by E. M. Moore
When the clinking ends, we each take long swigs of our beer and Sean’s the first to make the move to the jacuzzi outside. We’re already dressed in our bathing suits. For the last couple of days, this is all they could talk about—celebrating the finish of their second album. Tomorrow— My stomach sinks and twists and does all kinds of ugly maneuvers. Tomorrow, we’re all heading home. Well, I’m heading home. The guys are going to the record company for meetings and “rockstar shit” as Archer put it.
Sean lowers himself into the bubbling water, his pale skin glistening in the moonlight. His body seems to melt until he takes a seat. Finnick is next. His lean, cut muscles take a spot staring out over the ocean. Archer splashes right in, and Sean and Finnick both raise their beers, so they don’t get any jacuzzi water into the openings at the top. Ian lets me get in next. I haven’t been in here at all. Not once this summer. It didn’t seem like something an assistant should be doing, but as soon as my toes touch the surface, I chastise myself for not doing this before.
This is heaven.
Ian sinks in next with a loud moan that makes electricity shoot through my body. I glance over at him as he lounges in the seat, bubbles rising around him. He closes his eyes like he’s in ecstasy.
All four of them deserve this.
It occurs to me that Heather would be so freaking jealous of me right now, sitting in a jacuzzi with four hot guys. She finally wrote me back. She’s home now, which is the only thing that’s making me even remotely excited to start the journey there tomorrow. The emojis she sent me when I finally got it through to her that I’m with four guys—not just any four guys, but four ridiculously talented, handsome, sexy guys—had me in tears from laughing so hard. Let’s just say there were a lot of eggplant emojis among others.
“So, we got something for you,” Sean says.
I look up to find all four of them staring at me. Their expressions, though slightly different, have one element in common. I can see the adoration in their eyes. My stomach warms as Sean passes me a small gift-wrapped box. “What is it?” I ask.
Ian chuckles. “Open it.”
Even he seems light-hearted. I lift the box, remove some tissue paper, and find an album cover staring at me. There’s a picture of the guys with “Home to Hollywood Hill” scrawled across the lower half with a font designed to look like spray paint. “The album?”
“Not technically the album,” Finnick says. “Just the art, but we thought you might want to take a look at the byline of the song you wrote.”
I glance up. They all look like self-satisfied assholes as my fingers tremble. I throw the box over my shoulder and thumb past the cover to get to the list of songs in the booklet. I track down the page until I find my song, and there, right for the world to see, is my name.
I gasp, throwing my hand over my mouth as the world fractures before me with tears. “Your first writing credit,” Archer says. “You still have to write that other song with me. The one we talked about before.”
My mouth opens, but I can’t get words to move past my lips. I place the album insert onto the jacuzzi because I can’t read it anymore anyway, but I can see it in my head as clear as day. “I don’t know what to say,” I choke out.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Finnick says. “You deserve it. You wrote it. It’s amazing. It made it onto the album.”
Ian reaches over and squeezes my leg. “I wish I had written it,” he says.
My heart flutters. That’s like the greatest compliment.
Sean leans over, grabs my hands and tugs. Soon, I’m on his lap, straddling him. “Well, fuckers, I think we lucked out. Our assistant is talented, fucking sexy as hell—”
“Supportive,” Finnick says, and my heart melts a little.
“Strong,” Ian says. When I look over my shoulder, he winks. “To put up with our asses.”
“Sweet,” Archer adds. His voice is a little sad, matching the look on his face. I bet he’s thinking about his sister in that moment, but when he realizes I’m looking at him, he gives me a small smile.
“I think we’ll keep her,” Sean says. He turns me around in his lap and hugs me tight.
“What a fucking summer, huh?” Archer asks, lifting his beer to his lips again.
His gaze moves up, so we all follow it, staring at the blinking stars in the sky. He’s right. It’s not the summer I thought it would be. It’s so much more.
I didn’t get the job accolades I thought I wanted. Hell, I started out not getting the job I wanted, but ended up exactly where I should be. Hopefully I’m on the path to being the songwriter I always dreamed of being
But, I have so much more than that too. I have four guys. They may have started out being assholes, but there’s a truth behind every mean comment, every dickish move. And truths, raw truths, that’s where life is. That’s where life starts and everything else begins.
Here’s to my beginnings with The Rowdy Rogues.
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About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author E. M. Moore loves everything paranormal--especially witches. She's visited Salem more than a few times and can't get enough of their ghost tours and witch museums. She's written in every major genre, but fantasy is her first love. She currently has books out in Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy, Witch Cozy Mysteries and Contemporary Romance. with bad boy heroes
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