“Alright, alright,” Cope says, blinking sleepy blue-green eyes at his friend. “We'll get dressed.”
“Thank you,” Michael snaps, but then he casts me this … look. I can't interpret it, but he stops frowning so hard and takes a deep breath. “Thanks,” he repeats, much more kindly this time.
I smile back and excuse myself to dig through the sea of shopping bags in Muse's bunk. Since the boys have been sleeping in the Bat Cave with me—or on the couch—every night, I've been using their beds for storage purposes.
I figure Vanessa's probably going to want to punch me after she hears that I kissed her boyfriend, so I dress like I might have to evade a fight. I choose some new pale pink skinny jeans, knee-high black boots with a slight heel, and a white Beauty in Lies t-shirt with black cursive writing. I borrow one of Cope's studded belts and put my hair in a long, loose braid down my back. Some makeup, a few pieces of jewelry, and I look kind of like the female version of Copeland—like a rockstar girl next door.
“Wow,” he says with a sharp smile when he sees me come out of the hallway. “I like the outfit.”
“Right back at you,” I tell him with a grin, finally breaking through the thick crust of sleep and feeling awake, invigorated … nervous as hell. I'm on this strange precipice, wishing Michael and Vanessa would break up, praying they won't. It's so silly. I need to stop trying to poach some chick's boyfriend and get over myself.
I study Cope, trying not to conjure up images of last night, of riding him into oblivion on the couch. I mean, not that it wasn't fantastic, but I want to meet Vanessa and Tim without droopy eyes and wet panties. I'm already finding that hard to do with Cope wearing tight red jeans tucked into high top black and white Chucks, a black Beauty in Lies tee that stretches across his muscular chest, and a sea of his usual belts. The silver ring in his lower lip winks at me when his smile turns into a grin.
“We look kind of like twins,” he jokes, but I'm checking out his tight ass in his jeans and can't even come up with an appropriate response.
“Are you guys—” Michael starts as he reappears on the bus steps with a cigarette in his hand. “Jesus, really? Are you two already trying for that power couple look? Good god.” But he sounds almost wistful as he bitches at us. “Did you borrow her jeans, Cope?”
“Hilarious,” Copeland says as he takes my hand in his and leads me down the bus steps to the damp pavement. It's early, but the sun is peeking its head from the clouds and smiling at us.
It's going to be a good day, I think.
My intuition is only half right.
The day will start out good, become fucking awful, and then end with an agonizingly beautiful finale. But how could I possibly know that at the time?
Michael takes us to this big purple truck with black flames on the sides and I raise an eyebrow.
“Belongs to the label,” he says as he unlocks the doors and we all climb up into the cab. I sit in the middle and try not to notice the sweat collecting on the side of Michael's face. He doesn't look like a guy that's about to see his brother and girlfriend for breakfast. He looks like he's on his way to an execution—his execution.
“Are you … okay?” I ask as I get my first view of Atlanta, Georgia in the early morning sun. It's brisk and cold out, but the day is promising to be clear with its blue skies and white fluffy clouds. I'm not sure what part of the city we're in, but I see a glorious skyline with tall skyscrapers, one of which I recognize: the Bank of America Plaza. “That's the eighty-seventh tallest building in the world,” I say, trying to fill the silence when it's clear that Michael's not interested in talking.
“Did Muse tell you that?” Cope asks slyly, leaning his elbow against the door and raising his red brows at me. He's shaped his faux hawk up into a sexy, spiky crest. I want to touch it, but I keep my hands to myself, not wanting to mess it up. I like the idea of parading my rockstar … fuck buddy? boyfriend? … around town and showing him off while he looks basically perfect.
“He did,” I respond, just as slyly and Michael curses under his breath as his phone vibrates in his lap. Cope and I stare at him for a moment, but he ignores us. I look back at Copeland. “He also told me that the city of Atlanta has a gross domestic product of two hundred and seventy billion.”
“That so?” Cope asks, his red brows rising all the way up to his matching red hair. “That is fascinating. Muse tell you that one, too? You know he just Googles that shit.”
