by E. M. Moore
“Oh, right,” Archer says. “Then deal with the aftermath because I’m pretty sure you’re going to come out swinging if one of us says something like that.”
“I didn’t know my friends were such pussies,” Sean sneers.
I raise my eyebrows and wait for the other guys’ reactions. Nothing happens though. They just laugh in response.
This is…really nice. When they sit around and talk, I’m usually not involved, but tonight, it’s like I’m let into their circle. My body warms, then freezes, waiting for the moment they realize I’m actually sitting here, so they can tell me to get the fuck out. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but instead, I say, “We can play a drinking game. My friend and I did this when my last boyfriend and I broke up.”
Sean looks over, raising one very red eyebrow at me. “A drinking game.”
“Yeah, if you can call it that. It’s actually just an excuse to get hammered and rag about your ex, but it was kind of fun.”
Archer stands from the couch and goes to the fridge. He brings over five beers, even handing me one. Sean cracks the top on his and then looks at me expectantly. “And how does one play this game?”
I smirk, then open my beer. “Basically, you try to out-do one another with terrible boyfriend stories. In this case, boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Ian grabs a seat on the couch next to Archer and Finnick finds his way over to the other side of me. Sean and I move down to accommodate him. “You go first,” Finnick says, pointing at me.
My face turns red. Unfortunately, I have a bunch of really embarrassing boyfriend stories. Heather knew them all when she made up this game, so I wasn’t telling her anything new, but it was a way to get our frustrations out. I drank way more than she did that night. She doesn’t have a lot of boyfriend horror stories. Guys just love her. “Okay,” I say, “One time…” I pause, thinking about which freaking story I’m going to tell them. I’m acutely aware I’m sitting in front of a bunch of rockstars who have girls falling all over them. Yesterday, I found a video on YouTube of one of their concerts. Besides the fact that it looked like a hell of a lot of fun, the girls were going wild over them. It was nuts. “One time I had a guy cheat on me right in front of me while we were at a party. He completely copped a feel on some other girl. He made up some lame excuse about it being an accident. I bought it, only to find him cheating on me the next day.”
Ian gives me the craziest look while I take a long swig of beer. I can tell he wants to say something, probably tell me how fucking naive I am, but he keeps it inside. Maybe only because Sean doesn’t let a lot of time pass between when I stop talking and when he starts in on a story. “You know that bitch tried to get me to pay the down payment on her apartment…in New York City.”
“The fuck?” Archer says. “You never told us that.”
Sean’s too busy drinking about half his beer to answer.
“I got one,” Archer says. “In high school, remember Tammy?” The guys nod. “Tammy tried to make me jealous of Ian. She always made comments about him, so one day I told her she could go suck his dick then.”
“Is that why you guys broke up?” Finnick asks.
Archer nods as he takes a gulp of his drink.
“And she wasn’t even that good at it,” Ian says.
The guys all stop, and then burst out laughing. “You’re a son of a bitch,” Archer says, shaking his head. “And I agree, she wasn’t that good.”
I shake my head. Of course, Ian let that scenario play out, and he doesn’t even seem bothered by it either.
Sean pipes up with another story about his ex. She really did sound like a piece of work. It makes me wonder why he was ever with her, but then again, hindsight is twenty-twenty. It’s so easy to go back to the past and pick apart things that happened because you know how it turns out.
“I’m sure you have one,” Ian says, pointing at Finnick.
Finnick shrugs, twisting the can in his hand. I can tell Finnick doesn’t really want to say anything, so I go again. “My first boyfriend broke up with me in a note,” I say, gaining some loud jeers from the guys around me.
“You sound like a real winner,” Ian says.
I shrug. His insults don’t hurt me anymore. They’re just a part of who he is. I also think there’s something underneath it all that he’s trying to hide. At least, I have to think that because otherwise, he’s just a gigantic dick. “You don’t have one?” I ask.
