really expect me to answer that?”
“Why do you avoid it?”
Revel flashes a smirk behind dark shades. “Next question.”
“Are you together or not?” he presses. “That’s all anyone wants to know.”
“Jesus Christ, man. This is a concert venue. We’re performing in about three hours. So unless you’re going to talk about that, this is over.”
“The tour managers want to see more of what happened with Revved and Taylan the other night,” Liz says to the group of artists in the conference center at the Aria in Vegas. “One Vibe is about genres coming together, isn’t it?”
Immediately, my attention shifts to Revel and his reaction. Leaned back in a chair, he looks bored, waiting for the building to collapse around him and put him out of his misery. He says nothing. Doesn’t even look at Liz. Or me for that matter.
I’ll admit, he’s been rather quiet since the other night and I wonder if it has anything to do with me asking him why he wouldn’t sleep with me. I don’t get it. Isn’t that what most men want? And here, this rock god was denying me. I’ll be honest, it makes me feel inadequate. Like I’m not good enough.
Conversations flow around us, managers and artists throwing out ideas when Hensley huffs out a breath, seated next to Hardin at the table. “I’m not doing it,” she barks. “Fuck,that. There is no goddamn way I’m getting on stage with the princess.”
Like I wanna be on stage with you, slut!
I swallow against the lump in my throat, my eyes darting around the room only to fall on the livid Revel as he scowls at Hensley. I take a deep breath, then another, closing my eyes to the hard thumping of my heart.
Everyone’s eyes are on him, the one who commands and dictates the mood of others. He shifts, his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowing. Dramatically, his foot falls off the table as he leans forward, laughter on his lips. He sets the flask down on the table with a thud. “We’re doing it.”
Hensley’s outraged stare cuts to his. Hurt, betrayal, longing, it’s all in her eyes and directed at the one who refuses to take her back. “And since when do you make the goddamn decisions for everyone here?”
With a lazy lift of his hand, he gestures to the windows facing the strip. “Since my band is headlining,sweetheart.”
She rolls her eyes and leans back into the plastic chair. “Just because you’re the headlining headcase doesn’t make you God, Revel.”
Revel laughs, and you can tell he’s just about to tell her off when Cliff—Revved’s tour manager—stands. “Okay, that’s enough between you two. The plan is for the bands to come together at the end of the show and do one song together. Covers, originals, I don’t give a shit what it is. Just do it and make it work.”
Cruz hits his drumsticks against the table dramatically. “And the plot thickens.”
The room fills with laughter as a door slams, but it’s Revel’s stare on me that keeps me in the room. When we’re the only two left in the room, I linger and obsess over something to say. He watches me carefully, his eyes drifting to my face where they remain. “I uh. . . .” I fumble over the words I want to say and decide a thank-you isn’t good enough.
Revel’s hand reaches toward me, palm up, eyes hard. I take it, and he draws me in close where I melt against his side. Breathing against my neck, he whispers, “No one calls you princess butme.”
