Ever Lonely (Ever James Band Book 1)

by Kimberly Lauren

  My closet had floor-to-ceiling shelves with nothing but heels, pumps, wedges, boots, and booties. Some weren’t too uncomfortable, but I didn’t think Rhett would agree. I did own a few pairs of athletic shoes that I exercised in, but I’d never worn them outside of that scenario.

  I grabbed a pair of Miu Miu oxfords and started to hunt down a “comfortable” outfit to wear with them. Stupid Lola was no help. When I’d told her what Rhett had requested, she laughed in my face and walked back to the kitchen.

  “Those don’t count, Pipes.” I jumped at the sound of his quiet, husky voice and inadvertently tossed the clothes on the floor that I’d just picked out.

  “Shit! You scared me!” I sucked in a breath and released it slowly. “I was just about to change.”

  He smiled devilishly, and I could only imagine the things he was probably thinking about saying.

  “Lola said you were in here freaking out.”

  “I am not freaking out.” Yes, I was.

  “Com-for-ta-ble.” He dragged out the word as if trying to add it to my vocabulary. “They’re just clothes.”

  “Our ideas of comfort are very different.” My hands dropped to my sides in defeat. I didn’t know how to dress down, apparently. “And they aren’t just clothes! It's who I am. It's a brand. You'll have one too, and you'll have to maintain it."

  He shook his head as if the notion were ridiculous. “Alright, I’ve got this. Go out there.” He pointed to my bedroom.

  “If you mess any of this up”—I gestured to my perfectly organized closet—“I will castrate you.”

  Shielding himself from me, he whispered, “Damn, why do you have to bring him into this?”

  I sat on the edge of my bed and waited. I heard drawers opening and closing, hangers dragging across the bars, and Rhett quietly cursing. After a few minutes, he returned with clothes draped over his arm and freaking athletic shoes in his hands. I thought I had hidden those earlier, not even wanting them to be an option. Athletic attire was strictly for exercise, nothing more.

  “I can’t,” I immediately said.

  “You can.” He laid out clothes I would only wear in a gym with my trainer.

  "Are we working out?" I took a second to really look at him. He was wearing an athletic black pullover with just enough stretch to show that he was in much better shape than I’d previously guessed. The outlines of his biceps were tempting, and I couldn't stop myself from squeezing them. Solid.

  “Wow.”

  “Do you plan on buying me a drink before this goes any further?” The corner of his mouth lifted.

  I let go and tried to play it off. “I was merely noticing that you were in good shape and that the fans will like that.”

  He saw right through me, but he let it slide as he ran his hand through his wild hair before letting it fall back down haphazardly.

  “Can I use your bathroom? Thanks.” Then he walked away without even waiting for me to respond. Well, okay then.

  Not even a handful of seconds later, he strutted back out holding a washcloth in his hands. He was approaching me quickly, and the look of determination in his eyes set me on edge. As the cloth came toward my face, I swiftly ducked away.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “Making you more comfortable.”

  “See, there you go again, assuming you know what my comfort level is.” I swatted his hand away when he tried to bring that damn cloth back to my face.

  He sighed. “Look… writing music isn’t pretty. Not damn good music, at least. We aren’t going to go to a Starbucks to sip a non-fat latte and smile while we write heartfelt poetry or throw witty lines back and forth.” Those beautiful eyes looked right into me. “If we are truly going to do this, let’s do it right. It needs to be down and dirty. We’re going to cry, scream, and get mad. You don't need all that shit on your face getting in the way. You need to be comfortable, to be able to move. You need to be raw." His fist pounded against his chest. "Badass music doesn't come from the surface. It comes from deep within. It isn’t pretty.”

  “Are you saying I’m not pretty?” I laughed, trying to ignore the effect his words had, had on me.

  He chuckled, “Only you would get that from everything I just said.”

  I didn't like what I was hearing. I had never been good with emotions and feelings. Everything he described sounded genuinely scary to me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for emotions that deep.

