“It’s private, Maeve.” My fingers dug into the knees of my jeans. “I need you to stop asking. It’s never going to be any of your business.” My voice was low, not threatening, but close to it. She needed to hear me, if she didn’t, if she kept asking, I’d tell her, and I’d hate myself for it.
In an instant, she withdrew into herself. Whatever light she’d been sharing from behind her eyes was cut off, leaving me back in the shadows.
“Okay.”
Without another word, she stood from her stool, stuck her sticks in the back pocket of her jeans, grabbed her bag, and left the room.
By the time I got outside, she was on the curb with her phone in hand. “You ready?” I asked.
“I’m waitin’ for an Uber.”
I got in front of her, head dipped to try to meet her eyes. “Why? What the hell?”
She tipped her head back, meeting my gaze all wide-eyed and proud. “Thank you for helpin’ me. I need to go out and run a few errands.
“Stop, Maeve.”
She crossed her arms below her breasts, pushing them out like an offering, and I had to stop my primordial lizard brain from focusing on that instead of her flushed face.
“I do need to run errands. But I am also annoyed over bein’ left in the dark about the drummer whose position I’ve taken. I can guess where Diego could be, just like the press and your fans will guess. I don’t need to know the specifics, but if I’m put in a position where questions are asked, I need to know what to say.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She took her time looking at me, and some of what she called annoyance, though I interpreted it more as hurt and a little anger, chipped away.
“You don’t have to. But you might consider comin’ up with a plausible story. Did Diego move to Brazil to save the rainforest? If he livin’ off the grid in Montana? Is he circlin’ the earth in a hot air balloon?”
I couldn’t fight the laugh that fell out of me. “That’s plausible?”
More of her hurt chipped away. She shrugged. “I’d believe it. Runnin’ from the pressures of fame, needing to ground himself by gettin’ back to the earth. I’ll draft the press release if you’d like.”
A dark sedan pulled up the curb, and a young, hipster-looking douche rolled down the window. “You Mahv-ee?”
“It’s Maeve. Are you Charles?”
“That’s me, lady,” he confirmed.
She started for the car, but I gripped her elbow. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go. Don’t get in a car with a guy who calls you Mahv-ee.”
She pulled loose from my grip. “You’d be surprised by how many times I’ve been called that. I need to go to the mall. I’m guessin’ that’s not your idea of fun.”
“It’s not, but I’ll take you anyway.” Over her shoulder, I called out to hipster-douche. “Mahv-ee doesn’t need a ride anymore.”
When he drove away, Maeve stomped and hissed, registering her dislike of me and the situation, but she came with me to my car. “You realize I’m now goin’ to take my sweet ol’ time. Probably try on a dozen bras and make you look at me in them.”
I chuckled under my breath at her “threat.” “Is that really a punishment?” When I thought about it, it would be. Seeing Maeve,reallyseeing her, knowing I couldn’t touch her, knowing she’d be letting other men touch her...yeah, torture.
“Considerin’ I know how you feel about my appearance...probably. But don’t worry, I won’t be flashin’ you or anyone else. My bra collection is pretty extensive already. I need some more clothes to wear on stage, and I have to stock up on makeup. You can drop me off, I’ll Uber home if I haven’t been blackballed.”
I gripped the wheel tighter. “I don’t feel any way about your appearance. And not happening. I said I’d drive you, so I’m driving you.”
My stupid, pitiful dick perked up at the mention of Maeve’s bra collection. I’d seen some of it, hanging in my laundry room. Most were utilitarian and plain, but even those had me thinking thoughts I didn’t need to be thinking. There’d been a red one too, sheer and lacy…I’d had to stop myself from touching it. Which didn’t make sense. It was a piece of fabric, not a tit. But my lizard brain took over, resulting in me perving on a girl’s underwear while I should’ve been washing my own.
I didn’t even want to think about the softener that had shown up her third day living with me. I damn sure used it, though. My T-shirts all smelled like I’d been frolicking through lavender fields.
I pulled into a parking space, and Maeve looked over at me. “Aren’t you worried about being recognized?”
“Nope. Doesn’t happen too often. Mo gets it, has to be careful when he goes out. Not many people recognize bass players.”