Oliver tilted his head slightly toward me and raised his glass. “To new friends.”
We drank and placed our glasses down on the coffee table. His hand grazed against mine, and for a heartbeat, it stayed there, as if he wanted to prolong the accidental touch. Just the thought of that made my toes curl. The possibility that someone like him would be interested in someone like me seemed utterly life changing.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked, leaning back into the sofa. He looked completely at ease, as if he spent much of his time in places like this, while I sat with my spine as straight as an arrow, unsure of what to do with my now-empty hands.
“A small town in Pennsylvania. I’m going to UCLA in a few weeks.”
“I love LA,” he said.
Eager hope bloomed inside of me. “Do you live there?”
He shook his head, his tousled hair falling into his face. “No. I live in New York, but I visit LA often. We record our albums in a studio downtown.”
“Are you going to be working on a new album after the tour?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Depends on whether Jamie can get his shit together.”
I looked over at the singer who was back to making out with the woman by his side. To my surprise, he didn’t seem as lost in the act as he did when I first came into the room, and from time to time his gaze landed back on us, even as his tongue was deep down her throat.
“Why does he keep looking here?” I asked Oliver.
“He probably wants to do more of whatever he’s on tonight, and he knows I’ll be pissed if he does it in front of me.”
I held back a shudder and wondered once more why Jamie hadn’t been checked into rehab by now, but Cole’s earlier words about staying out of band business stopped me from prying. Instead, I moved to what seemed like a safer topic. “Does he write your music?”
Oliver laughed. “God, no. I write most of our songs. But he’s the voice, the signature part of our sound, so we can’t do much without him. I can write the best songs in the world, but if he’s too fucked up to sing them well, the critics won’t hesitate to tear us apart.”
“I’m sorry, that must be frustrating.” I didn’t envy the position Oliver was in.
“Hey—” he leaned in toward me, “—you told me not to apologize for him. Don’t you go and do the same thing.” He moved a crooked finger against my cheek, and I held his gaze as heat rushed straight to my core.
“You know, you’re a lot more collected than our female fans,” he said in a low voice. “Usually, by now, I’d be prying their hands off me.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. “I’m not like that.” As if I’d ever find the courage to openly flirt with him.
“I can see that.” He smirked. “Do you like our music?”
I cleared my throat and tried to gather my thoughts. “I’ve only heard a few songs, but I liked them a lot.”
“Ah, that explains it. But maybe you’re lying again, about liking them.”
“No, I mean it,” I insisted. “I want to listen to more of your stuff.”
He tilted his head to the side, amusement spelled out clearly across his features. “All right, I’ll trust you on that one. You’re going to be keeping me on my toes, aren’t you?”
“I can try,” I said, unable to keep myself from staring at his perfect lips. I wanted to run my thumb over them and feel their softness, as if to reassure myself they were real. What would it feel like to kiss them?
“I’m going to hold you to it,” he said with a nod. “Let’s drink to that, shall we?”
I stole a glance at him over the rim of my glass and caught him looking back at me intently. Shivers ran down my spine. There was something here, something that wasn’t one sided. He said he wanted to be my friend, but I’ve never had a friend who looked at me likethat.
My phone vibrated in my purse.Shit.Had Cole noticed I was missing?
I pulled out the device and glanced down at the screen. It was Zoey.
“Pics?! Or have you died and gone to heaven?”
“Everything all right?” Oliver asked from beside me.