  “Look,” he started while looking down at me. “This is about more than you wearing makeup. It’s about more than mascara getting in your eyes if and when tears are running down your face because you just wrote the most brutally honest lyric of your life. This is about not covering up anymore. Not your face. Not your mind. Not your soul. I want your thoughts, your struggles, and your fears to be exposed.”

  Rhett’s eyes begged me to understand where he was coming from. I could stand here and fight him for another hour, but in the end, I would accept his way regardless. I had never written music in my life, but I wanted it to be real and honest. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was masking myself behind the makeup and the clothes.

  I blew out a breath. “This better be a two-way street. I want to learn some damn good juicy secrets about you.”

  He chuckled and I could tell he was more than relieved. I told myself this was the one and only time I’d admit defeat as my eyes closed and I lifted my face for him.

  Rhett didn’t say anything. He didn’t take the opportunity to rub his victory in my face. Smart man.

  With my eyes still closed, I felt one of his large warm hands smooth my hair away from my face and rest on the top of my head gently. With the opposite hand holding the wet cloth, he lightly rubbed across my face. Later, I would have to wash my face in the sink to make sure my skin was completely clean. Nevertheless, I let him have his way and allowed him to erase the makeup that took almost an hour to apply.

  "Done." His words whispered across my face when I no longer felt the cold, wet cloth against my skin.

  Very few saw me without makeup. Lola traveled with me wherever I went, so she was always available whenever I needed it. When I was younger, I didn't feel like I needed to walk around with a full face on all the time. But it didn't take long for the speculation from the tabloids to start to sink in—asking if I was sick, overworked, anorexic, or on drugs whenever I wasn't wearing anything. Slowly, I began feeling more comfortable behind the makeup.

  Not even Noah got to see me au naturale very often. I usually washed my face after the lights were turned off for the night, and I was always up and about long before he rolled out of bed in the morning. I had never required much sleep, and sleep had never come easy for me anyway.

  “I like this right here. You shouldn’t cover them up.” My eyes opened when I felt his rough finger gently touch the few freckles on my face.

  “I used to have more,” I divulged. “A lot of people thought they looked childish, so I had laser treatments to remove them. At the request of the label.”

  His finger slipped down, and he frowned. "That's a shame."

  I looked away to escape his probing eyes. It felt as if they were dissecting me.

  He scooped up the clothes he had picked out for me. “Let’s get this show on the road. Time to suit up. “

  “We can’t actually leave the hotel. I already gave security the night off.” It was my last hope that he wouldn’t make me go out.

  "You're an adult, Ever, you can go out without babysitters—" he started, but I quickly interrupted.

  “It’s not that—” His hand covered my mouth, interrupting me.

  “I know. They keep you safe. But I’m going to hide you in plain sight. You’ll be okay. Now...” He shook the clothes in his arms at me. “Suit. Up.”

  I stepped out of my heels and internally groaned at the loss of the four inches I loved. Those four inches gave me a lot of my confidence. Now I had to look up at Rhett, which meant he was looking down
at me. He smirked at my dramatic loss of height. Jerk.

  The smirk died a hilariously quick death when I began pulling down my black tights from underneath my skirt. Once they were off, I quickly unsnapped the closure on my skirt and let it fall to the ground.

  I had to give Rhett props. I could tell he was putting up a solid effort to look only at my face and nowhere else. Now I was the one with the arrogant smirk on my face.

  This was nothing. I've been doing concerts, award shows, and appearances since I was young. So many people have dressed me and stripped me down, you’d think I was a paper doll. If we were going to be performing together, he had better get used to it. We were bound to see each other in more vulnerable states at some point.

  This was definitely a lesson Nixon and I had learned quickly. It only took one time for him to walk into a quick-change area and see his cousin in her skivvies—something neither of us ever wanted to live through again. Since then, he dressed quickly for shows and stayed near the stage until showtime.

