“Is that what brothers do?” I asked. “Be mean to each other?”
“Sure is,” he said. “Don’t you have any brothers?”
“No,” I said. “Just my sister.”
Zain’s eyes went wide, remembering our conversation from the alley.
“Shit, sorry,” he said, chagrined. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“It’s okay.” I peeled off another strip of label from my bottle of water. “You said you’ve known each other a long time?”
“We started the band when we were just kids.” Zain looked relieved at the change in topic. “Some of us were still in elementary school.” He tipped his head to where the other band members were hanging out. “We’ve been playing together forever. Well, except for Chris,” he added. “He joined just before we signed with our label.”
“Wow.” I was barely in touch with the people I was friends with in elementary school. “You must really get along.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Most of the time,” he said. “But we butt heads a lot. There’s some big egos in this group.”
“No!” I gasped, feigning shock. “Really? I never would have expected that.”
“I’m not even the worst.” He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Kaylee’s got the biggest ego out of us all.”
“That tiny thing?” I glanced at her. She was the smallest of the bunch, and not just because she was the youngest. All the others were inches taller than her.
“She’s the most stubborn, too,” he said. “When she wants something, she gets it.”
“So where’s your ego fall?” I asked.
“I’m somewhere around the middle,” he said. “As far as famous, sexy, rock stars gifted with god-given talent go, I’m pretty down to earth.”
“You make me very much doubt that, just by saying those things.”
Zain laughed and threw an arm around my shoulder, putting his lips to my ear.
“What part don’t you believe?” he asked. “I’m famous, aren’t I?”
I squirmed as his lips lightly brushed my skin. “Yes, I’ll give you that.”
“And I’m talented, right?” he continued.
I could smell him, this up close. That leather-and-oak scent. My heart started beating faster.
“I wouldn’t say you’reuntalented,” I said.
“And what about sexy?” he said. “You think that’s true, don’t you?”
My stomach fluttered. I couldn’t lie.
“There’s some appeal to the whole shirtless, leather pants thing,” I conceded.
He let out a pleased hum.
“But it’s kind of cliche, isn’t it?” I continued.
He pulled back and blinked at me.
“Cliche?” he repeated, sounding both offended and amused.
“Walking around on stage shirtless with your guitar, acting like the hotshot rock star.” I poked him in the chest. “Cliche.”