“I thought it was cool,” I respond briskly, but I can't stop myself from smiling at him. I'm glad to see that he's not glassy-eyed and vacant like he was last night, after mentioning that girl, Cara. I decide I won't let myself be that way today either.
In a week, the buses will pull into New York City and I'll be just a few hours from home. I've decided: I'm going to see my family home one last time, whether Susan likes it or not. And like Ransom suggested, I'm going to speak to the cemetery staff and see about getting Dad's name chiseled into the mausoleum—even if there's nothing of his actual body or ashes to put there.
So if I need to be sad, if I need to cry, if I need to curl up in a ball and sleep, I'm going to push it aside for the time being. I'm going to enjoy this moment with Cope and try to eke out as much happiness as I can while I've got the opportunity.
“Oh, it's totally cool,” Cope says, leaning over and kissing me with such a tender level of care that I start to believe this is more than just a fantasy between us. Ugh. I knew Cope was one of the dangerous ones; I was right. He makes me feel too wanted, too cared for. “Tell me more about gross domestic products, Lilith,” he says against my lips with a smile.
“Would you two lay off for a second?” Michael growls as he huffs out a deep breath, the spicy pomegranate smell of his shampoo filling the space inside the cab. “I think the place is right up here.”
“Oh!” I say as we pass by a sign for the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. “I saw an ad for that online last night. I'd love to go. We've been to all these amazing cities and I haven't seen much in the way of landmarks.”
“We've been keeping you too busy,” Cope says with a flirtatious lilt to his voice. “I promise you that this next week, we'll see some shit. Pick something and we'll do it, whatever you want.”
“Fucking finally,” Michael curses before I get a chance to respond, snatching a parking space on the side of a tree lined street with old brick buildings and several small restaurants and coffee shops that I can see from here. Most of them are already busy.
He unlocks the doors and climbs out, leaving Cope and me to scramble after him.
“Dude, he is fucking losing it,” Copeland whispers as he grabs my hand and we take advantage of the lull in traffic to cross the street behind Michael.
“Maybe he's just excited to see her?” I hazard and Cope tosses me a dubious look.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, but he sounds skeptical.
We enter the café behind Michael, finding ourselves in the ultimate hipster retreat—colorful murals on the walls and ceiling, exposed ductwork, trippy modern art pieces on the walls. The crowd is young, the vibe relaxed. Well, everyone except for Michael.
He pauses a moment to look around as I take in the sweet heady scent of maple syrup and the richly vibrant smell of freshly brewed coffee. My stomach grumbles appreciatively as Michael finds what he's looking for and starts off toward a table near the windows.
It's hard to see the people sitting there until we get a little closer and the woman stands up with a blindingly white smile on her long, thin face. My heart starts to pound dramatically, my mouth goes dry, my throat tight. Why the fuck am I so damn nervous?
Cope squeezes my suddenly sweaty hand as I watch Michael's yearlong break from his girlfriend come to an abrupt and rather fizzling end.
“Hey,” he says, opening his arms to her and giving her a lukewarm hug. She returns the gesture with an equal amount of enthusiasm and steps back to look at him.
“Hey yourself,” she says, and even though she looks
less than thrilled to see Michael himself, her eyes roam his body appreciatively. “I missed you, baby. Did you miss me?”
“Of course,” he replies, giving her a tight peck on the lips. She presses forward with the kiss and before I know it, their tongues are tangled and he's pulling her into his arms for a proper hug. I watch his hands, try not to imagine them roaming across my body the other night, burning fire and want and need into my skin. He made my lip bleed.
Cope clears his throat and the couple pauses.
Vanessa—a leggy blonde with big brown eyes and a frighteningly perfect face—smiles around Michael at the pair of us.
“Hey Cope,” she says and he smiles his usual, gentle smile.
“Vanessa,” he replies, holding up his left hand to indicate me. He keeps his right entangled with my fingers. “This is my girlfriend, Lilith Goode.”
Oh shit.
There it is again.
