Christian hands out more bottles of beer to the rock stars.
“Have you started writing?” Finn asks.
“Not yet,” I reply.
“It’ll happen. Give it time. Sons of Brooklyn went through something similar, and they’ve come out on the other side. We have faith you will too,” Finn says, reassuring us.
“We’ve got a lot to discuss next week. So, enjoy tonight. No pressure from any of us but know we all have your back and want to see you succeed,” Evan states warmly.
This warm and fuzzy kumbaya is not at all what we were expecting as we turn and look at each other. The other day Vanessa and Christian were upset. Maybe they have all calmed down, or maybe our turning up changed how they look at us—that we showed them we will start playing by their rules and are accepting their help.
“You guys bring your board shorts? ‘Cause I’m ready to hit the hot tub,” Christian asks.
The three of us shake our heads. We didn’t think to bring anything like that.
“Right, well, come with me. You can borrow some of mine. There’s nothing better than drinking beer and lazing in the hot tub,” he says with a grin.
Is this an initiation? Guess if we say yes, it means we’re one of them. I’ve never hung out with grown men in a hot tub unless there’s a woman between us.
First time for everything, I guess.
CHAPTER 5
Everly
“Ouch.” I groan as Sienna hits me on the arm.
“Look who just walked in,” she says as our eyes fall on The Lost Boys as they walk past and head over to the bar with Christian. “They are hot.”
“You’re a married woman,” I tease Sienna.
“And I’m not dead,” she replies with a laugh.
My eyes fall on the three rock stars who are gorgeous. First, there’s Eli Pitt, with gorgeous wavy shoulder-length blond hair and a pretty-boy face that makes him look more like a model rather than a rock star. As your eyes trail down his six-foot-two tanned, cut body, you’re greeted with arms twisted full of colorful art. He has piercing green eyes and a scruffy beard. Today he’s dressed in black jeans, a white tank top that’s cut low, exposing his obliques, a mountain of jewelry around his neck and wrists, and it’s all topped off with a black fedora on his head.
Then there’s Zeke Bobak. The man is a towering wall of muscle. Six-foot-four and looks like he’s stepped right off the Vikings set. He has long, sandy blond hair that falls past his shoulders in waves and a thick beard. Tattoos cover his entire body from his neck to his ankles. He has pierced nipples—evident by the bump in his T-shirt—and ears. When you look at Zeke, you know you’re in trouble. He’s dressed in black jeans and a gray T-shirt that is pulled tightly across his muscular body. His long hair is pulled up into a messy man bun. He also has the most insane blue eyes, like pools of arctic ice.
Then there’s Hendrix Mayer, the leader of the group. Where Eli and Zeke are the jokesters, Hendrix is the more serious member of the group. His dark brown short hair and hazel eyes give him a sense of darkness which adds to the allure of mysteriousness of this six-foot-one rock star. He’s the most closed off in the group—as if he only shows you what he wants—which, of course, poses a challenge for many a groupie from what I’ve read. He indulges from time to time, but he isn’t as out there with his conquests like Eli and Zeke. He’s dressed in the rock star uniform of black jeans and a black T-shirt, which is not as tight on his body as Zeke’s. Tattooed muscular arms peek out from his sleeves. He wears a leather cuff around his wrist, which is insanely hot. Yeah, I’m a Hendrix girl. Shoot me, I like the broody, mysterious guys. They are a little more interesting, or maybe I’m the one who likes men that are challenging. Am I psychoanalyzing myself as I gawk at my celebrity crushes?
“Pick your jaw up off the ground, Everly. You’re drooling,” Sienna jokes.
“So are you,” I bite back.
“I know … I wasn’t hiding it.” She chuckles. “If you had to choose a night with one of them, who would it be?”
“I’m not telling you that,” I state as I throw back my glass of champagne.
“Come on. Evan was my celebrity crush,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“He’s your husband.”
“Now he is, but before, he was my celebrity crush. I’m not asking you to marry one of The Lost Boys, so spill.” She grins.
I’ve had one too many champagnes, and the buzz is going to my head. “Fine! It would be Hendrix.”
Sienna squeals with delight. “You like them dark and brooding. Now I know your type.”
“My type of rock star, not boyfriend,” I quickly clear that up because Hendrix is not someone I would choose to date—he’s just hot.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ve got to check on the kids. I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere,” she tells me as she hops up from her chair, rushes over to Evan, and takes two crying babies out of his arms.
I let out a heavy sigh at the cute image. Who would have thought the Dirty Texas guys would all become monogamous DILFs? Vanessa and Isla are distracted by their kids, too, as they run around after them. It looks like the kids have had enough of the pool and are all in various stages of tantrums. I happily sit back and enjoy the serenity of being single and childless.
My eyes are drawn back to the pool area where Christian is walking past trailed by three uncomfortable-looking rock stars dressed in various colored board shorts. Nothing but bare chests, bulging muscles, and tattoos walk past me, and honestly, it’s hard to pull your eyes away from the boys in all their near-naked gloriousness. It’s so wrong that I grab my phone and take a picture of them and send it to my brother.
Everly: My view’s better than yours.
The three little dots bounce on my message screen as he types back.
Charlie: Okay. You win. They are hot. Is that The Lost Boys?
Everly: Yes. Don’t tell anyone but I am secretly fangirling.
Charlie: I would be too. Beware they are trouble those three.
Everly: I’m looking, but there will not be any touching.
Charlie: I didn’t say you couldn’t touch, just don’t fall for one. The Lost Boys are the best in bed. I’ve heard that one of them has a pierced dick. Find out who it is for us.
Everly: What! No.
Charlie: Oh, come on, I’m intrigued.
Everly: Well, I’m not.
Charlie: Boo, you whore.
Everly: Are you drunk?
Charlie: Yes, we just got back from a wine-tasting tour of Napa. Looks like we would rather swallow than spit.
Everly: OMG stop. Please never ever say that to me ever again.
Charlie: I’ll stop once I know which one of those rock gods has a pierced dick.
Everly: This conversation is finished. Go to bed.
Charlie: Don’t you worry I will be *inserts winky emoji*
Everly: Gross. Hope your hangover is rough tomorrow for putting me through this mental anguish.
Charlie: Firstly, fuck you. Secondly, love you. Thirdly, now go jump on one of those hot rock stars because you need to get laid. You’re wound up so tightly lately, it would make you less of a bitch.
Everly: Fuck you, love you. Good night.
And with that, I put my cell away and decide to go for a walk to clear my head. There’s some truth to what my brother said—I am wound up tightly from moving and launching this new business. I think a walk around the gardens and checking out that insane view is what I need. It will also sober me up too. Sienna kept topping up my glass of champagne, and now, I’m feeling the effects.