Consumed (Devoured, #2)(12)

Gram wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “It’ll be good for your career. Good for you, too.”

I give her a little smile before I pop a forkful of stir-fry into my mouth. “Let’s hope so.”





Later, after Gram has gone to bed for the night, and I’m lying in bed worrying over the wardrobe job I’m scheduled to do in less than ten hours, I call Lucas to tell him that I’ve made up my mind. His phone goes to voicemail after a few rings, so I end the call, lying my phone face down on the bed next to me. It’s 1:19 in the morning here, which means its 11:19 in Los Angeles. There’s a chance (and it’s a really small one) that he’s already sleeping or that he hasn’t made it home yet from his flight. I consider sending a text but then I decide against it—this is something I need to say to him. I want to hear his voice, his reaction.

I redial his number to leave a voicemail.

This time, he picks up on the second ring. At first all I hear is the deafening sound of rock music in the background, but then his voice comes on the line, a sexy growl over the music in the background. “Couldn’t stay away?” he asks, and I laugh past the lump forming in my throat.

God, how am I going to survive being on tour with him when I turn into an emotional mess just by talking to him?

“Is this a bad time?” I ask.

There’s a scratching sound on the other end, but after a few seconds it’s gone, and the sound of the music has just about disappeared. “Sorry, couldn’t hear for shit in there. You made up your mind?”

“Yes, I—” I start, but then I hear a husky female voice say something to him. The scratching noise comes back—which I easily recognize as him covering his phone’s receiver—and then he comes back on the line. “Do you need me to call you back?”

“Why the f*ck would I want that? I need as much of you as I can get.”

“You sound busy,” I say, each word clipped.

“Ah Red, don’t tell me you’re already letting your imagination run wild. Promise there’s no woman tied to my bed right now.” I make a noise—one that I’m not entirely certain is relief or surprise—and he lowers his voice. “I’m at Wicked Lambs’ release party.”

Sitting up, I bring my knees to my chest. If there’s one woman out there who loathes me as much as Lucas’s ex, it’s Cilla Craig, the lead singer of Wicked Lambs. She’s known Lucas for years and made it clear to me last winter that she’s in love with him. Lucas had made it just as clear that Cilla’s just the woman he grew up with—that she would never be me. Still, I’m only human, and hearing that she’s around manages to bother me.

“You there?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m here.” Even though the late July heat makes my upstairs bedroom an inferno, I drag my old, hibiscus-print comforter up and over my knees, tucking it under my chin. It’s comforting—the same thing I would do as a child after my mother freaked out on me. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I called to tell you yes.”

It sounds like he drags a breath in through his teeth before he says, “You’re f*cking sure you want to come with me?”

Of course I’m not. I’m scared to death of things not working out. “Very.”

“I—” He starts but then the scratching noise returns. “Wyatt and Cilla want you to know they’re happy you came to your senses.” He covers the phone once more, and I purse my lips. “Fuck, they’re killing me here. They said they’ll see you in a week.”

My lips part to answer him, but then I pause and mouth what he just said several times. “What do you mean they’ll see me?”

“Have you—you don’t know much about the tour, do you?” There’s the faintest tinge of surprise, not to mention hurt, in his voice. It catches me off guard. When I don’t answer—or make any noise for that matter—he repeats his question, this time sounding like the ridiculously confident man I fell in love with. “I’m shocked, Red. Don’t you Google shit before you get yourself into it?”

After the incident in Atlanta, I did my best to put Lucas Wolfe out of my mind. I ignored the magazines with him on the cover in the supermarket. I changed the channel when anything Your Toxic Sequel came up. And I sure as hell didn’t look him up online.

“No, apparently Google is my worst enemy,” I say. “Lucas . . . Wicked Lambs is touring with YTS, aren’t they?”

I know the answer well before he confirms, but it doesn’t stop the tightness from spreading across my chest when he says, “I thought you already knew.”





Lucas





To be honest, I truly believed that Sienna was already aware of Cilla being on our tour. Si’s surprise and irritation says differently, though. She’s hesitant now, giving me short, clipped answers. Yes. No. Fine. Okay. It drives me f*cking insane, but I control the urge to threaten to spank her.

There’ll be time enough for that later.

We talk for another few minutes before she fakes a sorry ass yawn and tells me she has a wardrobe assignment in the morning. “I’ll call you later this weekend, okay?” she says.

Cilla and Wyatt are only a few feet away from me smoking, but I don’t hesitate to stop Sienna before she hangs up on me. “Wait!” Her breathing picks up on the other line. I sit down on one of the nightclub’s outdoor benches. A few feet away, Cilla paces back and forth with her middle and index finger making such a tight vice on her cigarette, the damn thing is close to snapping in two.