A pang of jealousy rocked through me. Why the hell hadn’t I been involved in that conversation? Hadn’t I earned my place in whatever they were scheming with her?
I crushed that thought like an empty beer can. No, I didn’t need to be a part of their mess. Whatever form it took, it wasn’t one that had a happy ending.
And I’d had enough bad endings to last me a lifetime.
Then why did you open up to her earlier?
I sighed to myself, closing my eyes. I knew that the guys thought this house was a vanity, but for me it was more than that. Growing up, shelter was the only true leverage the foster families had over me. The prospect of living on the street had terrified me as a child, even when my mom was still alive, because I knew we were always one notice away from eviction. I didn’t want to be homeless, and that’s why I’d never been brave enough to run away.
When I finally made enough to afford a house, I wanted to make a statement. To myself, to others, to all the people from my past that I hoped I’d never see again. My wealth was abstract, my success intangible, but this home was unarguably real.
I designed it to project the Abel I wanted others to see. It was imposing and sleek. It kept people on their guard, even made them nervous.
But when I saw Adeline turning in place and taking everything in, I suddenly felt like the real me was disappearing out of existence and being replaced by a fraud. The urge to show her there was more to me than this had been overwhelming.
“Do you want to put something else on?” Adeline’s voice sent my eyes flying open.
Her face was a mask of concern. I shook my head and moved to get up. “I’m fine.”
I felt her gaze trained on my back as I walked toward the kitchen to grab some water. When I turned off the tap and turned around, she was standing by the fridge.
I racked my gaze over her, taking inventory of the way her jeans cinched at her narrow waist, noting the steady rise and fall of her chest.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low. The couch faced away, and I knew the others couldn’t see or hear us over the TV.
“I said I’m fine, didn’t I?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Back to this again?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning against the counter behind me.
She sighed. “Look, we don’t need to be friends. We don’t even need to like each other. But I’m getting tired of you treating me like an enemy combatant. The glares, the one-word answers, the snippy comments… I know you don’t give a shit about me, but I think my playing will be better if I get a break from the constant hostility.”
Her gaze flickered down, as if she were afraid to hear my response, and I felt like an utter asshole.
Was it fair of me to treat her like shit because I was afraid of the effect she might have on the rest of the band? That she might push them to want to keep going when I was categorically against it, because I knew that without Charlie, I was as good as done as a songwriter?
No. It wasn’t fair. But life wasn’t fair, and by now, she should know that. Still, I supposed I could give her a bit of a break. Placing the glass down on the counter, I lifted her chin with the tip of my finger, and she sucked in a breath through parted lips. Something about that sent blood rushing straight to my dick. I ignored it and dropped my hand.
“If it improves your performance, I suppose I can play nice,” I said, noting the fullness of her bottom lip. I wanted to sink my teeth into it.
When I met her gray eyes once again, they had a hard look to them. “Great.”
Who was being snippy now?
We stood awkwardly for a few more seconds before she spun on her heel and walked back to the others. Her ass looked great in those pants, and as I watched her sit once again between Ezra and Cole, I felt that pang of jealousy again.
Was my armor cracking as well?
ADELINE
Abel’s comment about being nice to me if it improved my performance pissed me off more than it should have. I’d asked him for as much, hadn’t I? So, why did I expect him to play nice for any other reason?
Maybe it was because he’d finally started to open up to me when we’d talked about writing music. Too bad it hadn’t lasted.
I left shortly after, coming home with every intention of going to sleep, but after an hour of restless tossing and turning between my cotton sheets, I climbed out of bed and buried my face into my palms.
Something was eating away at me, and I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. I felt unbalanced. Off-key.
