Of course, when I thought he might be worth it, I thought I could deal with it.
Now… I wasn’t totally sure.
I thought we’d had a giant breakthrough when he told me about the shooting and his PTSD… but I’d barely seen him this week. He’d barely touched me. He’d been preoccupied and distant. Unreachable, most of the time.
With his and Yash’s approval, I’d finally put out a press release about Johnny’s split with two of his band members and the end of Breakneck. I was officially representing him as his publicist. It felt like I was actually starting to earn the generous pay he’d offered me, yet it was anticlimactic. Because I still didn’t feel any more certain about our future together.
Like I told him, I could love a broken man. But how long could I put myself through this in and out, up and down crap? And never knowing what was going on, or where he was, or if he’d leave me hanging in some restaurant, waiting for him?
Flynn… Flynn had been so solid, so reliable. Maybe I just wasn’t prepared to be with a man who wasn’t.
But what did that mean for us?
“Angeline…” Courteney squeezed my arm again. “We all just want you to be happy. You were the best friend in the whole world to me, all that time when I was hurting over Xander before we finally got together. I just want to do that for you.”
“I know. You do. You took me sex toy shopping, and answered all my emotional late night calls this week. What more could a girl ask for?”
She smirked. “Actually, I think you took me sex toy shopping.”
As she spoke, her husband strolled up behind her, and he slid his strong drummer’s hands up her shoulders. Her eyes widened when he said, “Who’s buying sex toys?”
I sighed. “Me. Always me.”
Xander smirked and gave Courteney a soft kiss on the lips that made my stomach clench. The way he loved her was… the stuff of my deepest fantasies.
Xander had a lot in common with Johnny, actually. Worked his body at the gym to the point of sculpted masculine perfection, lots of visible tattoos, always impeccably groomed. Stylish. Well-dressed. Kind of cocky. But where Johnny had golden skin and really suited the blond color he enhanced his naturally dark hair with, and usually went clean shaven or with a five o’clock shadow, Xander had dark hair and usually wore a neatly trimmed beard. The two of them were so hot, I suddenly wondered what it would be like to go out on a double date, Courteney and Xan with me and Johnny.
Fun yet annoying, probably. Like going anywhere in public with my sister; having to sit there while she fielded requests for autographs and selfies…
As gorgeous as Xander Rush was, though, he’d never really made the butterflies go off in my stomach. Probably because I only went for men who were messed up and/or hardly knew I was alive. Xander had always looked me in the eye and treated me like a human worthy of his respect, probably because of who my sister was.
“You ready, babe?” he asked Courteney, in that smoldering tone that said without words how happy he was to see her.
“Yeah.” She gave me an apologetic look as she downed the remainder of her drink. “I’m sorry we can’t hang out. We have to be there, like, now. Xan knows the band.”
“You coming?” Xander asked me.
“No. Thank you for asking. But I’m waiting for someone.”
“She has a dinner date,” Courteney supplied, sliding out of her seat.
“Johnny O?” he said knowingly. It wasn’t like Xander to be nosey. He usually disappeared whenever the girl talk got going. Out of respect for Court and her friends, or because it made him uncomfortable, I wasn’t sure. But he held my eye, steady, like he wanted me to know that he knew about me and Johnny.
“Yes. Johnny O.”
“There’s a lot of talk going around about the two of you.”
Courteney elbowed her husband lightly. “Xan.”
“What? She should know. It’s just buzz. Questions, mostly.”
“I know.” I tried not to roll my eyes. “Like ‘What’s he doing with her?’ ‘Is he gonna break her?’ ‘Should we warn her?’ Trust me, I’ve been warned, ad nauseam.”
Xander’s dark eyebrows lifted a little. “Actually, it’s more like ‘What’s she doing with him?’ And ‘Should we be concerned or butt the fuck out?’”
“The butt fuck thing.”
“Right.” The corner of his mouth ticked up, amused. “Later, Angeline. Have a nice night.” He gave me a fist bump which I returned half-heartedly.
