Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
God damn.
We get out of the cab and push through the crowd.
We have VIP tickets, which means we don’t have to wait in this line. Reagan grips my hand as we slip past the barricade. Inside, the air is thick with smoke and spilled beer; guitars rest against amplifiers. A doorman checks our passes before we can get any closer. “Phoenix’s guests—right this way.” He nods to a burly bouncer who guides us down a hall and out the back, to a line of rooms.
We step into the first one.
There are four men in the room, one being Travis. When we step in, he whistles low, his eyes closing in on me. He’s leaning against the wall, dark jeans and a tight black tee, bands up his arms and tattoos on display. He looks fucking delicious.
Like the perfect rockstar, exactly the stereotype that I know he would hate.
“There you are, Mischief,” he says, voice low as his eyes rake over me. “Lookin’ fuckin’ amazing, as always.”
My cheeks burn.
Reagan presses her palm to her mouth and leans in, whisper-hissing. “He called you Mischief—oh god.”
I smile because I know how much this means to her. “Hey.”
He grins, amused by my casual greeting.
“Reagan, this is Travis. Travis, Reagan. You two have met once, but you weren’t famous enough then for her to recall the moment. Since then, her entire life has revolved around this very moment in her mind,” I joke.
Reagan lets out a little squeal, and Travis grins at her. Like this, I can truly see why women go mad over him. His half-smile, the way his eyes lazily trail over her, he is captivating in a way that is hard to explain. It’s something else entirely.
Introductions blur—Greg, Harley, Marcus—but all I see is him. The way he watches me, memorizing my face as if I’m his muse. A crease of amusement appears at his lips. “Like what you see?”
My heart stutters. “You wish.”
The others chuckle. My cheeks burn. He steps forward, fingers brushing my cheek and making my breath catch in my throat. “It’s okay, gorgeous. No shame in staring.”
I jerk away. “Don’t call me gorgeous.”
Another chuckle. “You want to watch us warm up?”
Reagan jumps into the air. “Yes!”
We go through a range of selfies and snaps before they settle down on their temporary set out back. The instruments come alive and the music floods through me—raw energy, pure escape. Travis takes the mic, his voice a velvet blade; tender one moment, fierce the next. I feel every note resonate in my chest. Mid-song, he catches my eye, and suddenly it’s only us in the room.
When the last chord fades, Reagan and I are both too stunned to speak. The guys jump off the stage and bow, filling the room with laughter and cheers at their presentation.
“Wow,” Reagan breathes.
I shake off the afterglow, my hands trembling. "Yeah, that covers it. I think I need a drink."
Marcus grins. “Lucky for you ladies, we have a private bar. I think we have time for a drink before the show.”
“Sounds good to me,” I grin, taking Reagan’s hand.
Down the corridor we go, the walls closing in with every step, into a room that screams Travis: burgundy carpet, leather stools, a polished wooden bar. He goes over to the bar and leans into the guy standing behind it. A moment later, he returns and hands me an apple martini, his fingers lingering too close to mine. "I remember you liked these when we used to sneak out and drink. Chief would have had my head if he knew.”
I raise an eyebrow, hating how well he remembers. "It has been how many years? You think you still know me?"
He keeps the grin. Reagan is chatting to the other guys, a martini in her hand, too. She looks like a little girl on Christmas, like all her dreams have come true.
“You see that guy from the bar the other night again?”
Travis’ words shock me, and I grip my glass tighter. “No, thanks to you.”
His face darkens, jaw tightening. "Can’t have you messin’ around with scum, Mischief. You don't know the people in this town like I do.”
My chest constricts. "Don't do that, Travis. Don't act like you have any right—"
"Christ, Vi," he laughs without humor, running a hand through his hair. "I have always protected you, every single fuckin’ second since the day we met. What makes you think I’m going to just stop?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Because you left. Without a word. You made a choice. You gave away the right to protect me.”
He leans in, fingers grazing my jaw, making my breath get stuck in my throat and my lungs burn. "I fucked up leaving you, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want you, Vi...”
My breath catches in my lungs. "And yet it wasn’t enough to stop you from disappearing."