by E. M. Moore
Archer runs a hand through his hair. He takes the hair tie right out of it and his blond strands fall around his chin and neck. “It’s best that you’re not here.”
“Best for who? Because it’s definitely not for me.” I grab the bacon and reach for the refrigerator handle again, forcing Archer back. “Don’t you think it’s a bit crazy that you’re worried about me? I haven’t told Nolan anything for weeks. Actually, I’ve been telling him you’re working on the album daily, which is, at some point, going to come back and bite me in the ass if you guys don’t lay any damn tracks down.”
As soon as I shut the refrigerator door, Archer’s there, his eyes as hard as ever. He backs me up until the small of my back hits the counter. His arms grab the lip of the granite on either side of me. When he stands tall, he has a few good inches on me, if not more. Plus, his hair, his angular face, the fact that he wears spiked belts, all rounds out an impressive figure, especially when he’s trying to be intimidating. It works for him.
My stomach flips. I haven’t been this close to Archer before. I think he realizes how close we are at the same time I do because he steps one foot in between mine. He looks down, the ends of his hair swaying above me, almost sending me into a bit of a hypnotic trance. He’s so good looking it hurts. I’ve never been one to be into long-haired guys, but Archer makes it work. It’s never stringy or unkempt, it’s shiny with a slight curl that gives off total California beach bum vibes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says again, almost cryptically.
He leans over me a little further, and my hands come up instinctively to try to keep him at bay. Except, he’s not wearing a shirt, and as soon as my fingers make contact with his bare chest, he freezes. His gaze fills with heat, and mine follows right after him. I bite my lip, trying not to look like he’s affecting me the way he is because I know I don’t hide things well. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. In that moment, I wonder if I mean from this spot because this spot is hot. I like him this close. I want him this close. But when I swallow, I make myself mean what I should mean, that I’m not leaving the house because… Well, fuck. It’s not about experience at a record label anymore. It’s about these guys. Whether Archer wants to believe it or not, I’m here to help.
His breath passes over my ear. My whole body vibrates, like we’re two magnets getting closer and closer, pulling toward one another by invisible forces. “You’ll be better off if you leave.” His voice doesn’t sound as harsh anymore. It almost sounds tinged with worry like this might be the truest Archer has ever sounded since I’ve gotten to the beach house. “You should forget your dream all together,” he says. His voice is low, monotone. “It’ll be better for you in the long run.”
My heart thumps loudly in my ears. I feel the blood racing through my veins, making the pulse in my neck go crazy. A noise sounds behind us, and Archer jumps back. He looks over his shoulder at the same time I do. Ian’s there, looking at us both with a myriad of questions in his eyes.
Archer’s gaze turns to stone. “You should stop because you don’t have the talent for it.” His lips twisting into a holier-than-thou sneer. “You’re not going to make it,” he says. “So just quit.”
My gaze tracks between Ian and Archer. Ian crosses his hands in front of his chest, a knowing smile tilting his lips. With the two of them in the same vicinity, it’s hard to function, but I hear one thing loud and clear. They don’t like me. It doesn’t matter that Archer just made my breath hitch or that being close to him felt so damn good, he’s not…nice.
His words cut me. He knows exactly what he’s doing and how to get to me. I went from being on a high with what Finnick said when he heard me play to this. Hell, maybe even Finnick told them what he really thought of my music. He could’ve just been trying to get into my pants, and I probably would’ve let him. I’ve been trying to let him for a week or so now.
My neck heats. I stand as tall as I can because even though they’ve hurt me, I don’t want them to know how much. I force a smile to my face. “One of these days, I’m going to make you eat those words.”
Archer’s mouth purses, but Ian looks as confident and cool as ever. I’m sure he has no doubt in his mind that what I’ve just said is not going to happen. After all, isn’t it only like one in a million people fulfill their dreams? Or some other depressing number?
What makes me think I’m so special?