I feel my cheeks flame and all those emotions come bubbling to the surface again. Of course girlfriend is really the only way to describe me without going into lurid detail, but wow. Wow. Fuck.
“Lilith,” Vanessa says, a little tightly as she glances at Michael. “You didn't tell me Cope had a new girlfriend,” she says coyly, her laughter like tinkling bells when she chuckles. I try not to hate her—I really try—but it happens and then I end up hating myself for it. “It's nice to meet you, Lilian,” she says and I feel my mouth purse into a slight frown.
“It's Lilith,” Michael says as a man stands up from the table, his eyes the same strange violet color as his little brother's. And this must be Tim, I think as I watch the two men face off for a moment. “Timmy,” Michael says carefully as Vanessa steps out of the way. The two of them embrace for a moment before he gestures back at us. “You remember Cope, of course, and this is his girlfriend Lilith.” He gives Vanessa a look that she returns. “Lilith, this is my brother, Timothy Luxe.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say to both him and Vanessa, even though I only mean about half of that.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he tells me as we take our seats and Michael ends up sitting at the end of the table in a chair instead of in the booth next to his girlfriend. Tim takes what should be his spot next to the window and across from Cope. Lucky me, I get to face Vanessa dead-on.
“I didn't know you were bringing friends,” Vanessa says with another one of those falsetto laughs. She reaches out to pat my hand with her long, tan fingers and manicured nails. “But we're glad to have the company, of course.”
Sure you are, I think as I sip the coffee the waitress poured and wait to order.
Michael declines to acknowledge his girlfriend's statement and takes a huge gulp of his ice water, sweat running down the side of his throat. He's nervous, edgy, uncomfortable. I wonder if that's because he's gearing up to tell Vanessa about our kiss? I wonder if he'll also confess to watching us from the hallway last night … But is watching cheating? I have no idea. Or hell, maybe I hallucinated the whole thing?
“So, what are our plans for today?” Vanessa oozes, reaching over and squeezing Michael's now bare bicep. He's shrugged out of his leather jacket and button-up into the black wifebeater underneath, leaving his tattooed arms exposed and beautiful in the morning light. Sitting this close to him, I see cats, owls, the moon, books, hourglasses, and stars, among other things. All of it jewel toned, finely detailed, beautiful.
“I figured after this, you and I could spend some alone time together?”
Vanessa laughs as my stomach clenches painfully.
Alone time. Sex. Of course that's what he wants after a year apart, some time to connect on a physical level. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. I wanted … No, I didn't want anything. Still, the idea of Michael fucking this tall, blonde, model of a girl makes me want to cry.
He rightfully belongs to her, but in my gut, he belongs to me.
“If you guys have any spare time after the show, I'm making dinner on the bus. I don't have a lot of space to work with, but I've got this idea for macaroni and cheese pizza that I thought I'd try. I had good luck with the last macaroni recipe.”
I may as well have sprouted tentacles and torn apart the restaurant in a rage for the way both Tim and Vanessa stare at me.
“Macaroni … and cheese pizza?” she quips, her glossy pink lower lip dangling off her jaw. “I'm sorry, but that's …” She laughs a little and Michael grits his teeth.
“Come on, Vanessa, lay off,” he says, but she continues to chuckle anyway.
“No, I don't think we'll join you for mac 'n' cheese pizza,” she says, biting the words off the end of her tongue. Looking at her now, I kind of wish I'd pushed harder and fucked her boyfriend. Then, you know, I feel guilty for thinking that, too. Women in this world have a way of hating on each other that makes me sad; I don't want to be one of those people. We have to stick together. “I think after a year apart from my man, he can take me out to a nice dinner—he owes me that much, at least.”
“She was just trying to be sociable,” Cope snaps, getting frustrated on my behalf. I almost smile. “Look, if you don't want us here, we can go somewhere else?”
“Oh, come on, Cope, relax,” Vanessa says with a roll of her Bambi brown eyes. “I'm just playing. Lilian knows that, don't you, Lilian?”
“Fucking Lilith,” Michael snaps and Vanessa's face goes dark.
