"Jealous 'cause your longest relationship was three minutes?" Pete asks.
"It was three hours," Tom says.
"You assholes are awful gossips," Miles says.
"Should hear what he says about you." Pete taps something into his phone.
&nbs
p; "You should try not getting into trouble," Tom says. "Then I wouldn't have to gossip."
Miles narrows his eyes. "Or how about this, Tom? You keep your mouth shut. Then I won't have to use my fist to shut you up."
Tom rolls his eyes.
Pete shakes his head.
Clearly, this is a conversation with history. I'm not part of the history. I'm not in the circle of friends.
Maybe there is something to the concept of asking nicely. I make eye contact with Tom. "What kind of trouble does Miles get into?"
Tom and Miles share a look of understanding. So much for Tom's claim to tell me if Miles doesn't. It's clear the guys have some kind of code.
It doesn't help my confidence.
Miles pulls me onto his lap. His cock is right under my sex. I'm wearing the lace underwear he bought me at the boutique. It's practically transparent.
I squeeze my knees together. There's no sense in flashing the other guys in the band.
Miles presses his lips against my neck, holding me the way Tom is holding the pretty redhead—-like I'm a trophy.
He addresses the other guys. "Don't mention this to the Guitar Prince, okay?"
"You call Drew the Guitar Prince?" I ask.
Pete nods. "Should hear what we call Tom behind his back."
"Fuck you." The drummer pouts.
Pete points to the redhead in Tom's lap. "I'm not one to wait in line." He throws his hand over the side of his mouth, like he's going to whisper. "It's Sticks for Brains. Not the most creative, but it gets the point across."
"Guitar Prince and Miles can coast on talent. What the hell are you offering?" Tom asks.
"Sex appeal." Pete smiles.
"Can it, Sticks," Miles says. "We all know you're not going to fire your brother."
I look from Pete to Tom. Tom has green eyes and dirty blond hair, a mix of young Brad Pitt and Kurt Cobain. Pete has dark eyes and black hair. They're both handsome and well-built, but they look nothing alike.
"Don't worry about me, Meg," Pete says. "I don't share any bloodlines with Sticks. We're foster brothers."
"Adopted," Tom corrects.
I bite my tongue, silently praying for any other conversation topic. Anything besides family.
Tom kisses his pretty lap girl on the cheek and sends her away. Once she's out of earshot, he leans in close and makes eye contact with Miles. "I'm not sure what you two are doing, but Drew will kill you if you fuck things up with that slutty girl, and then I'll be out a guitarist and a singer."
My hands curl into fists. "Hey, asshole, that's my best friend, and she's not slutty. She just has big boobs. And even if she was, she wouldn't appreciate you talking about her like that. So why don't you shut the fuck up?"