Micah grabbed her upper arm and reeled her in for a kiss. “Liar. You’d be out on the streets if you didn’t live here.”
She pushed his chest away. I admired her restraint. “Stop. We have guests.”
“I thought you were a guest.” He chuckled at himself.
Jo simply rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Excuse him. He’s literally the worst. Meanwhile, over here, we have the insufferable Shane Morgan.”
Shane! Right.
Shane tipped an invisible hat and said, “My lady.”
He still wore a mischievous smile leftover from the anecdote he’d been sharing before I walked in.
“Finally, this brat is Noah Kennedy.”
Noah winked, and I melted a little.
“Gentlemen, let me present my newest coworker and a brand-new resident of our fair city, Layla—” she faltered “—shit, I’ve already forgotten your last name.”
“Beckett. Layla Beckett.”
Noah immediately sang my name, and it should have thrilled me to hear those words coming out of his beautiful lips. I couldn’t help it though. I judged people who went for the obvious joke the minute they met me, as if they honestly thought it was original and clever. People often asked me why I didn’t just go by my middle name if I didn’t like being a punchline. Except my parents had saddled me with the middle name Prudence. Their love of music spilled over into their kids’ names. My brother had scored with Maxwell Jude.
I schooled my face into a placid mask of indifference until Noah flashed the charming smile I’d seen in pictures on the forum. “Awesome name. Really.”
Maybe he realized his faux pas. His comment smoothed some of my ruffled feathers. “Thanks.”
My mind searched for anything I knew about Noah, besides how perfect he looked. I’d read about some fan encounters with him, but I usually ignored them unless they got graphic, and then I nuked them without much thought. Of course, Micah had a worse reputation with women before Jo tamed him. But fans claimed Micah was a sweetheart. Noah on the other hand came off as rude. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, since Lord knew, fans could be demanding.
Noah waved his hand toward me then Shane. “Can you imagine the children these two would have?”
Shane’s head rose as he realized Noah was talking about him. A blush crept up his pale skin to the roots of his hair.
“Red’s turning red!” Noah laughed.
I trained my eyes on Shane, willing him to look my way. His milky skin had a definite reddish cast to it, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. I’d heard every red-haired taunt in the book, and although Noah probably thought he was gently ribbing his friend, Shane’s tense jaw and gritted teeth belied years of buried hurt with layers of insults heaped on top.
Finally, with a flick of the eyes, he glanced over. I pegged him with what I hoped was a penetrating gaze, a telepathic communication to say, “I know.”
A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he breathed in and exhaled. “You’re right, Noah. We’d have gorgeous kids. Look at her.”
It was the first time he’d been completely still. His hands settled onto the counter, and all the mischief and mockery drained from his face, leaving behind an open sincerity that sucker-punched me. Time slowed, and I brazenly stared at him, as if he were another photograph posted in some fictional Hot drummers thread. He might not have the glitz of Micah or the glam of Noah, but next to them anyone would appear ordinary. Overall more boyish than his two pretty bandmates, Shane had a rugged build, wide shoulders, and a tight muscle running up the side of his neck. That cord could have spawned a photo thread of its own. I followed the set of his jaw to his mouth, dragged my eyes over his plump lower lip, took in his slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones, and studied the small gauges in his earlobes.
By the time I’d made the circuit back to his arresting eyes, I’d concluded he was very easy to look at. And he didn’t seem to mind looking at me either.
My lips curled to match his. And quite possibly, my cheeks now matched my own hair.
With the unexpected arrival of the boys, Jo abandoned her dinner plans in favor of ordering a bunch of pizza, apologizing to me for the switch, as if I would’ve been eating anything other than takeout back at the hotel. While she made the call, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, freshen up, check my teeth, and freak the fuck out privately.
My brain hadn’t yet absorbed the new reality. These people lived in photographs and videos. They existed as anecdotes from fans who’d made it backstage, onto the bus, or into the hotel. I couldn’t wrap my head around the everyday banality of them.
Once I’d returned to earth, I casually strolled into the kitchen and climbed onto the stool beside Noah, pretty, pretty Noah. Sailor8 on the forum would cream her pants to be close enough to touch his wavy blond hair. She’d demand I sniff him and report back my findings, but that wasn’t about to happen. I was working undercover, and I didn’t want to blow my disguise.
As we waited, Micah set plates and glasses on the kitchen island. He and Jo moved around each other like choreographed dancers, putting out silverware and drinks. All the while, she interrogated the guys on their tour.
“How was it traveling with Whiplash?”
I wanted to gush about what a great score it was for them to open for such a huge band, how it would expose them to even more fans. I waited for them to rave about the amazing opportunity, but they all sort of awkwardly looked in different directions until Micah said, “Noah doesn’t want to talk about it.”
He didn’t laugh, so I couldn’t read if he was teasing or serious.
Jo shot a look at Noah. “Oh, right. Sorry.” I was curious to know what had just passed between them, but she changed the topic abruptly. “How long are you home?”
There’d been something in the forum about tension on the tour. I was dying to ask them to fill me in on the mysterious subtext only I couldn’t decipher.
After a heavy pause, Micah said, “We have to head back out on Sunday.”
Jo sagged. “Okay, then. I’m glad you got home early.”
She reached her arms around Micah’s neck and gave him a proper kiss right there in front of us all.
Noah whistled, and the weird vibe seemed to dissipate with the teasing camaraderie. He suddenly cut his gray eyes over to me, catching me studying his perfect profile. He flashed a wicked charming grin. “So, Ginger Spice.”
I bit the inside of my cheek at the unintended slight. His bratty reputation seemed well founded.
“Where did you say you’re from?”
“I didn’t. I’m from Indiana.”