I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel hanging near the sink and then turn, leaving them behind me. My legs shake as I take the stairs down to the lower level. I grip the railing hard, so I don’t show it, but that’s probably impossible. This isn’t just the same kind of ignoring me that happens with my parents when we talk about what I want to do with my life, this is an outright denial that what I’ve always wanted—what I’ve always dreamed of—isn’t going to happen. And by the very people I want to impress.
I wish I was the type of person who could go read some motivational quotes to feel better, but I’m not. I kind of just want to lock myself up in my small bedroom for the rest of the summer and eat a whole gallon of ice cream instead.
Once I get to my room, I flop down on the bunk and just stare at the bottom of the top bed. I’ve never had to have bunk beds in my whole life. I thought I wanted some once, but I never really needed them because I’m an only child and my parents told me all I needed was a regular bed, so they bought me a princess bed in place of the bunks. I could really go for being in my own bed right now, back in the sanctity of my own house and surrounded by my things where no one expects me to wait on them. Or where I have to beware of my feelings.
You’re not going to make it.
With those words stuck on repeat in my head, I pull out the notebook I’ve been working in. I read what I’ve written but end up throwing it back down on the floor. My notebook smacks against the tile, but there’s another sound too. My eyes track toward the door. I’m pretty sure someone just knocked on it. “Who is it?” I ask. I’m not in the mood to be surrounded by Ian and Archer right now.
“It’s Finnick.”
My heart beats painfully in my chest, remembering what Archer said. “You can come in,” I say, but even my voice sounds strangled to my own ears.
The door opens slowly. When he steps inside, I sit up. I’m almost blown away by the sight of him inside this room. He takes up a lot of space physically, but he also takes up a lot of space in my mind. He looks around the room before turning his gaze to me. “I forgot how small this room was.”
“Welcome,” I say sarcastically. “I’d give you a tour, but I think you pretty much get the gist.”
His lips turn down, showing off that perfect pouty lip. He has an earring in one ear today, a solid, silver hoop that reflects off the light in here. He looks around. “You know what? Grab your stuff.”
“Huh?”
He leans down and grabs my arm, making sure I duck when I come out from under the bunk bed. Despite his words, he doesn’t let me grab anything. He pulls me down the hallway until we’re at the base of the stairs, but he turns left, opening the door that’s right there. A door I’ve yet to go in yet.
When the door swings open, I’m greeted by the warmth of the sun and a bright room that immediately gives me a calming sensation. There’s a bed against the wall on the left, the foot toward a wall of windows. There’s a cheery yellow comforter on the bed and the walls are done up in a light gray. “You can stay in here,” he says.
I blink, looking around. There are full dressers, a closet even. There’s even another door that’s slightly ajar. I can see the edge of a sink near it, which makes me think there’s an en suite bathroom in this room too. Even though Finnick’s grinning at me, my shoulders deflate.
His smile wilts when he sees my response. “We—we weren’t sure about you. I trust you now, though, Aisley. I want you to have this room.”
I pull my hand from his grip. “Yeah, well, there are still a few of you who aren’t sure about me. I’m sure they’d rather I stay in the shit ro
om.” The one that doesn’t have the beautiful windows and the great view. Ugh. Am I really trying to talk him out of this?
I try to walk away, but Finnick grabs my hand again, pulling me back to him. His amber eyes are fierce when they meet mine. “I don’t give a fuck what they want, Aisley. I’m a part of the band, too, and I want you in this room. It suits you.”
My skin tingles, much like it did when I was so close to Archer. I stare into his eyes. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. His free hand curves around my hip and settles on my lower back. “I like you.”
I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I don’t need anything else in that moment. I needed to hear him say something like that. With his shirt in my fists, I pull him toward me, pressing my lips to his. His hands smooth up my back, and I can feel the hard curve of his rings on my bare skin and then the drag of his fingers as he presses me closer to him before settling on my hips again. He pulls away. “If you’re going to kiss me like that every time, I’m going to keep saying it.”
I smile. “It’ll be a never-ending cycle then.”
“I’m game if you are.” He drops his forehead to mine. “Things have been so crazy recently. I wanted to see you, so I wouldn’t forget that what happened between us actually happened between us.” He shakes his head. “But what were you saying about the others not liking you?”
