“Fucking horribly,” Easton scolds over the buzzing gun and music.
“Fucking horribly,” Benji concedes, tossing an apologetic expression my way. “So, all due respect to tía Stella and both of your relationship examples,” he looks between Easton and me, “I have other ideas on how to live without the weight of commitment. And I can guarantee I’m going to be the groomsman ready with the getaway car.”
Drawing on my beer, I nod.
“So, tell me what really brought you here, Natalie Butler,” Benji demands.
The sound of my last name has me tipping my beer back further, hoping it will loosen me up enough to speak as candidly. I’m not at all at ease with Benji the way I am with Easton, and it’s becoming more evident by the second.
“She likes to be the one to ask questions,” Easton interjects. Translation—it’s hard for her.
He’s dead on. I’m not all that much a ‘share my feels’ type of girl. At least I wasn’t until Easton challenged what I thought was a truth about me.
When I’ve been hurt in the past, I usually use it as fuel to better myself somehow. Incorporating the ache in a new workout routine or using it to push myself harder in my studies or work. Using my pain to better myself has always been my method to come out stronger. Only when I’m truly at my lowest do I confide my hurts to Holly or my mom. When I do that, that’s when they know I’m down for the count—at least temporarily.
From what I’ve gathered, these two seem completely comfortable sharing things that seem highly personal. Easton managed to draw my truths from me like no one ever has, peeling me back easily, layer by layer, in just a few days.
“I think I’m going to need another beer first,” I admit. “I don’t have that swinging dick honesty you two seemed to have pegged.”
Easton and Benji glance over at me with raised brows.
“Or maybe it’s already working, damn,” I grin, holding up my pint. “What is in dark beer?”
Benji chuckles. “It’s the man’s version of red wine. Women don’t talk about the difference in the buzz between a chardonnay or merlot, but it’s legit. Two glasses of red will get your blood pumping like no other and can make a hard day a little more bearable.”
“In that case,” I down the rest of the beer, and they both chuckle. I strain to see Easton’s accompanying smile and miss it because of the way he’s laying. I stand to get another beer. “Sure you don’t mind, Benji?”
“Not at all. It’s what it’s there for.”
Benji projects his voice as I draw another beer. “So, I’m guessing you figured out who I was before you came out of the bathroom?”
“Yeah,” I say, walking back toward my chair, trying really hard not to notice the bulge of Easton’s bicep as his hand cradles his head.
“I guess I’m just surprised the place isn’t crowded with groupies, but I guess that’s partly a result of your parents keeping you all out of the spotlight?”
Benji nods. “Our whole lives. When the Sergeants stopped releasing and then touring, the paparazzi started to lose interest in all of us, making it easy for me to open up shop. To most who walk in here, I’m just the hot-as-fuck blond who inks excellent tatts.”
Easton rolls his eyes, and I grin.
“Well, to credit your parents, they did their job. The only reason I pieced it together is because I crammed in as much research as possible before I got here and watched the movie.”
The bitter edge in my tone rings clear as they both glance my way.
“The movie was more about the evolution of the band and Stella’s career,” Benji explains simply.
“Yeah,” I agree curtly, and Easton doesn’t miss it, doing the prodding voodoo thing.
“Hollywood,” Benji says, dipping for more ink. “Only they could make my parents’ story seem romantic when it’s anything but.”
“But the whole of their start and their relationship took place before you were born, right?”
“True,” he agrees, seemingly unconvinced. “Which places tía and your dad’s relationship before the movie, too, right?”
I shake my head.
Understanding flits over his features. “Ah, so that’s why you’re curious.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I admit. “So, you’ve never heard about my father or his role in Stella’s life?”
He squints as if in thought and shakes his head. “Sorry, can’t say that I have.”
“It’s okay.” I wave the apology away. “I thought as much. It just threw me for a few days, that’s all.”
Easton’s expression calls bullshit as I harden my gaze on him. “I guess it’s just the journalist in me. I’m not really a bits-and-pieces type of girl.”
“But you won’t ask your dad?”
“No, I don’t want to bring up anything from his past that might hurt him.”
“But it’s hurting you,” Benji fires back point-blank.
“It’s my own fault for prying. But it’s more the mystery of what happened that is bothering me. It’s like watching a movie halfway. Even though you know the end, you still want to see how they all got there. I blame a lot of it on the journalist in me.”
“I get it. I do.” Benji stops his gun and cracks his neck. “All right, you’re doing good, but let’s take a little break, man.”
Easton shakes his head. “I’m good.”
Benji snaps off his gloves and trashes them. “Well, I need a piss and a smoke, so sit tight.”
Easton lifts to sit as Benji looks between us. “You two hungry?”
“We’ll probably grab something after this,” Easton states, though it’s news to me. I watch as Benji makes a beeline for the back door of the shop, pulling cigarettes out as he goes. The door closes as I stare into the foamy head of my beer feeling Easton’s watchful gaze on my profile, knowing what’s coming.
“Downplaying your need for answers won’t help you get them.”
“He doesn’t know anything anyway. I told you I was going to drop it, and I will as soon as my plane wheels go up tomorrow. I was never here,” I say. “I have to let it go for my own sanity.”
“If you say so,” Easton mutters, clearly disbelieving.
“Has your mother ever mentioned my dad?”
“I thought about it last night. Growing up, the stories I paid attention to, no, but I wouldn’t expect her to talk about him if they were as serious as you say they were—”
“They were engaged, Easton,” I clarify for both our sakes, beating it into my psyche as I try to keep my gaze averted from the living, breathing temptation feet away from me. “It doesn’t get much more serious than that.”
Easton nods as he shifts on the table, clasping his hands between his knees.
“So, yeah, I don’t think Mom would mention him much. If she has, it’s probably been in the context of her old editor.”
I nod. “You could have invited Benji to dinner,” I attempt to change the subject.
“I didn’t want to,” he admits readily, and I lift my gaze to his.
“What pissed you off about the movie?”
“You really don’t miss anything, do you?” I sip my beer.
“You’re really not that great at hiding what irks you. What is it about the movie that bothers you?”
“From what I read in their emails, he helped shape her into the writer she became,” I shake my head. “She didn’t even acknowledge him in the movie. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was intentional because she didn’t want to hurt him. I wonder if she reached out or just decided to leave him out altogether.” I brave a look at him. “Are you even remotely curious about this?”
“I’m confident in what my parents have and know they’re in a good, solid place, but yeah, I’m growing more curious because it struck you hard enough to get you here.”
“I don’t want to project what I’m feeling on you.”
“That’s a needless worry. I don’t let others’ perceptions change my mind about anything unless I agree with it.”
“It’s that simple for you, huh?”
Silence. That’s my cue to look at him. Right now, I can’t because the beer is not only loosening my tongue, it’s making me more aware of his effect on me.
“Look at me, Natalie.”
Jesus, the way he rasps out my name. It can’t sound so good, but it does.