“You come from money?” Her eyebrows rise as if I’ve surprised her, but then she tilts her head and studies my face. “Actually, I can see that.”
“Ouch.” I press my hand into my chest and chuckle. “Why does that hurt a little?”
“Just saying. The way you talk and act . . .” She shrugs and gives in to a slight smile. “It makes sense.”
I furrow my brow with the notion that I’m not reinventing myself as well as I hoped. That the new me walks and talks like the old me but in tighter jeans. I walked out of my parents’ house to leave the shadows of that life behind, not drag it along with. “I’m not my past.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it as an insult.” Opal’s brows pull together with her frown. “I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone I come from middle of nowhere, USA, but I don’t take offense. I refuse to let it define me. At least, I’m trying.”
“You don’t look country right now.” I grant myself permission to sweep her body with an unhurried gaze. She’s sexy, rock ’n roll, and could hold her own on any runway in LA if she wanted. When my stare meets hers, she’s smiling. Fucking radiant.
“Well, aren’t we quite the pair. Rich boy and penniless country girl making their way in the music biz.”
“Former rich boy,” I quickly amend, somehow needing to tell her that I don’t have a dime to my name other than what I earn for playing with the band. “I gave up my inheritance the day I chose Three Ugly Guys.”
Maybe it’s my own hope, but something in her gaze flickers with respect at my admission.
The car stops and it’s only then I realize we’re already at the radio station. She’s so easy to talk to and I’ve given her way too much personal information. I don’t have to pretend to be anyone other than myself around her. She looks innocent but that alone is dangerous. I can’t let my guard down completely, not even with someone as sweet as Opal. No one can ever find out how exactly I claimed my place in the band or my connection to Bedo. Either would guarantee a one-way ticket back to LA. I can’t go back.
The driver gets out to walk around the car and open the door.
Opal touches my arm before I can slide out. “Glasses.” She points to where they’re still in my hand.
“Right.” I nod and slide on the extra piece to the rock star costume I have to accept. I step out of the car and reach out my hand until she’s steady on her heels. A few photographers mill around outside. Paparazzi. Their gazes light with interest, but it falls just as quickly. They have no clue who we are. A few camera shutters click but no one calls out or approaches. They’re probably waiting on Three Ugly Guys. A light chuckle leaves my lips. If they knew we were here with the band, we’d have a much different welcome. Their loss.
Opal holds her head high, adopting the attitude and confidence of her new outfit like a second skin and it’s sexy as hell. Like a moth to a light, I’m drawn to her. I’m not the only guy, either. I can feel their eyes on her. I see their double takes and hungry stares. I can’t help but reach out and rest my hand at the small of her back. A silent “fuck off, she’s mine” to all the douchebags who stare.She’s not mine, either. But maybe she could be? Inside the lobby I try to shake off the thought. No, I’m not here for a girlfriend. Any time I spend with Opal is for the sole purpose of keeping my uncle off my back. This isn’t personal. I can’t get attached. It’s not in the plan.
The plan is to screw her over in exchange for my own place in the band.
I’m an asshole. My gut churns with guilt and I draw my hand back, refusing to allow myself the pleasure. My attraction to her jumbles in my mind until it morphs to irritation. Why am I even thinking about all of this? Opal’s not into me. I’ve watched her with Austin. I’ve seen with my two eyes how they laugh and flirt and share a closeness that pricks at my nerves. He’s an asshole, but isn’t that who girls fall for? The tatted bad boy rock star. Not little drummer boy with fake glasses.
Opal gestures toward the bank of elevators. “The email from Off Track said fifth floor.”
I nod and follow her lead, stopping to wait for the elevator. My fingers tap at the side of my jeans.
“Nervous?”
I feel a dose of embarrassment that she’s caught on to my nervous tic. I shove my hands into my pockets. I am nervous. Ridiculously so, but not for the reason she thinks.
“It’s okay. I am, too.” Her gaze is warm and understanding. For the second time today she reaches out to touch me. Her fingers are soft as they skim over the skin of my forearm. Her smile just as sweet. “They’re going to love you.”
I don’t deserve her company or kindness. But I want them all the same.
17
Opal
Over the courseof the afternoon we travel from one station to the next, hitting up five different interviews. At first I feel completely useless, along for no purpose other than to give the guys some sort of entourage. But mid-afternoon that changes when I get bored and pull out my phone to snap photos. With my top-of-the-line cell phone, I’m equipped with all the best filters and technology, and even I have to admit the photos almost appear professional.
Between interviews I show Trent.
“Wow.” His eyes widen as he flips through the photo album. “Wait. Can you post these on my social media accounts?”
“Of course.” His praise is the best kind of compliment. “Oh, and the executives from that distillery emailed again. They want to set up a conference call to discuss your involvement as a spokesperson.”
“Cool. Set it up for next week. Just make sure it’s when we’re scheduled to be on the road. Off Track has us booked solid almost every stop this tour.”
“You got it, boss.” I like this. My work actually means something. Sure, I’m setting appointments and organizing his calendar. But it’s important and purposeful. I tap on one of the icons, and schedule a reminder to contact the distillery. “Oh, one more question. I saw tomorrow we’re scheduled for a full stop, but there’s no show that night. What does that mean?”