I tilt my head up until my lips are only a breath away from his. “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” and then I kiss him again, getting lost in Finnick’s heady lips and strong embrace.
17
Finnick left a couple of hours ago. His phone rang while we sat in my new room just talking, his hand in mine. Since he’d been summoned by the rest of the band, I’d moved my stuff into this larger room with the way better view myself. The guys must really have not wanted me to stay. They probably thought I wouldn’t, actually. Well, joke’s on them. I’m a lot stronger than they gave me credit for.
A part of me really wants to throw it in the rest of their faces that I’m staying in the nicer room now. On the other hand, they probably wouldn’t even notice unless I point it out. The guys don’t come down to this floor. Hell, Finnick’s the only one who’s left the property since I got here.
My phone rings as I kick my luggage into the closet. I walk toward the bed, thinking it’s Heather because I sent her a video of my new room, but it’s not. It’s Mr. Nolan. My brain fires off a few swear words, but when I pick it up, I sound much more chipper than I feel. “Hi, Mr. Nolan.”
“Aisley, hello. I’m about five minutes out. Can you let me in when I get there?”
I blink, my stomach dropping. Five minutes out? “From here, Sir? The beach house?”
“Yes, I decided I needed to drop in on the band, and I need to see you too.”
My jaw feels like it’s unhinged, but I bring myself together enough to tell him that of course I’ll be on the lookout for him. I’m already walking up the stairs when I get off the phone with him. I call out their names in a frenzy once I hit the kitchen, but no one’s there. I quickly check outside and when I don’t find them there, I run up the stairs to the recording studio level. There, I breathe a sigh of relief when I find them. Ian’s in the booth. His eyes are closed as he sings a few lyrics that make my toes curl. With the sound of his voice and the music behind him, I almost completely forget why I came up here, but in my peripheral, I see a form rise and then make its way over to me. When I look, I see Finnick smiling as he comes toward me. I reach out for him. “Mr. Nolan.” I hold up my cell phone as if it’s evidence in what I’m about to say. “He just called me. He’s almost here. He wants me to let him in.”
Finnick’s brows pull together. “Nolan’s here?”
Archer, who was standing off to the side strumming lightly on his bass, swears. “Of course, he fucking is. It was that fucking party. I told you guys it was a bad idea.”
Sean stands and knocks on the booth door. Ian’s eyes flash open, but I don’t wait. I can hear the doorbell chiming downstairs, so I give Finnick a look before running back down the two flights, my feet pounding against the tile. Right before I open the door, I throw my shoulders back. My hand twists the knob, and I pull. “Mr. Nolan,” I say as soon as my eyes fix on him. “It’s good to see you.”
His lips are a thin line. He looks far less friendly than he did when I met him in his office the past two times. His gaze tracks down and his lips curl up in disgust. I take a quick peek at what I’m wearing and stifle a sigh when I realize I’m in my bikini with a new cover-up. I have a pair of shorts on, but you can’t tell because of how long the cover-up is. This has become my nightly wear because I like to go outside and sit in the sand, but it’s also not a good look for my boss. I was too busy worrying about telling the guys Mr. Nolan was coming that I didn’t even think to worry about myself.
I gesture for him to come in, and he does so silently. “The guys are up in the recording studio, Sir.”
He gives a harrumph, literally voicing his displeasure without words. Mr. Nolan seems to know his way around the place because I end up following him up both sets of stairs. As we go, I check the house to make sure it looks neat and tidy. I wouldn’t want to be blamed for not being an assistant.
When we get to the top of the stairs, the guys don’t act like having him here is a big deal. They don’t even act like I forewarned them of his presence, which lets me breathe a sigh of relief. However, Ian just happens to be looking my way when we come in. He sneers at me, and I give it right back to him. I gave them a heads up. I didn’t have to. When he turns, I exhale, my teeth grinding together. There’s noticeable attitude pouring off both Ian and Archer. Sean looks like he could give a fuck, and Finnick is his normal self, trying to smooth things over.
