Squealing happily, I get up from my seat and give Kendrick’s neck a little hug, making him chuckle. “That means so much to me, coming from you,” I say. “Thank you.”
He talks into my shoulder. “I’ll be shocked if you don’t win a bucketful of awards this time. Not just nominations, but wins.”
Flushed and smiling, I return to my seat, where I proceed to talk excitedly with Kendrick for the next twenty minutes about the album. And, quickly, it’s clear Kendrick is anything but a bullshitter. Based on his questions and comments, it’s obvious he really did listen to my musical baby twice—and genuinely believes every word of praise he’s giving me. As the conversation progresses, however, I begin to realize something I hadn’t understood before. Specifically, that I think Kendrick is . . . into me. Like, totally flirting with me. And not just being welcoming and friendly. Shit.
The thought is flattering to me, of course. Kendrick is a beautiful, talented, lovely person. Truly, he’s as sweet as can be. But, the thing is . . . if I’m going to sleep with someone in the headliner during this tour—which Aloha has repeatedly advised me against doing, by the way—then it’s not going to be Kendrick Cook. Or Kai Cook. Or Titus Connolly. Obviously, I’m not proud to admit this, but if I’m going to sleep with anyone, it’s going to be Adrian Savage. Obviously. I’ve had a crush on him forever. As wonderful as Kendrick is, I’d never blow my chances with Savage by sleeping with his bandmate, let alone the one who’s apparently his very best friend.
“So, when will the world have your next album, guys?” I ask, trying to change the subject and deflect from the flirtatious vibe I’m feeling.
“We’ll probably start recording in earnest right after the tour,” Kendrick replies. “We’ve all been on fire writing new songs during the tour. Savage, especially. He’s been churning out some amazing stuff—pure gold. So, I’m sure we’ll jump straight into the studio when we get back.”
“That’s so exciting,” I say. “If you guys ever give friends ‘early listener’ copies of your albums, I’d love to be on that list.”
“Hell yeah,” Kendrick says. “It’d be great to get your feedback. I loved the mix on your new album.”
“Thanks so much.”
Kendrick smiles broadly, and I return the gesture, simply because that’s what Kendrick Cook does to a person. He makes them want to smile. But a little piece of me knows I’m playing with fire here. Is Kendrick interpreting this smile as encouragement of something more than friendship? Because, if so, I’ve got to figure out a way to tactfully steer him into my friend zone, as soon as possible.
“So, I saw a photo of you at a basketball game recently,” Kendrick ventures. “It was a Lakers game in LA, but you were cheering on Malik Wallace?”
And there it is. The look in his eyes that confirms he’s interested in me romantically. No doubt about it. “Yeah, Malik invited me to the game. You were there when I met him at Reed’s party, right? You met Malik, too?”
Kendrick nods. “Strangely, Malik didn’t invite me to sit courtside at a Lakers game.”
I chuckle, not knowing what else to do. “It was a last minute thing. He slid into my DMs, and asked me, so . . .”
“Are you guys dating, or . . .?” Kendrick asks tentatively.
I don’t know why I do it, but I reply, yes, I’m dating Malik. In fact, I use the word “boyfriend.” Even though, in reality, that’s a massive overstatement. In truth, Malik is nothing to me, really. He’s been pursuing me, and I went on a date with him, but we’ve made no promises, to put it mildly. For all I know, he’s screwing someone else right now, and that’s perfectly fine with me. But the thing is, I don’t want to have to tell Kendrick, point blank, I’m simply not interested in him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings or make things weird, especially not on day one of the tour. So, I take the easy way out, when it’s offered to me.
“Cool,” Kendrick says. “He’s a . . .” He sighs. “Cool.”
“I barely saw him this past month,” I add quickly, not wanting Kendrick to get the impression Malik is the great love of my life or something. “I was so busy expediting the album, and rehearsing for the tour, I barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone see him.”
Kendrick tries to smile. “Yeah, well, your hard work really paid off. Seriously, Laila, the album is incredible.”
“Thank you so much, Kendrick. You’re a great friend.”
At that last word, Kendrick looks like he wants to scream. There’s an awkward pause as he bites the inside of his cheek before finally puffing out his cheeks in resignation and whispering, “Cool.”
I look at Ruby and she’s grimacing compassionately, not even trying to hide her awareness of what just happened.
“Hey, asshole,” Kai says, appearing out of nowhere and, thankfully, filling the awkward silence. Kai flops into a seat next to his brother and demands Kendrick watch the next episode in some series they’ve been binge-watching together.
“As long as you ply me with alcohol,” Kendrick says.
“You don’t need to ask me twice.” Kai flags down a flight attendant and we all place orders. As we’re doing that, Titus comes over and joins the party. And soon, our whole group is drinking and talking, laughing and swapping stories. Even Kendrick, much to my relief, seems like he’s back to himself.
A few times during the conversation, Savage’s name comes up, organically, and I feel myself perk up every time his name is mentioned—every time I get a new scrap of insider information about him. I hate that I’m constantly drawn to Savage, considering his obviously oversized ego, but I can’t help myself. Not only is he gorgeous and talented, by all accounts he’s closed off and prickly, too. Which, unfortunately, I must admit,
