“First, you’re one to talk since you’ve been reading for a while now. Or may I say, trying to read. You’ve been on the same page for over twenty minutes.” Chris raised his head and almost punched Marc in the face when he flashed him a shit-eating grin. “And second. I’m not talking business.”
“Wasn’t he trying to make you come to practice with his band when we get back home half an hour ago?” Chris grumbled.
Marc’s dark eyes shone with newly found interest.Fuck. He’d said too much and was showing his cards way too easily.
“I told you four months ago, when he approached me with this for the first time, that I’m not interested in his band or any other one that is not ours.”
“Then why are you still talking to him?”
“Are you my mom or my boyfriend now?” Marc’s face morphed into the most arrogant yet idiotic expression, resting his chin on his palm and battling his lashes.
Chris flipped him off. “Fuck you.” He slapped the bassist’s man-bun, though it looked more like a short ponytail as his straight, silky hair had slipped down.
“That’s actually what he’s trying to do when we come back.”
The deep sound of his laughter pinched Chris’s skin. He blinked fast several times, waiting for the oxygen to reach his brain. “You into that douche?”
“No.” Marc shrugged, locking his phone and putting it into his pocket.
Chris scowled. “Then what the fuck?”
“Are you gonna tell me now you’ve never let anyone flirt with you just for fun, even though you knew it wouldn’t get anywhere further than that?”
“Touché.”
“It’s good for the ego. Not everyone finds random hookups as easy as you.”
“You mean Green Hair?” Yeah, he had told him.
“Yup.”
Chris lifted a shoulder. “I can ask her if she’s okay with you joining.”
Marc tossed his head back as he exploded with laughter, making the guitarist want to punch him again. He just said so out of courtesy—what the fuck—but it wasn’t as if it were the funniest of jokes.
“With how needy, almost desperate, you’ve been these days, I’d rather let you have this one alone.”
“Afraid that I’d bite you?”
A shadow cast over Marc’s comical expression, turning it into something dark and tempting as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to repress a smirk. Chris’s stomach churned.
What—
Before any thoughts formed in his head, Nat, with an exaggerated hand gesture, threw her drink all over the bassist.
“Oh my fucking God! I’m so sorry, Zimmer!” she said, covering her mouth with a palm, eyes wide like two big round plates. “I didn’t mean to… Jeez, sorry!”
Marc was frozen on the spot, both arms opened to the sides as he looked down at his t-shirt clinging to his body like a second skin, outlining every one of his muscles.
Laughing wholeheartedly, he grabbed the wrinkled napkins Nat and Leah passed him, as if those would help much to get him dry. “Yeah, these aren’t gonna help,” he mumbled, getting up. “Think I’ll just go grab a clean tee.” Grabbing the hem of his shirt, the bassist rolled it up and over his head, standing there half-naked.
“Maybe you could stay like that,” Nat teased. “You’re too hot to always be covered with so much fabric.”
“Aren’t you married?” Leah cackled.
“She is,” Colson chirped into their conversation. “But, eh, my woman’s got eyes, and I don’t mind who she looks at as long as she plays out all of her fantasies with me.” He grinned.
The jokes continued, but Chris had completely disconnected, his friend’s voices barely a background noise as his thumping heart took center stage while he stared at Marc.