“This is how you treat Vanessa on the day of your reunion, Mikey? Didn't I raise you better than that?” Tim asks blandly, his short black hair in a crew cut, his clothing disturbingly similar to something that Kevin might wear—a blue polo shirt, khakis, and brown loafers. God. This whole thing just gets worse by the second …
“Do not call me fucking Mikey,” Michael says with a deep breath, glancing over at me. Our eyes meet and for a second there, I think he's going to choose me. As silly and ridiculous and stupid as that sounds, that's what it feels like. But then he looks away again.
“So, what brings you to Atlanta?” I ask, trying to steer the table's conversation somewhere a little more pleasant, just to make Michael's day a bit easier.
“Oh, my daddy …” she starts and my heart breaks a little. As silly as it is to hear a grown woman say daddy, I want to say it, too. Daddy, daddy, daddy. My daddy is dead. Cancer ate him. It fucking ate him.
My hands start to shake and I squeeze Cope's hand harder under the table.
“My daddy,” Vanessa continues, oblivious to my pain, “is in town for this law conference thing.” She takes a sip of her water and waves her hand around as she talks. I notice Tim watching her with a sort of … affection that surprises me. It's familiar and intimate the way he studies her; Michael doesn't seem to notice. “It's this fancy gathering for corporate lawyers—only the best are invited.”
My heart stutters and jumps for a second. What a coincidence. That sounds exactly like the type of event that Kevin's father lives for. One day, Kevin will join him, schmoozing around with his father, some beautiful girl on his arm. That girl was supposed to be me, and once upon a time, I really wanted it to be. Sitting here with Cope on one side and Michael on the other, it sounds like fucking hell.
“That's … exciting,” I say as I try to make myself smile. “Are you coming to the show tonight?”
Vanessa gives me this look, like I'm fucking stupid.
“I've been to more than my fair share, thank you very much. I don't need to see another one anytime soon.”
“You're not coming?” Michael asks incredulously. “This is all new material; I wrote a lot of this shit. I thought you came to see me play.”
“I came to see you,” Vanessa says with a sigh, pushing blonde hair back from her face when the waitress arrives to take our orders. There's a brief moment of reprieve as we take turns ordering, but as soon as that waitress walks away …
“I'd really like you to come to the show tonight,” Michael says and Vanessa rolls her eyes.
“Michael, don't. Just don't, please? I haven't seen you in forever;
I don't want to fight.”
Michael's nostrils flare and he closes his eyes for a long moment, putting his palms on the table and standing up.
“I need some air,” he says before stalking away and out the front doors. I watch him through the window as he lights a cigarette and paces across the sidewalk, smoking.
“Maybe we should go and give you guys some space?” Cope suggests and Vanessa smiles this awful smile at him.
“Really? You'd do that? I just think we need to be alone, you know?” I glance at Tim, but his presence doesn't seem to bother Vanessa the way ours does. “Thanks, Cope,” she says all sweet and high-pitched. I don't wait another second, tearing out of that booth and heading outside with my breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
I have no idea why I'm freaking out so much.
“Dude, come on,” Cope says when we get outside. “What are you doing with this girl?”
“I owe her, Cope,” Michael says, voice strained. I notice he won't look at me. “I cheated on her and knocked her up, and then she lost the baby …”
“Michael, you shouldn't be with someone because you think you owe them. You should be with them because you love them,” I say, wondering when or if he's really going to ask me to discuss our kiss with Vanessa.
He throws a nasty look at me, but doesn't say anything back, digging in his pocket for the truck keys and passing them to Cope.
“I'm assuming you guys are leaving?”
“I'm not sitting and stewing in her toxic, hostile bullshit, Michael. You shouldn't either,” Cope says, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning.
“Fine. Just go then,” he says, turning away and walking down the sidewalk in the direction opposite the truck. Cope and I watch him go for a minute and then turn to leave. As we walk, I happen to glance in the window and see Vanessa and Tim, leaning in close, eyes half-lidded. The way they're looking at each other …
Her hand sits on his knee; his smile is sly and inviting.
Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1) Page 33