Blake clears his throat and announces to the room, “If Mr. Moore does not grace us with his presence in the next twenty minutes, we are relocating to his suite.”
Emmy and several of the other assistants groan.
“Problem, Mr. Keller?” Blake asks, pinning Emmy with a look.
“Of course not, sir. If that’s what has to be done, I’ll see to it. The rest of the band will be done with their fittings by then.”
Blakehmmphsand takes his bad mood elsewhere for the time being.
“Such a hard ass,” I tease.
Emmy’s eyes flick up to Blake’s retreating form, but he says nothing. Poor guy thinks he’s hiding it well.Bless him.
Across the room, Will laughs loudly as our lead stylist adjusts his outfit. He looks effortlessly cool and edgy in a leather kilt and matching jacket, sleeveless and unzipped to show off his tan and toned body and various tattoos. I stare at my name written in Greek on his arm, and my hand automatically moves to touch my semi-matching tattoo, the Greek word for “willful” on my ribs.
“Damn, that man can pull off a skirt and make it look butch as fuck,” Emmy says under his breath, and I tear my eyes away,realizing that I’ve been staring. There’s a knowing look in the younger assistant’s bright eyes that makes me wonder if I’m as obvious in my attraction for Will as he is with Blake.
With a huff, I skim my eyes over the kilt again, cut just above his knees in a way that make his thighs look bulkier. “Myra’s a miracle worker,” I confirm.
Myra is damn good at her job, and all of us love her. She also happens to be gorgeous and has a youthful glow about her that makes her seem closer to our age than Blake’s. Not to mention she has this beautiful mass of messy ash-blonde curls that tumble down her back and frame her delicate features. I could see Will being with someone like her. She’s fun and down to earth, a caretaker with a wicked sense of humor.
Once again, Emmy seems to read my mind. “She’s amazing. Not in a mom way, but like your cool aunt that lets you sip her mimosas and buys you your first eyeliner,” he says as Myra holds up a pencil in front of Will’s face so she can smudge some of the liner along his lower lash line.
“Will bought me my first eyeliner,” I say quietly, thinking about how he squared up to our foster dad when I was discovered wearing said eyeliner. He was only fourteen, but he made Don look small. That was one of the first times I remember Don threatening Will with shipping me off to military school, to “straighten me out.”
“There is something about a boy in eyeliner,” Emmy muses, and both of us take a moment to stare. Because as Will straightens, the effect of Myra’s addition is immediate. The leather jacket, the kilt, and the boots are all badass. But that little touch of makeup turns the outfit up to something dark and dangerous.
Damn.
My brain betrays me instantly, and I’m pulled into an involuntary fantasy of Will wearing nothing under that kilt. The way I could reach beneath it, skim my fingers up his muscular thigh… Drop to my knees, and…
“Ari?”
I startle at Emmy’s hand tapping my shoulder, blinking rapidly as I drag myself back to reality and adjust my robe before focusing on the person trying to get my attention.
“It’s your turn,” Emmy whispers.
Shit. Where is my head?
Quickly, I walk over to the dressing area without making eye contact with anyone, least of all Will. How long was I staring at him like that? Was it obvious what I was thinking about?
After what happened the morning after the hotel mob incident, I need to be more careful. The last thing I want to do is make Will uncomfortable.
Yet he’s the one burning a hole in my back the entire time I’m getting dressed.
My outfit is a tight-fitting soft leather vest, cropped just below my ribs, and baggy low-slung pants with a wide, studded belt and matching choker. My makeup look is a little more intricate than the other guys because I love wearing makeup. I always have, especially because Will always encouraged it.
When we were younger, he acted like it was brave to wear something as simple as tinted lip balm. Then, as we got older and our rockstar lifestyle encouraged more freedom ofexpression, he’d say things likeyour eyes look insane like that, andit’s distracting how good you look.
He said something similar that night at the club, that I lookeddistracting.
Is there any wonder why I’ve always been confused when it comes to Will Kessler?
Even Emmy notices the way he’s looking at me. He shoots me a look that’s equally perplexed and amused. “What’s up with him?” he mouths.
I just shrug and do my best impression of being annoyed by the way he’s standing so close, like he’s watching over me.
“Is he going to be able to wear underwear with those?” Will says gruffly, eyeing how low the pants sit on my hips. Every inch of exposed skin burns with the knowledge that he’s looking, even though I’m certain his gaze is more critical than appreciative.
