“Whatever you say, Cinderella. We’ll get you back before the carriage turns into a pumpkin,” she deadpanned, pushing hangers of clothes aside until she found what she was looking for—one of the tops she had strong-armed me into buying for such evenings.
It was a black long-sleeved crop top that made my B cups look likealmostC’s, with the right bra, and showed off my toned stomach. She tossed it at me and moved to my dresser, grabbing the black push-up. She flung it at my face and opened the bottom drawer, searching until she found my red-and-black checkered skinny jeans.
“I’m not drinking a lot either.”
“Fine, so long as you sing. Just get ready quickly. The Uber will be here in like, half an hour. Wear your chunky boots.” She arched her brow at me and left our shared bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her so I could get dressed.
Instead of jumping up and rushing to get ready, I picked up my phone…just to see what time it was. Or at least, that’s what I told myself I was doing as I opened Instagram and clicked over to The Forgotten Flounders Instagram page. It was almost a tradition for my brother and his bandmates to post a picture before their shows.
They were in Vancouver tonight, at the Commodore Ballroom. It was five there, and they weren’t scheduled to go on stage for another hour or so. Someone—the bands personal assistant most likely—had snapped a picture of the guys hanging outside at the venue.
My brother stood in the middle, somehow managing to look both serious and brooding, even with a slight smile tempering his lips. His head was turned away from the camera and his left hand was in his leather jacket while his right held a cigarette. Evan stood to his left, grinning and tossing his middle fingers up, his drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket.
Dare was on his right, leaning with one foot propped against the wall, an almost serene smile on his lips. His wild hair hung down around his shoulders like a magnificent golden mane. He would pull it back into a ponytail or man bun before he stepped out on stage, needing it off his neck while he played under the glaring stage lights.
He did the same thing when he played his acoustic, or anytime he needed to concentrate.
These were intimate things I knew about my brother’s best friend, things I’d paid attention to long before I fell into his bed that unforgettable weekend.
I double tapped the picture and commented, wishing them all luck before I put my phone down and stood. I pulled the comfortable leggings off and put my sexy black push-up bra on, doing up the clasp at the front before I tugged my checkered jeans on over my hips and zipped them up.
I was just reaching for the shirt when my phone started vibrating with an incoming text. Snatching it, I opened it with more vigor than I’d shown Lara over karaoke night.
Big Mac:Hey, beautiful. How’s your Friday?
I grinned the entire time I typed my response.
Me:Good, Lara’s dragging me out for karaoke.
Big Mac:What are you wearing? ;)
His reply was instant, like he was holding his phone in his hand, just waiting for my texts. He probably was too.
Feeling a little mischievous—and wanting to give him a little something to think about later after the show, when the fans threw themselves all over him—I took a selfie showing off the sexy bra and my pouting lips. I hesitated for a moment before sending it to him. If it were anybody else, I wouldn’t have dared to send such a risky photo—but I trusted Dare to keep it to himself.
My phone lit up with an incoming FaceTime call from “Big Mac.” I reached for my top and tugged it on before I answered it, feeling victorious.
“You’re killing me,” Dare gritted, his voice low and affected. He was sitting on a black leather couch. “At least you put on a shirt.”
“Half of one anyway,” I joked, propping my phone up against a pile of textbooks so I could fix my hair and put on a little makeup. “Where’s Cal? And Evan?” I asked, tugging the elastic bands out and working my fingers through the long strands.
“Outside, smoking a joint,” he answered. I nodded, pursing my lips in disapproval. I worried about Calum a lot—he was balanced on a precarious ledge. Dare liked to keep a clear head, but my brother and Evan didn’t mind getting high before shows. Weed wasn’t a big deal, but with my brother’s self-destructive nature…there was always the worry in the back of my head that it would lead to more.
But I knew Dare wouldn’tlet that happen. His father had died from a heroin overdose when he was a kid. I’d been too young to remember, but I understood it was the kind of thing that haunted you forever.
It was probably the reason why Dare was so…careful, cautious, and responsible. He didn’t take unnecessary risks for a high—except when it came to me, as it turned out.
On the upside, my brother’s and Evan’s preshow stoners’ session gave Dare time to call me—and that had becomehispreshow ritual over the last few weeks. The calls were always quick, but just knowingIwas who he wanted to talk to beforehand made my knees weaken.
“When can I see you again?” His voice was gruff, and I knew without looking at my phone screen, he was watching me with that hungry look in his eyes that always setmeon fire.
“You can see me now,” I teased, reaching for my makeup kit and the mirror I kept in my desk drawer. With three female roommates and one bathroom, I’d long since learned that doing my makeup at my desk was pretty much the only way to go. There was no telling if or when the bathroom would be free, and the lighting sucked.
“That’s not good enough,” he answered, his voice gruff. “I want to see you in the flesh.” I glanced at him, appreciating the way his words and the command in his voice made my blood simmer.
“I’m off for a week in the middle of March for spring break.” I said, pulling out foundation and mascara from my makeup bag. “I was thinking of flying out to see you guys.”
”Or…we could go somewhere, just the two of us.”