“Are you kidding?” Archer says. “All the girls want him. You haven’t noticed?”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I hate that I get jealous when I think about other girls with these guys—even Ian. It has to be about their music, and the fact that they’ll so easily let other people in, but not me.
“My dad ran a girl off once,” Ian says, his voice practically devoid of emotion.
The guys go silent. I don’t necessarily understand why this is big news, but I feel it. The change in the air is all the evidence I need.
“He found us messing around in my bedroom, and he just laid it on thick. You know how he is. She wouldn’t talk to me again,” he says. “I think it’s because he practically told her she was going to hell and that God would never love her again after I violated her.”
My eyebrows raise into my hairline. Violate her? Sounds like a religious zealot.
Archer just whistles and takes a sip of his beer. Ian’s downing his. When he finishes, he gets up and gets all of us another round. I quickly finish mine to keep up, and then we spend the rest of the night, continuing to tell horror stories, basically just letting Sean get all of his frustrations out. But during what I thought was only going to be a good thing for Sean, I learn a lot more about the guys than I thought. They haven’t all been terrible their whole lives. They weren’t even born rockstars despite the airs they try to pull off. They’ve had the same hurts and embarrassments we all have growing up.
They suddenly feel much more like people. Not just musicians or celebrities. But just people.
13
When I wake up in the morning, I’m in rough shape. I stumble up the stairs, cursing the fact that I’m not on the same floor as the kitchen. What I need right now is water. Lots and lots of water.
I pull the refrigerator open and grab a bottle. I saddle up to the bar, sit, and make myself drink the whole thing. My whole body feels lazy, like it’s going to take extra steps throughout the whole day to do simple tasks. Lovely. Good thing the guys don’t actually want me to do anything.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I jump in my seat. I fumble for it, trying to get the blaringly loud ringer to turn off. “Hello?” I answer, then stifle a yawn.
“Aisley, it’s Mr. Nolan.”
I sit up straighter. “Hello.”
“I need to talk to the guys, but they’re not answering their phones.”
I check the clock over the stove. It’s almost eleven. There’s no way they’re going to be up any time soon, but I don’t think Mr. Nolan wants to hear how we all played a drinking game last night, got too drunk, and passed out in our beds. That’s not what he sent them here to do. Or me. “Oh,” I say. I don’t know how long it takes me to come up with an excuse, but it feels like forever. “That’s because they’re in the booth.”
He’s silent for a few moments. Just enough to make me restless. He can probably tell I’m lying. I’ve never been very good at it. Like Finnick pointed out, I wear my heart on my sleeve. “In the booth, huh?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hmm,” he muses. “Okay. Have them call me when they get out. It’s urgent.”
With that, he hangs up. I stare at the phone and then put it away. I wonder if it’s really urgent, something I need to wake them up for, or if he’s just using that excuse to see when they call him back.
There’s a noise behind me, and I turn. Finnick is standing in the middle of the living room, his gaze cautious, almost like he’s seeing me in a new light.
“Hey,” I say, my voice rough. I
peel myself off the chair and head to the fridge. I’m sure Finnick needs a water, too. If he feels half as shitty as I feel, he needs about five waters. I grab a bottle out of the fridge and walk toward him, holding it out.
He takes it, but he’s still eyeing me almost like he’s seeing me for the first time. I even look down to make sure I put all my clothes on correctly. I didn’t take a shower, but I did throw my hair up in a ponytail, so that’s something, right? He’s sans rings this morning—and glasses. He has a baby face without them. There’s something about the way he’s staring at me that makes my stomach clench. I back up, but he follows me. “Was that Nolan I heard?”
I nod.
“You told him we were in the booth?”
His words sound accusatory, but I don’t know why. The night of alcohol is making me dim this morning. “I figured he wouldn’t be happy if I said you guys were still in bed.”
“No, I get that,” he says, his voice soft.
“He says he wants you guys to call him right away. It’s urgent. I was just debating on whether or not to wake you guys up. I didn’t know if he was being serious or not.”
