"Hey. You busy tonight..." He stares at me like he's trying to remember my name.
He's attractive. Okay, body, let's do this. Look at the attractive man and want him. He's tall. He's broad. He's buff. He has a full sleeve tattoo, colorful koi fish.
He's hot.
My body refuses to cooperate. Nothing. I copy Tom's player move and brush my fingers against his wrist. Strong hands. But nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
"It's Willow. I'm Drew's sister."
"Oh. Right." He steps back, no doubt aware of Drew's reputation for beating people up. "See you later."
It's a good thing my body doesn't care about him or I'd be offended. No matter. I step into the dressing room. It's the size of a hotel room, and it's packed.
Tom is sitting on a couch, two eager women on each side of him. He tells a story with an animated expression. His gestures are big and loud. But he's not really engaging with the women. He's in his own world, the same way he was when he was playing.
The women take turns trying to touch him. Mostly, they keep it above the waist, grabbing at his shoulder or reaching for his hair. He doesn't react to their affection. Not really. He just shifts to another girl and continues his performance.
He's still on stage, really.
"Hey. Willow, right?" A deep, patient voice asks.
It's not Drew or Miles. Must be Pete. I spin. Sure enough, it's the fit, dark haired bassist. I know Hazel was teasing Tom, but there is something appealing about his reserved disposition. There's this hint of pain in his eyes, like there's an ocean of depth underneath his calm surface.
"Yeah, Drew's little sister." I shake his hand.
"You should introduce yourself as Hazel's assistant. Unless you're trying to scare off guys who aren't my brother." He nods at Tom.
He's really Tom's brother? Tom was effortless with that information with Hazel but the guys don't look alike beyond both of them being fit and handsome.
"We're foster brothers. Not blood relatives." He looks me in the eyes. "In case you were trying to figure out why I'm so much sexier than he is."
"That clears things up."
I give Pete a once over, willing my body to react to his the way it reacts to Tom's. He's dressed in all black, from the thick eyeliner to the dark converse. His clothes are tight.
He's sexy.
He's intense.
But... nothing.
I look back to Tom, surrounded by his gaggle of fangirls. Anger builds in my stomach. He just lets them touch him, flirt with him. Probably, he'll take one of them home, throw her on the bed, rip off the ridiculously short skirt she's wearing—
"He's awfully tacky, isn't he?" Pete nods to Tom.
"Isn't that the point of being a rock star?"
"It gets old pretty fast."
"Apparently not." Let's discuss anything besides Tom's flirting. "You're really good on the bass."
His lips curl into the world's tiniest smile. "That the best you can do? Come on. At least ask my favorite movie or something."
"What's your favorite movie?"
"I mostly watch docs. You ever seeDevil's Playground?"