  “Get used to it. We’re going to change in front of each other a lot.” I unbuttoned my shirt and let the fabric slide from my shoulders.

  "Ah, fuck." He looked up at the ceiling. "Changing in front of each other I can handle, but you can't wear shit like that underneath your clothes."

  I chuckled to myself. Not going to lie, getting a reaction out of Rhett kind of felt good. Earlier today before a fitting, Lola ran out and purchased a fabulous matching Myla bra and panty set. The dark cobalt silk crisscrossed in all the right places, and in between were panels of mesh flashing a peek of skin. They were perfect for teasing any straight male and couldn’t be easily ignored.

  I walked around to stand directly in front of him. I had no idea why I liked messing with him, but it was kind of fun.

  "Don't be a prude." I laughed.

  "Pipes, the thoughts running through my head are so fucking far from prudish right now…" His eyes slowly moved from the ceiling to meet mine, and they were smoldering. He shook his arm again, indicating he wanted me to take the clothes from him.

  As I reached out to grab the athletic gear, my bedroom door opened and in marched Noah. Rhett took an immediate step back from my scantily clad body. His arm stayed extended, and he was adamantly trying to get me to take the clothes from him. I finally did him a solid and slid them off his arm.

  “Ever.” Noah continued walking into the bathroom without even a glance in our direction. “Need your help. Now, please.”

  "Is he going to be pissed at you?" Rhett asked, his voice lowered to a whisper. I shook my head, but he continued. "If he so much as raises his voice, I'm stepping in."

  "I'll be fine. I can handle myself."

  Clothes in hand, I followed Noah into the large ensuite bathroom, where I found him crouched down, digging through items in the cabinet below the sink. He was huffing with frustration, and I didn’t get the feeling it was because I’d been standing almost naked, alone in our bedroom with another guy.

  "I've been searching for my cufflinks all afternoon," he said. "You know the ones. They're textured white gold and cost a small fortune. You remember, the studio gave them to me because I won that Golden Globe…" I didn't remember that, but I knew which ones he was talking about. "I absolutely need them for tonight."

  With irritation, he slammed the cabinet door loudly. I jumped back and quickly began pulling on my pants. The stretchy fabric was hard to pull up in a rush, but I managed.

  “Why is it always my shit getting lost? Why can’t anyone manage to put things back where they belong?” he bit out.

  "Calm down. They're in my jewelry box." I bent down and pulled out a leather box that he had given me. Or his assistant had, I should say, but his name had been on the card.

  I opened one of the delicate drawers, revealing his precious cufflinks. Next to it was his diamond cushion signet ring.

  “What the hell… my ring, too?” He plucked all the metal pieces out of the box and slid the ring onto his pinky. I personally hated when he wore that atrocious thing. He always looked arrogant wearing it. He had great manly hands; they needed to be free of jewelry.

  "You're welcome for keeping them safe," I added.

  He finally looked at me as he crossed his wrists to attach the cufflinks. His brow furrowed. "What's wrong with you? Are you feeling ill?" That damn Australian accent crept in, and I wanted to scream. Should have known he couldn’t carry on an entire conversation without Liam Baker making an appearance.

  "I'm fine. I'm actually on my way out. I'm going to write some songs for the new album. My own words are actually going to be heard." The excitement in my voice started to bubble up, and I was eager to tell him all about the new adventure I was about to undertake.

  “Like that?” he asked with utter confusion.

  "Like what?"

  His hand gestured at my face. “Well, I mean that’s not really keeping up with the way you like people to see you.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’ve got meetings pretty late, but I’ll see you tonight.”

  My mouth hung open, and I couldn’t gather my words to propel back at him.

  And then he was out the door without another word. He didn't mention finding me almost naked in the room with Rhett. I don’t think he even noticed my sexy-as-hell bra and panty set. He didn't ask me how my day was, what I’ve been up to—nothing. But most of all, I think I was hurt the most that he didn't even acknowledge me when I told him that I was writing my own music. Not one single word.

