He groans. “Tomorrow. Forgot.”
“Make sure you do, or I’ll get it in the ear, and I’ve had years of my sister’s whining, all right?”
Milo salutes.
“You idiots ready then?” Jimmy asks, flopping down next to Milo.
“We’re ready,” I reply for all of us.
We are. We are so ready for our own tour. This one is all about us even though I’m sure thousands of people will buy tickets because Enigma is supporting us. They sell out arenas in seconds and have to add dates to fit demand.
“Yeah, don’t think you’ll puke your guts up onstage?” Will asks, trying to psych us out.
“Once!” Coop snaps. “And I had food poisoning.”
It was a long time ago when we were playing in a pub. Still funny though.
“Food poisoning is caused by too much Jack?” I ask.
“Fuck you. It was the curry.”
“From three days before?” Milo says.
Coop narrows his pale eyes. “It’s not too late for me to leave the band. Then, where will you be?”
I smirk. “Performing on a clean stage.”
“I don’t need this from you tossers,” he hits back, scowling like a kid.
Milo laughs. “We’re definitely ready for this. And we’ll make sure Coop doesn’t drink too much before each show.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for anything. Since I was old enough to hold a toy guitar, I’ve wanted to perform. I grew up listening to my grandad’s old-school rock albums. When I met Milo and Cooper in high school, we formed a band, and I knew this was it. Whatever happened in my life, I had to play music.
It’s been a dream my whole life and not one I ever thought I’d achieve, but here I am. As soon as we started playing for parties and in small clubs, I knew we had to pursue it.
Then, Milo started talking to his uncle.
Enigma and Tex came to see us one night, and they all loved us. I gave them a demo, and a few days later, we were taken under their wing. Eventually, we were asked to be one of two supporting acts on their tour last year. It wasn’t like we’d turn that down. It was a pivotal time for our career.
We performed to crowds of thousands. It was one thing to have Enigma on board, but if the fans didn’t like you…
But they did, and then we were signed with the same label who’d snapped Enigma up twenty years before.
I crash back against Mark’s enormous sofa.
We’ve fucking made it.
Nothing compares to this feeling.
I hear footsteps outside the living room and look up.
Jesus.
I see her before she enters the room. She’s looking toward the kitchen and not in my direction, which is good since it takes me a few seconds to fully take in her beauty. It’s like being whacked by something really fucking hard every single time.
Texas is stunning.
She purses her full lips in the way she does when she’s thinking hard about something. Her hazel eyes look greener in this light. She runs her hand through her long dark hair, pushing it out of her eyes.
Then, she turns toward the living room, and I force myself to look away.
TEXAS
MONDAY, MAY 4
OXFORD, ENGLAND
I’d stomped downstairs, but by the time I reached the bottom, I was embarrassed by my behaviour.
You’re not seven. Get a grip. You’ll be fine seeing Kitt. You’re stronger than this.
Thank God no one saw me. I freeze and grip the chunky wooden banister when I hear his sexy, rough voice.
I might be strong, but Kitt makes me feel so weak.
Kitt is in the living room. His voice travels along the hallway. My heart instantly starts to thump hard. He gives me butterflies. Great. Why does that still happen even though I’m over the age of thirteen?
It’s okay. Just breathe. You don’t even like him anymore. He ditched you after the Christmas party. He’s the enemy now. The bastard enemy. You. Do. Not. Like. Him.
I step into the living room, and my mouth goes dry. There he is. Kitt Daniels, in all his perfect glory, is sitting on the sofa, his ankle resting across his knee, with his arm thrown over the back of the cushions. His brown hair is stylishly messy on his head, slightly shaved at the sides, and he has tattoos covering his skin. My body is instantly hotter than lava.
Okay, maybe you like him a little.
“About time,” Kitt says, smirking. His gorgeous deep blue eyes turn all logical thought to gibberish.
Kiss me.
The rest of the guys are talking about the tour, not even realising I’m now in the room, but they’ve been warned that when they enter our house, they have to keep the crude talk to a minimum. They never do.
I shrug. “Was busy.” Yep, I’m playing it cool. Totally ice-cold cool.
You kissed him, but it doesn’t matter because you only want to be friends with him anyway.
Even when I see his perfect come-to-bed midnight-blue eyes, sculpted jaw, cheeky smile, dimple, and light stubble, I still only want to be friends.
Definitely just friends.
“Hmm, a lot going on in Made in Chelsea, was there?”