God, he’s just…good.
I stand to the side. Nolan doesn’t waste any time getting up to date on how their album is going. For the first time, I hear how very little songs they have and none of them are ready to go at the moment. I can see stiffness creep into Nolan’s shoulders. I’m sure he expected them to be a lot further on by now. They’ve been in the house about a month.
The doorbell rings again, and I immediately stand up straight. All of the guys look to Nolan because the doorbell hasn’t rung at all since the five of us have been here unless it’s been a pizza delivery or the girls from the party, and since I’m the only one who’s ordered the delivery, I know that’s not what this is.
Nolan turns. When his gaze fixes on me, he asks, “Do you mind getting that, Aisley?”
I nod once, then head downstairs. While I descend the steps, I hear him explain to the band that it’s someone named Marco. The guys don’t say much after that, and I can only guess that this too is a surprise and one they’d rather not have. Once I get all the way down both staircases, I pull the front door open again to find a guy in his lower thirties with dark hair and bushy eyebrows. “Hey there,” he says. “Is Nolan here?”
I gesture at him to come on in, but this time, I have to lead the way to the top of the house. Mr. Nolan shakes Marco’s hand and then Marco makes his way around the room to greet each one of the guys. None of them seem happy to be around one another right now.
“And this is Aisley,” Mr. Nolan says, gesturing toward me. “She’s the band’s assistant while they make this album. Aisley, this is Marco. Marco is The Rowdy Rogue’s producer.”
An inner part of me flares with excitement to be around a producer, but the tension in the room tamps it down quickly. The guys are not at all happy about this. “Nice to meet you,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. I don’t know what their plans are now that they’re here, but I take the opportunity to speak up. “Can I get anything for anyone?” Whatever they came here for, I’m sure I don’t need to be involved in. In fact, they probably don’t want me around right now.
“Order us some dinner, would you, Aisley?” Sean asks. He falls back onto the leather couch in the room like they’re going to be in
for a hell of a night.
“Of course. What do you want?”
Nolan crosses his arms over his chest. “Just order them some pizza, or something they can eat quick. They’re going to be busy.”
“I’ll take a water,” Marco says as he sets a bag down and makes himself comfortable behind the fancy recording equipment.
When I look at Nolan, he’s already making his way toward Ian, his cheeks flushed in anger, so I decide I’ll just bring up a bunch of stuff for everyone, and they can have what they want. My eyes catch on Finnick’s as I turn to leave. His are downturned, and he looks a little pale. “Sorry,” I mouth at him, which makes him look slightly better, but Nolan’s presence seems to have affected him in a different way. He seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it.
The back of my neck flushes, remembering the makeout session we had earlier. His calloused fingers, his touch. I head down the stairs before my face gives me away, but before I do, I see Archer, who’s staring at me with piercing blue eyes. He knows something is up with Finnick and me, and he doesn’t like it. I don’t know what to tell him. I also don’t know what to feel. When he pressed against me earlier, I felt the same wave of emotion I do when I kiss Finnick. I’ve always been attracted to musicians or the musical type. My last boyfriend was the exact opposite, which was maybe why I held on for too long, thinking he would be the one I could make it work with, but I turned out to be so wrong.
When I get downstairs, I order the pizza, adding an extra pizza to accommodate Marco and Nolan in case they want some too. Then, I pull a tray out that I found in the cupboard and load it up with bottled water from the fridge before taking it upstairs. I haven’t been gone all that long, but the guys are in the booth already. I stand at the top, watching as they all come together for a chorus. Ian’s voice is the most prominent, but I can pick out the others’ too. This is the first time I’ve heard them all sing together that wasn’t through my earbuds, and I can’t help but to stop and stare. It’s beautiful. They’re so in sync with one another, I’d never know about the other things going on in their lives. How Ian and Sean got into a fight recently, and how Sean is recovering from a broken heart. Then again, emotion is the best talent. You can make a bad song great just by feeling it in your core. A good song without any emotion will flop. If you have both emotion and a great song, you have a winner.
