As the seconds of silence stretch on, Leon cocks his head at me. “Do you not want to go because of Tarek?” he asks delicately.
I glance at him, then remember he entered the room when Tarek and I were... were... God knows what we were doing, but it can’t have looked appropriate to anyone who saw us. I force my head to go blank in case a pathetic, desperate desire flashes across my face.
“No, he’s fine.”
Leon almost looks disappointed. “If he’s being a dick to you—”
I wish he were being an actual, physical dick to me. That way I’d be having sex with it.
Quickly, I say, “He’s not.”
Leon nods, as though convinced of the sincerity behind my statement. “Fair enough.”
“It’s just... I have so much work to do.” When I look back at my bunk, the amount of paper seems to have doubled, with lots of little baby papers surrounding the mess of cables. “And it’s quite late.” Also, I’m jetlagged to hell and still operating on Mountain Time. I yawn to convince Leon, but I’m not sure it’s pretend.
This is smart. This is good. Clever Kat.
He gives me a small smile. “You should get some rest.”
“Yep, I will,” I say, staring up at his handsome face and hating myself. We hover at the door, neither of us apparently able to move. Before it gets too awkward, I blurt, “Goodnight!”
Leon smiles at me again, his eyes locking on mine. “Goodnight, Kat.”
His deep voice shoots sparks down to my core, and my tummy flutters like it’s being tickled from the inside.
When he leaves, I close the door and lean against it heavily. I try hard not to fan my blazing-hot face but oh my God, I think all common sense has flown out the window.
The only good thing I did was say no.
Leon Roberts... Known for the infamous foursome sex tape along with Tarek. And yet, maybe not as much of a dick as Tarek? Or just better at hiding it? I shake my head. The more I learn about these boys, the more I feel dragged into their world, and not exactly unwillingly.
Shit, I didn’t come here to act like a teenage girl. I came here to make a damn film, not to flirt awkwardly with its subjects.
I go over to my world — my makeshift editing suite. While my footage is transferring, I figure it might be good to see exactly what I’ve recorded. My camera is set up so that it can simulcast onto my tablet, so I add my tablet to the tech jungle that is my bed. I click Play on a couple of the videos.
I’m a professional now. No time for flirting with boys or even thinking about it.
And then I think to myself that no one’s going to be back for a few hours. Why should I be cooped up in this cabin, with an overheating whirring laptop and all its various attachments? It’s just me and Gary tonight. I could explore.
With my tablet tucked beneath my arm, I carefully step into the kitchen. The silence here is strange, the absence of the tour bus’s thundering wheels overpowering.
There is a door on the other side of the kitchen. I draw down the handle, not expecting it to give way, but the door clicks open. Gently, I open it and peer inside.
The boys’ bunks stand before me, two on either side. There is a sofa bed at the very end that’s huge, plush, and large enough for about ten people. Fans would probably have no qualms about ransacking the place to learn more about their favorite members from their various trinkets... but that massive bed is calling me.
As though hypnotized, I stride over to it and collapse onto the puffy expanse of quilts and blankets. There are glow-in-the-dark stars and planets stuck to the ceiling in a fairly accurate representation of the universe. I wonder who sleeps here. They probably rotate every night to keep things fair.
Or maybe they all sleep here together.
I shove that thought to the very back corner of my mind and leave it there.
Grabbing my tablet, I load up my footage. It feels so good to be on something more substantial than my bunk. I squint at the screen. On something this size, the footage looks... okay. No major disasters. A few wobbly shots here and there and one that’s not as in focus as I’d like, but yeah. For my first day, it’s all right. I give myself a small metaphorical pat on my back.
Scrolling through, I hit upon the clip of Adam and Tarek singing together and stop breathing. The combination of them is like a gut-punch, where all I can do is stare at the thumbnail. Adam’s long blond hair melds with Tarek’s soft black hair, and Tarek’s eyes are watching Adam like he can’t stop. I find myself slowly reclining on the bed.
Please be good, I think wildly. Please don’t be pixelated and full of interlace combing.
Hesitant, I click Play.
The boys are pressed together, singing through the same microphone, “This is the last time for you to show me your star, I want it bad, girl, but summer’s too far.” Adam’s looking at Tarek like he’s taking his lead, while Tarek’s dressed like he’s ready to hit up the local goth club. He should look ridiculous. He doesn’t.
My heart starts hammering like a mad thing. I zoom in on them. And that’s when I notice — during a section of the song where Conor and Seth are doing the backing vocals, Adam runs a finger across Tarek’s on the microphone, then shoots him a quizzical glance.
Tarek responds by touching his lips and gently biting the side of his finger.
I gasp. There’s only one thing that reminds me of, but he can’t be referring to me biting him... can he?
It’s over in a flash, so subtle that I would never have been able to see it unfold on stage with my own eyes.
Like an addict, I replay “Sunshine Girls.” On my third rewatch, my hand drifts lazily down to the waistband of my jeans. I don’t even notice until my fingertips brush along the skin of my inner thigh, at which point my hand freezes.
I stare at Adam’s face, cast in multicolored lights. Chiseled jaw, high forehead, eminently perfect hair for running hands through. The media darling, the perfect gentleman — and the infatuation I dared not acknowledge.
And then I look across to Tarek. Domineering fuckboy, petty asshole, dressed like a god and knows it. The media bad boy with a sex tape scandal — and the reason my fingers dip lower.
7. CONOR
WITH SONGS LIKE “KILL the Fucks” and “Bang Bang Bastard,” Royal Element Seen Rocking Out to Depraved Sin is the kind of headline that would raise eyebrows around the world. Their music is fast, furious, edgy and loved. Unlike us, you won’t hear their stuff on rotation on the local radio stations. You might hear them on a late-night rock station, and even then it’d probably be censored to hell and back.
Dan Mercury is something else. The gravel in his screaming voice is insane, like dirt soaked in aged whiskey. He strangles the microphone in his fist, spitting saliva and curse words, and showering the reverent front row with life-giving sweat. Three guitars behind him riff so many chords it’s like their fingers are on fire. At the end of “Bang Bang Bastard,” Dan sustains a screamed note for almost a whole minute.
Adam’s throwing himself into the music, both arms raised, whooping like he can’t contain himself. I join him.
It’s angry and energetic and, oh my God, it’s the music we desperately wish we could make.
“Holy shit,” Seth mutters beside me, knuckles white on the rail separating us from the general crowd.