Skidding to a halt on those thoughts, mostly because there’s a child present and that just feels weird, I wink at Rayne before standing and walking over to the drinks. I gather a coffee for Rayne and the juice box before returning to my seat, smiling over at the cutie now sitting on her father’s lap.
I shake the juice box and ask Mikey, “Is she okay to drink juice? I don’t want to give her anything she isn’t allowed.”
The blond-haired, modelesque man smiles and nods, reaching out for the box I offer, and says, “She’s the least picky kid I know, doesn’t have a single allergy, and will eat you out of house and home. Girl can eat an entire buffet without missing a beat. I don’t know how she’s so small.”
Laylah smiles, proving to be a double of her dad when those matching dimples pop in her cheeks, and she accepts the juice box from her father after he’s opened it. She takes a sip as I hand over the coffee to Rayne, and he almost smiles at the gesture, tugging me back onto the couch he’s sitting on.
“Trust me, I know all about it. I have a best friend who is very much the same,” I tell him, reminded of Zelda and her ability to eat as though she won’t ever see a crumb again, yet remain the skinny mini that she is.
Nodding at the bag on the coffee table, I announce, “But if she’s good to eat, there’s a sub sandwich in there and a bag of cookies she’s welcome to devour. Help yourselves, too.”
Just then, another guy walks out from the same doorway Rayne did, and he pauses as he stares at me in shock. “Why the fuck is Madison Fowler sitting on our couch?”
I’m biting back a laugh that almost bursts out of me, the bluntness coming from the guy so suddenly that Mikey cringes and drops his hands over his daughter’s ears a little too late to be of much use. He turns toward the newcomer with a glare, hissing, “Watch your language, asswad. You already know she’s copying the shit you say these days.”
The newcomer, a redheaded guy who appears to have a lot of naked skin compared to the others in the room, holds his hands out with a laugh. “In my defense, there’s a Madison Fowler on our couch.”
“I have eyes, Billy,” Mikey points out, removing his hands from Laylah’s ears as she continues to slurp her drink without a care in the world. I respect it.
“I’ve asked the same question, brother. I’m still clueless, but I’m not complaining. She came with gifts,” Oreo Hair mentions, sneaking over to steal a sub and winking at me in the process.
With a laugh, I give the new guy a wave and point out the drinks and food again, feeling super repetitive as I say, “Drinks and food. Help yourself before it gets cold.”
When no one makes a move, I roll my eyes and reach for a sub for Rayne and the bag of cookies, directly handing Laylah the lot of them since I bought them especially for her. I’ve never seen a kid’s eyes light up so fast, her tiny fingers wiggling before she accepts the gift of sugar.
Mikey groans and drops his head back, muttering, “I just know those are going to have her bouncing off the walls later.”
Oh, hell. I didn’t actually think of that, and I’m wincing through an apologetic grin as I say, “Just think about the crash-out when the sugar finally zaps out of her. What goes up must come down and all that, right?”
The others laugh before finally diving into the goods I brought, like that little interaction broke the ice I wasn’t aware needed breaking, each of them thanking me profusely before finding seats and settling in to eat. It’s just as I take the first bite of my own sandwich that Billy asks again, “So, back to the elephant in the room. Why is there a famous photographer bringing us an early lunch on a sunny Saturday? And why the hell aren’t you introducing us?”
He looks over at Rayne before he pointedly looks at me. I don’t answer, taking another bite of my sub as I watch him right back, and suddenly I’m in a game of “who blinks first” that I feel deeply compelled to win, a small but determined competitiveness crawling out of me that I never expected.
I don’t even know how long we stare, but I know who blinks first, and it’s not me. My mama didn’t raise no rookie. I’vebeen winning that game ever since my cousins and I discovered it, and I hide my grin behind my sub as Billy blinks his watering eyes rapidly.
“You’ll win one of these days, kid,” Mikey snickers, picking off a piece of his sub and popping it in his mouth with a mocking grin that Billy only flips the bird at in response, much to the model’s disapproval.
Thankfully, Laylah is fully distracted by the various flavors of cookies I brought and misses the gesture, and I battle back the amused grin that almost slips out. Pretty sure Mikey wouldn’t appreciate that, even though it’s always funny when kids curse. I simply can’t be convinced otherwise. There’s just something about hearing a kid mispronounce the word firetruck that brings out a case of the giggles.
“Mads, this is Billy, Mikey, Laylah, and Gene, the life of Blackline. Everyone, this is Madison Fowler. Turns out, Maddie is the upstairs neighbor I mentioned,” Rayne finally answers, ignoring Billy as he grumbles about his stinging eyes.
“She’s your neighbor?” Mikey blurts, shocked by the revelation that I now realize Rayne didn’t share with them. I don’t know if that’s normal, or if he simply didn’t bring it up after two months of living in the apartment below mine, but there’s no doubt each guy in here knows who I am. I don’t know how, whether it’s through my work or by being the spawn of Sasha and Nikolai Fowler, but it’s very obvious that my name is known among this circle.
And Rayne didn’t mention it. Should I be offended? I don’t even know.
A point proven when the Oreo-haired guy, Gene, argues, “You’ve lived in the same building as the woman who has photographed almost all of our clientele, is the daughter of two very well-known actors, and is the niece of the best coach theTitans has seen, and you didn’t think to mention that? What the fuck, bro?”
I almost laugh, mostly because not very many people at all know that Mack and I are even related, but somehow, this pierced guy with a kind smile does. Hell, the guys didn’t even know until two out of four of them witnessed it, and that tickles me in a way that has me sending Rayne a somewhat mocking smile he rolls his eyes at.
“Gideon was singing her praises when he was here last time,” Billy chimes in, scrunching his sub wrapper in his hands as he chews the last of his food. “Said the band’s latest promo photos were the best they’ve had because of her, and you kept her a secret since you moved in? Dick move, Hunter. Dick move.”
Humbly, I bow, feeling my cheeks warm at the praise. Gideon and I go way back to when he and his bandmates started Neon Graves, and I’ve been one of two photographers lucky enough to photograph them during tours and promos. I managed to snag the position for their last tour six months ago, and the photographs really did come out better than anyone anticipated. It’s pretty cool knowing he’s still talking me up to those who will listen.
Apparently, he’s the only one, because Rayne has kept my identity under lock and key, and I turn to face him with a curious look. Not angry, not offended, simply wondering why he’d keep that to himself.
Alas, I don’t get an answer, because the cutie with a trucker mouth chimes in instead, nodding sagely while she echoes, “Dick move, Hunter.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe, slapping my hand over my mouth at the same time Mikey glares at a shocked Billy.
