Absorbed (Devoured, #1.5)(17)

He bends his head to the song he’s working on and makes a note in his book. As if I’m not standing in the doorway talking to him. What the hell? “Since you can’t pay attention for longer than ten seconds, should I text you where I’m going to be?” I ask, but he shakes his head, never looking up at me. Times like this are the ones where I want to wrap my fingers around my brother’s neck and throttle the shit out of him.

“I heard you. I remembered. And no, I don’t need anything.” He glances up and gives me a stern look that probably works like a charm on any woman other than our mother and me. “Don’t get into too much shit while you’re in Vegas.”

“I’ll try not to get my ID stolen this time,” I promise, even though the ID fiasco had occurred in New Orleans and not Vegas. And Wyatt had been with me at the time. He’s been so busy recently that going to Vegas is completely out of the question. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I add, sounding anything but convincing.

Lucas rolls hazel eyes. “Hell, maybe I should be texting Heidi and telling her crazy ass to stay out of trouble.”

I’d mentioned to Lucas that my closest friend, Heidi, would be going to Vegas with me weeks ago, but I didn’t think he heard me at the time. It was when he was deep, deep into working on the song for Sienna, and all he did was give me a quick nod before returning to his music. “And here I was thinking everything I said sounded like gibberish to you.”

“Have a good trip,” he says, smirking.

“If you win that songwriting award, I’m keeping that shit for my apartment,” I say, but he shrugs. As I turn to leave, he clears his throat. It’s Lucas’s go-to sound for getting attention.

“By the way it’s Peanuts.”

“Excuse me?” My confusion must be written all over my face as I wait for him to explain.

“Peanuts, or Charlie Brown, whatever you want to call it. Most of the time I hear the wahh-wahh-wahh shit the teacher did when you talk.”

I didn’t even think Lucas remembered watching all the Charlie Brown specials year after year with our parents when we were kids, but apparently he does. It takes a lot of effort to hold back my laughter, but I narrow my eyes into a steely glare. “Go f*ck yourself, Lucas.”

“Love you, too,” he yells after me. “And you’re not keeping my award.”





***

“I’m keeping the damn award,” I tell Heidi in a confident voice while we’re at our first after-party late the next night. Since I accepted the metallic blue, guitar-pick shaped award for Lucas earlier—an award he received for Songwriter of the Year— I’ve been holding on to it tightly. There’s no way I’m letting it go. My brother can have one of the other awards that the band won, which are going to be shipped to Los Angeles. This one—well, it’ll go well in my den.

Heidi swipes two shots off of a serving tray as a hostess passes by and drinks them both, making a screwed up face as they go down. “Bet you a hundred bucks Lucas gets it back.” She places the shot glasses on the edge of someone’s table in the crowded nightclub before tugging the hem of her tiny bandage dress down. The dress immediately crawls back up, exposing more of her toned thighs. “Actually, on second thought, I bet you a thousand. Lucas is intimidating.”

“Nah, he’ll—” I start, but then I cringe as familiar spiky blonde hair attached to an even more familiar face comes into view across the club’s dance floor. At first, I hope like hell he doesn’t notice me, but then a big ass grin moves across Gavin Cooley’s face. I had absolutely loved Dark Fiction, the band that Gavin fronts, for all of a week. Then I got the chance to meet Gavin, who just so happens to be one of the biggest dickwads I’ve ever met.

Heidi twists in the direction of my stare, her green eyes scanning the area, until they land on Gavin. “Ugh, that douche is here?”

“Didn’t realize you ever met him,” I say between gritted teeth as he comes closer, and I see her nod out of the corner of my eye.

“Oh, yeah. He tried to talk me onto his bus last year at Rock Fest. I gave him a fake number and told him to call me when he was ready for me to come over.”

Because I make the mistake of glancing over at her, and getting a good glimpse of the serious expression on her face, I’m laughing when Gavin finally makes it over to us. “Kylie-Fucking-Wolfe,” he says, and I quirk the corner of my mouth. His gaze sweeps over me, spending a little too long on the curves of my hips and my breasts, which are accentuated by a gravity defying push-up bra that I let Heidi talk me into buying. “Nice dress,” he adds, though I don’t think he gives two shits about my strapless black mini dress.

“Thanks.” Still clutching the large blue guitar pick award, I fold my arms over my chest. “Nice performance tonight.”

Gavin shrugs, but it’s one of those cocky gestures that cause me to twist my lips to the side skeptically. “We were alright.” He glances behind me, looking for someone. “Lucas didn’t show?”

“He’s in the studio, so I’m afraid he couldn’t make it. None of the guys could come.” It’s the same thing I said when I accepted the band’s awards, and I’m sure Gavin already knows all this, but his lips pull down into a frown anyway. It takes every ounce of restraint not to roll my eyes. What a f*cking drama king.