  I looked in the mirror and sighed. My eyes appeared tired, so I splashed cold water onto my face to liven it up. I ran some concealer underneath my lids to remove the appearance of my dark circles and quickly swiped a little black mascara over my lashes. At least now I looked like I was back in the land of the living.

  Once I was fully dressed and my hair coiled in a tight bun to conceal the blonde curls, I walked out of my bedroom to find Rhett. He was at the kitchen bar, gulping down a bottle of water. He took one look at me, and I knew he instantly noticed the small amount of makeup I had applied. He bit the corner of his lip and looked as if he were a tiny bit disappointed. I wondered if he thought I did it because of Noah.

  "I don't usually hate people, but I'm pretty sure I hate that guy," he growled.

  "Why?" He shook his head and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin. "Might as well go ahead and say it. Everyone else tells me their opinion of him."

  “Well, if everyone else has already pointed out the obvious, why should I even bother?” He pulled his hoodie up over his head and nodded toward the door.

  Rhett made a good point, but that didn't mean I liked it. When I passed him, he reached for me and gently pulled my hood up over my hair. I walked through the door he held open and waited as he adjusted the guitar case across his back.

  "I will say this though… if my girlfriend was wearing what I know you have on under all that, I sure as hell wouldn’t be running off to some pretentious dinner. My girlfriend wouldn’t even be out of that bedroom right now. I would be removing those silk straps with my fucking teeth.”

  My body roared to life with the idea of Rhett’s mouth anywhere near me. I tried to stop myself from having those thoughts, although I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have someone pay that kind of attention to me. I was pretty notorious for choosing the wrong guys for the wrong reasons, but I had a feeling choosing a guy like Rhett could hurt even worse in the end.

  — NINE —

  We made it a whopping three blocks before he found us. I had kept my head down, and surprisingly, no one had given us even a second glance. It had been a bit sketchy getting out of the hotel unnoticed by paparazzi. Fortunately, I remembered a side exit that let us slip into the Fuller Building next door, and from there we proceeded out onto Madison Avenue without being spotted. Our casual attire had done exactly what Rhett claimed—hid us in plain sight. The dimness of the evening also aided in our stealthy escape.
<
br />   But Beau had magical powers—either that, or he had secretly implanted a tracking device in me without my knowledge. I was still trying to figure out his mystical ways.

  When I saw the black Range Rover squeal past us and park a few feet ahead, I chuckled from underneath my hoodie. "You're in trouble," I sang out to Rhett. I was tempted to stick out my tongue, too.

  “Shit,” Rhett cursed. “Probably best we get this over with now, though.”

  Beau didn't yell. He didn't look at us. He didn't say one word. He just opened the door to the backseat, and like scolded children who knew they were about to be grounded, we climbed inside.

  I listened to him steady his breath. "Please tell me he was kidnapping you… holding you against your will… something that doesn't say how stupid your actions were."

  "Hey, wait just a sec—" Rhett started, but I cut him off by squeezing his thigh. He placed his hand in mine and squeezed right back.

  "I told him it was a bad idea," I immediately said while trying to give Beau my most innocent face.

  “Wow, way to throw me under the bus!” Rhett looked at me in shock and shoved my hand away from his. I didn’t like his stupid warm hand holding mine anyway.

  "In his defense—" I eyed him to chill the hell out—"we're trying to write music, and we can't do that in the hotel with everyone coming and going." Before Beau could argue, I added, "Or with someone constantly following us everywhere we go. I need a little bit of freedom. And no one even looked twice at me walking down the street."

  "You've been gone for seven minutes," he deadpanned. I swore I was going to have my body checked for tracking devices. "It only takes one crazy…" He trailed off, sounding defeated. I might actually win this one! “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

  “I am looking out for her. I've watched every person walking by us. If the situation got sketchy, I could get her somewhere safe," Rhett said.

  “I also think I’m fully capable of taking care of myself,” I added.