It was the soft rustle of the sheets and a hushed voice coming from the bathroom that woke me up. The voice belonged to Frank. I cracked my eyes open and scanned the room. The IV still loomed over the bed, but the bag was empty and it didn’t look as if the nurse had visited while I was asleep.
My phone sat on the nightstand and force of habit made me grab it. It was almost noon. Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram raged. BuzzFeed’s front page had a photo of Frank from last night’s performance at the Forum.
“Hall Affinity’s First Post-Hiatus Show: Can Frankie Blade Pull It Off Or Should He Go Back To Being History?”
Resentment boiled in my chest. I knew there was no way around bad publicity. Not for a person like Frank, but emotions still swelled. Mad at the entire world, I tossed the phone aside and sat up.
“I suggest you don’t go online today if you want to stay sane.” Frank’s distorted voice drifted at me from the bathroom.
My eyes shot up to where he stood in the doorway. Shirtless. His broad chest and defined abs on display. A toothbrush stuck out from the corner of his mouth. There was a small splotch of blue and purple on his right side from yesterday’s fall.
“I know. It’s a stupid habit,” I confessed as he resumed brushing his teeth. “Were you talking to yourself?” I slid from the bed and walked over to the bathroom. There, on the counter, sat his phone.
“Yeah.” He laughed a little. “I was giving myself a pep talk.”
“I can give you one.” I inched closer and positioned myself behind him. My fingers skimmed over his bruise as I wrapped my arms around his body.
“I’m listening.” He pulled the toothbrush out and spit in the sink.
“You’re going to do great tonight,” I whispered against his back as he went on with rinsing. “You look good. Rested.”
“We’re making a few adjustments to the set. The guys are going to be here soon. I should get ready.” He patted my hand locked on his stomach.
“Were you really giving yourself a pep talk?” I asked as we returned to the bedroom. My mind couldn’t conjure an image of Frank standing in front of the mirror and talking himself up.
“No.” He shook his head and moved to the closet. “It was my lawyer.”
There was something ominous about that statement. I couldn’t think of a reason for him to need a lawyer after last night, and I didn’t press for more. He had a busy day ahead of him and I didn’t want to be in the way.
Frank must have felt my anxiety. “Doll”—he turned to me and his features softened—“I’m not ignoring you. I just need to get through today and tomorrow.”
“Of course. Pretend I’m not here for the next two days.”
“That, I can’t do.” He marched over to me and dipped his head to grab a kiss. “I need you here. Things are going to be very messy for the next forty-eight hours, and if I do or say something out of left field, don’t hold it against me, okay?”
His hands slid to my waist and he drew me closer. Chest to chest, our bodies connected and then his mouth was on mine again. An incredible rush of adrenaline washed over me, and my blood thickened from the blend of desire and other emotions.
We checked out for a long moment. It was a perfect kiss, an explosive mix of tender and wild. A volcano of sensations. And it wasn’t enough. I wanted this—the feel of his lips against mine and the sound of his moans swallowing my breaths—to go on until the end of days. Until we both turned to dust and floated together in the cool California wind. Ashes to ashes.
Dante, Carter, and Johnny showed up right after breakfast. Or at least, it was breakfast for us. Rock stars and their girlfriends didn’t follow the typical nine-to-five routine. Late nights always resulted in missed mornings.
Brooklyn and Corey were in the office on a conference call with Jay Brodie PR. Billy and Janet kept their distance while Frank took care of business. I was left in the kitchen alone. My phone sat next to me, and the itch to go online was too strong. I had to. I wanted to know what Shayne had written about last night’s show. I couldn’t define the feeling within me very well as I read through her review on Rewired. Not until I hit the middle of the article anyway. Jealousy. That’s what it was. She was good at weaving her words. The recap was a compelling read, with a bit of a personal touch that wasn’t overdone. In some instances, I was certain she’d mimicked my style and it actually pleased me that someone had found my writing worth imitating.
I skimmed through the text until the end, and that’s when the article took a sharp turn. I reread the last paragraph a few times to make sure I didn’t miss anything, and the tone was exactly what Shayne had intended it to be…speculative.
Then I called Levi.
Frank was in the studio and couldn’t possibly hear me raging over the phone, which was precisely what I was about to do.
The line rang several times. Finally, I heard a groan. “What’s up?”
I went straight in for the kill. “Did you even read Shayne’s article before you posted it?”
“I did.” No explanation. Had Levi been secretly taking lessons from Frank?
“Are you shitting me right now?”
“I’m not. I read it. She’s fucking good. I don’t understand why you don’t like her.”
“I never said I didn’t like her.”
“Oh yeah? Well, right now, you’re doing that thing again, Cass.”
“What thing? What, are we in sixth grade? Why is she even talking about the length of the set?”
“Because it was a short fucking set and you wouldn’t tell me what the hell happened.” Levi paused to catch his breath. His voice dropped to