Finnick shakes his head. “Nolan doesn’t understand the meaning of the word urgency. He probably just wants to yell at us some more.” He steps closer. My mouth is suddenly dry, like desert air moved into the posh beach house and I’ve been sucking it in from the moment I saw Finnick. “You covered for us.”
I open my mouth to say something. I still don’t get it. Is he mad? “I—I did.”
He swallows, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down. “Thank you.”
When the corners of Finnick’s mouth turn up, I allow myself to smile back. My thoughts may be weighted down this morning, but I’m still curious as to why Finnick is making such a big deal out of this. Heather and I cover for each other all the time. That’s what friends do. Not that the guys are my friends. Hell, they don’t even like me, but they don’t deserve to get nailed this morning when all they were trying to do was help out Sean.
He needed a night off. He needed to get a ton of shit off his chest. We even convinced him to block his ex’s number, so she can’t call him again. From how horrible she sounded, I don’t know why he hadn’t done it before. But who am I to judge? We all do stupid shit when relationships are involved.
Finnick brushes past me and heads into the kitchen. He starts pulling ingredients out of the cupboards. He moves so effortlessly that it makes me groan. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who don’t get hungover?”
He looks over his shoulder at me, flashing me a grin. “I’m one of those people.”
“I hate you.” I might’ve meant that a couple of days ago, but Finnick’s actually pretty cool. If anything, over the past twenty-four hours, I’ve learned that the guys are real people underneath all the cockiness. Yes, they have responsibilities, but shit also happens in their lives like everyone else. Other parts of their life don’t stop just because they have to deliver an album. Their girlfriends break up with them. They fight. Their record company hires a spy. It all fits.
They were right.
Why would Nolan call me right now? Sure, I’m keeping tabs on them because I’m their assistant, but if they wanted to talk to him, they’d be answering his calls. He shouldn’t have to go through me. A shudder of anger ripples through me. I fell right into Mr. Nolan’s plan too. I gave them up for fighting.
I am a fucking spy.
I swallow, and it feels like the sides of my throat scratch together at the movement. This sucks. I wasn’t excited about the job when I found out he was hiring me to help them, but I tried to make the best of it. I wanted to show Mr. Nolan I was a good worker in hopes that he would hire me for a better position next time. Now, all I’ve done is throw a whole band under the bus. I let my own preconceived notions get in the way about them. Granted, they didn’t make it easy for me to think any differently, but still, I should’ve known better.
“I didn’t know,” I say as Finnick mixes the pancake batter together.
He turns, his mouth pulling down. “Didn’t know what?”
“I didn’t realize Mr. Nolan hired me to be a spy,” I say, suddenly feeling really vulnerable. Last night, the alcohol was egging me on, but this feels totally different.
Finnick’s arms relax. He drops the wooden spoon in the bowl and turns around.
I close my eyes. “I guess I just wanted to think that he saw something in me. Not someone who would be able to keep tabs on you, but I sent him my stuff, you know? My songs? I thought this was one of those times where I had to start on the bottom rung and work my way up. I thought he might give me a chance at something…bigger if I did this job well.”
I’m scared to open my eyes, but when I do so, understanding is reflected back in Finnick’s gaze. “I get it. Sometimes you just want something so bad.”
I nod. I can tell in his face he truly means that. “He’s probably not going to ever hire me, is he?”
I start to look down when I see the indecision in Finnick’s eyes, but he puts his knuckle under my chin, not letting me look away from him. Fire explodes over my face. We’re so close, I can practically breathe him in, and I’m damn sure he smells way better than me this morning. “I wouldn’t say that,” Finnick says. “Only you can make shit happen. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this,” he says, and I know what he means. He’s talking about starting out being the little kid at three years old with the guitar to who he is now. The Rowdy Rogues toured with their first album. They had a single go platinum. “It’s up to us, as individuals, what we do with our lives.”
