“Got to pee,” she mouths, backing away in the direction of the restrooms. When I turn my attention back to Knox and Gavin a moment later, they’re already talking about something else—some other chick’s ass—and I use the opportunity to sneak away, heading straight for the club’s exit.
Once I’m outside, standing in the dry, night heat, I draw in a deep breath. As I light the only cigarette I have on me (the one I tucked behind my ear before Heidi and I came to the night club), I check my phone.
One text from my brother asking if everything at the awards show went alright. No calls or texts or anything from Wyatt. Shit.
Taking a deep drag of my cigarette, I send a message to Lucas. After I debate for a good two minutes over whether or not I should text Wyatt and let him know everything is going okay, I toss my phone back inside of my tiny handbag. “I shouldn’t be upset that he hasn’t contacted me,” I whisper fiercely to myself. “I shouldn’t be worried. I shouldn’t be—”
“You shouldn’t announce where you’re headed on Facebook,” a voice says from beside me, and my heart is suddenly racing as I jerk my gaze up. “You really, really shouldn’t, beautiful. It’s worse than Foursquare.”
Once I find my voice, and yeah, it takes me a little bit to do that, I ask, “What the hell are you doing here, Wyatt?” I lift a hand to push a strand of my hair back behind my ear. He immediately pulls the lock back out, rubbing it between his fingers before dropping the red and blonde in favor of touching my face. “You’re supposed to be in the studio?” But as selfish as it sounds, I’m glad he’s not in the studio. I’d much rather Wyatt be here.
He shrugs, and then I realize something. This situation is so reminiscent of the last time he surprised me in New Orleans—all except for the fact that he and I are actually a couple now—that I immediately assume the worst. “Is Sinjin okay?” I demand.
His bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, and I feel a tiny weight being lifted off my chest. “Sinjin’s fine. Stop worrying about him so damn much, you’re going to give the poor mother fucker a nervous twitch.” He takes a step closer to me. “Can’t I just come to Vegas and surprise you and all that good shit?”
All that good shit probably referring to sex. I bite the corner of my lip. “Couldn’t stand the thought of me meeting hot strangers?”
He looks over me, just like Gavin did only fifteen minutes ago, but I make no moves to cover myself. Or to stop a wide grin from spreading across my face. “You can pretend like I’m a stranger if you want.” His expression goes serious, and then he pulls me to him. My breath hitches as I meet his gaze. “Look Ky, I came to apologize for being so fucking off lately. I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking a lot. Then we had all the band shit.” I nod in understanding, and he takes a deep breath. “And then I started talking to my lawyer this past week.”
“Wait—what?” I whisper.
“I’m going to try to get primary custody of Brenna.”
His daughter—someone that I love just as much as I love him. I grip his shoulder with my free hand, trying to control my breathing. “I fully support this—you know I do. And, for what it’s worth, I’m so glad that’s why you’ve been off.”
His smile is one of relief—a beautiful expression that makes my chest hurt. “So that’s why I’m here. To let you know that I’ve heard everything you’ve said to me over the last couple of weeks. To let you know that I give a fuck about everything you do.” Letting me go, he grabs Lucas’s guitar pick award from me and weighs it in the palm of his hand. “Especially when it’s in Vegas.”
“You came here to stop me from eloping with that guy I met this morning at the blackjack slot machine in my hotel, didn’t you?” I tease.
“I fucking love you, beautiful.”
It had taken him so long to say those words to me that it still causes me to shiver. “I love you too, McCrae.”
Backing away from me, he starts to release my hand, but I tighten my grip on his fingers. “You should get back to Heidi,” he says.
My eyebrows tighten together into a frown. “You’re leaving?”
“Going back to my room at the Venetian. At least until you and Heidi are done here. I’m flying back with you tomorrow night.”
I let out a huge breath. “Thank god. For a moment, I thought you flew in only to say sorry.“
He leans down so that his mouth is level with my ear. “Actually, I flew in to marry you.” As he walks away, he grins at me—at the way I can’t quite get my mouth to shut. “But I figured I should get the sorry out of the way before I told you that, beautiful.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas Wolfe
Something is going on with Kylie.
For the first time in god knows how long, she’s avoiding me. She has been since she got back from Las Vegas a week ago and she immediately asked for a few days off. Like a dumbass, I agreed and told her to take as long as she needs. And the only thing I’ve heard from her since is the seven-worded response to the text I sent asking her to bring my award when she comes back to work: Hell no. You can have the next. ;)
That was a couple of days ago, and I’m worried about her. So worried that I’m on the verge of calling McCrae—who I haven’t seen much of either—and asking him what fucked up thing he’s done to her this time. Or just go by her shoebox apartment. As soon as I’m done with today’s music video shoot.
I’ve made it a point to stay out of their relationship, but if he’s fucked up again, I’m done.
There’s a tentative knock on the door, and an assistant pokes her head into my dressing room. “Mr. Wolfe?” she says, and when I realize she’s not going to respond until I tell her to, I nod for her to continue. “Mr. McBride is ready to begin shooting.”
I check the time on my phone, 1:55 PM. I’ve worked with Karl McBride on several of the band’s music videos, and as usual, he’s right on time.
Staring down at the dressing room’s carpeted floor, the assistant works her bottom lip between her teeth. “Should I tell Mr. McBride that you need more time?” Shaking my head, I stand up. She’s wide-eyed as she lifts her gaze to follow me. “I mean, it absolutely wouldn’t be a problem. Mr. McBride wants to make you—” But her voice trails off as I pull the door all the way open and step past her.
“Happy, I know,” I say. McBride’s assistant continues to look at me like she’s about to sprint off in the other damn direction. Am I that fucking intimidating? “I need to get this over with.”
“Yes, of course.”
I follow at a slow pace behind her as she speed-walks in the direction of the set. Once we’re there, McBride breaks away from a group of crewmembers to come speak to me. Grinning, he claps me on the back.
“Never thought the day would come when you’d want to do something short notice but we’re all in. It’ll be the best YTS video to date,” he promises.
“Solo,” I remind him. “This is for my own album.”
He smacks his palm up against his tan forehead. “Damn, sorry. I think of you and I always automatically think the band.”
“Still with the band,” I say. “Just trying my own shit right now. Which is why we’re”—I gesture at the set, which is a simple backdrop with nothing but a high stool in front of it—“here today.”
McBride releases a noise of relief. “Then we’re ready to begin.” He glances at his watch. “Melanie?”
The assistant who came to get me a few minutes ago scurries over, keeping her eyes downcast. For a brief moment, this woman gives me a vivid reminder of my first meeting with Sienna a couple of years ago. Red had jumped at just about every word I said, had flat-out avoided me at all costs, and I’d never been more drawn to anyone in my life.
I’m not drawn to Melanie—not even close—but she sure as fuck makes me want Sienna more.