“Don’t worry, we’ve all got our thing,” he said consolingly. “Look, just forget about her, all right? She’s not worth storming around and getting upset over. If she’s going to get jealous over your fans, then she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Maybe.” Even I knew I didn’t sound convinced. I tugged the plate of half-eaten pizza from Finn’s grip. “Thanks for the slice and a half.”
“Anytime,” he said cheerfully.
I turned my back on him and climbed the stairs to the third floor, carefully balancing the paper plate. I got to my bedroom and kicked the door closed behind me. I set the pizza down on the coffee table in the living area near the balcony doors. I threw myself down on the sofa. I stared up at the ceiling.
My brow was so furrowed it was giving me a headache. I fought to ease my expression.
I’d had fun with Grace that night at the after-party. I’d had fun with her during baking class. And I’d had fun with her during the first part of our pastry adventure.
I’d wanted to continue having fun with her. And not just fun, butfun. Every time she licked her pink lips, every time she tossed her honey hair over her shoulder and gave me that teasing look, every time my eyes landed on her luscious ass…
Fuck. I was getting hard just thinking about it.
I sat up from the sofa and pulled my guitar from its stand and into my lap. I strummed a few chords.
Finn was right. Fans were a fact of life for me. If Grace couldn’t handle it, if she was the jealous type, it would only cause problems.
Sure, I still wanted to taste that pretty mouth and put my hands all over the curves of her hips. I wanted to peel off those damn clothes and see what kind of gorgeous figure she was hiding underneath that shirt and those jeans. I wanted to hear her moan my name as I buried myself inside her and—
And there went my cock again. Shit.
Whatever. It didn’t matter. No matter how hot she was, no matter how much fun I had with her, I didn’t need that kind of jealous drama. I didn’t need any distractions from the band. From the music.
Besides, if she actually liked me, she would have said something, right? She wouldn’t have just walked away without a word. Clearly I didn’t mean anything more to her than some hot guy she met in the alley of a concert venue.
Right. I nodded to myself. If Grace wasn’t wasting her time thinking about me, there wasn’t any point in wasting my time thinking about her.
I sat up straight and positioned my guitar in my lap properly. Time to focus on work, like I should have been doing all along.
I didn’t need Grace. I didn’t need anyone. I had the music, and that was enough.
That was the way it had always been, and always would be.
All I needed was the music.
Eleven
Grace
I tapped my pen in a staccato rhythm against the table as I reviewed my notes. Marketing was an essential part of a business degree, I knew that, but it was also the subject I hated the most. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Not to mention, most of the textbooks had been written in the seventies. It was important to know the basics, sure, but couldn’t they have updated the curriculum to at least be from this millennia?
I stretched my back, having been hunched over my tiny kitchen table for hours. I moved to my sofa, which, considering the size of my cramped apartment, was only a few feet away. I pulled a knitted blanket my grandmother had made over my knees and curled my feet under me. I re-read some notes on the difference between marketing and public relations and wished I’d never chosen this degree.
Zain had mentioned something about public relations, hadn’t he? He’d talked about doing a lot of media stuff. Interviews, TV appearances, things like that, I had to assume. A rock star didn’t get famous just by playing music, I supposed. You had to play the promotion game, too. That was probably a big reason why Zain’s band was so popular.
My pen fell from my hand and clattered to the floor. I leaned down to pick it back up.
I hated that I kept thinking about Zain Weston.
Meeting him in the alley had been a coincidence. Seeing him on stage had been a surprise. Being invited to stay for the after-party had been flustering and flattering. And seeing him walk into my baking class? Absolutely mind-boggling.
But watching him get mobbed by a gaggle of female fans?
My hand tightened on my pen.
It had stung. I couldn’t deny that. But it had also been a splash of cold water to the face.