He’s right, of course. I just have to write some amazing songs. I have to make people want to hire me. What Mr. Nolan thinks really has no sway in what happens. If I’m going to make it, I have to make people pay attention to me, and not just because I’m good at assisting. I have to make them pay attention to my songs.
My heart stutters in my chest. I lick my lips, my gaze dropping to Finnick’s pouty ones. Energy crackles between us the more we stare, but Finnick eventually lets his hand drop from my chin. He pulls away slowly, then traverses back across the kitchen to make the pancakes.
I clear my throat. There was definitely a moment there. Something passed between us, and I didn’t hate the idea. I really liked the idea actually. He was the one to pull away. Not me. That might make me fucking stupid because it was only a couple of weeks ago that he and his bandmates tried to get me fired, but something’s different now. I don’t know. “How did you guys get signed anyway? I tried to look up your story, but I didn’t see much about it online.”
Finnick picks the bowl with the batter back up and leans against the counter casually. He gives me a teasing grin. “YouTube videos.”
“Yeah?” I ask. Nerves flutter through me. I knew Justin Bieber did that, of course, but I didn’t know they did.
He shrugs. “We just got seen by the right people at the right time. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a lot of hard work. That was what some of our haters said in the beginning, that we were lucky.” He shakes his head. “No one saw the hours of practice and the gigs at the rundown places in town and parents fighting with us because we should’ve been focusing on school instead of music.”
“Where are the videos?” I ask. “I could barely find anything about you guys online.”
Finnick’s gaze drops. “Yeah, the record company made us take them down. It sucked because we got our start on social media, so we wanted to continue that, but Big City is pretty strict on what gets seen.”
My shoulders drop. I don’t want to tell him I think the company is doing them a disservice, but I do. They should be out there talking, running their own social media profiles. The buzz of the internet still works, obviously. It got them noticed.
Finnick chuckles. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Huh?” I ask, looking up into his eyes.
He shakes his head. “You think it’s dumb we
don’t have an online presence.”
My mouth falls open, but then I snap it shut. “I didn’t use the word dumb in my head,” I say tentatively. Either I really do wear everything on my face, or Finnick is just too good at reading me. I shrug. “I just think you should be out there though. People want real things. It’s obvious someone else runs your social media channels. They’re bland and boring. One-hundred percent information with no personality. I bet your fans would love it if you guys got on there and said something real. Maybe even talk about the new album. Tell them why it’s so hard for you to write right now. People want to get behind real people.”
Finnick’s eyes slice away. His jaw ticks. He turns back around to spray oil on the frying pan before pouring batter into it. The muscles in his back bunch. I can tell I’ve hit a nerve, which is pretty much the last thing I want to do. Hell, I wanted to kiss him not a minute ago.
“I’m sorry, Finnick,” I hedge, trying to keep the peace between us like we’ve somehow switched roles. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
His muscles visibly relax one-by-one, then he turns slowly to face me. “You didn’t say anything I disagree with. I’m behind that philosophy totally, but it feels like we’re not in control of our own group anymore.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to disillusion you, and I don’t want anyone to think I’m ungrateful for what we’ve done already, but it’s just hard when you feel like what you’ve worked so hard for suddenly isn’t really yours anymore.”
A lead weight settles in my stomach. This is the part of The Rowdy Rogues I wanted to see. The part I think they should share with the world. It’s almost like I was seeing a sliver of the people they were before. Now, at least with Finnick, I’m seeing so much more. “I get that,” I say. I watch as he turns to check on the pancake. He watches it, just like I showed him, and then flips it over. The top is a nice, golden brown, which brings a smile to my face. “Do the guys feel the same as you?”
“In varying degrees. Ian, at first, was the type to do whatever the record company wanted. He thought they were on our side. He’s done a one-eighty on that. Sometimes they still can be on our side, and sometimes, it just feels like we’re an afterthought. Sean’s disillusioned with everything in general, and Archer.” He sighs. “He’s got more important things to worry about. Music isn’t his priority right now. Rightfully so.”