Halo (Fallen Angel, #1)(46)

“And tonight,” Halo said, “I’m going to have a really good time remembering that. So…don’t ruin it.”

I sat there staring at his teasing grin and couldn’t help but wonder if this had been his plan all along. Either way, I wasn’t about to complain. Well, not about the video, at least. But maybe the fact he didn’t invite me to stay and watch it with him when we finished up later that day.





Thirty-One





Halo





BRIAN ARRIVED AT Killian’s at ten sharp Friday morning, his shiny black Oxfords squeaking on the marble floor. He wasn’t a large man by any means, but his position as manager of TBD meant his ego more than made up for his lack of height. He’d brought along a rep from MGA, presumably to make sure we were on the right track.

Still annoyed by their last run-in, Viper ignored Brian, as well as the rep, leaving the niceties to Killian, and I kept my distance as well, not wanting to be singled out again for “ruining the band” or whatever it was Brian thought about me.

Today, we’d be playing them the two new songs we’d been working on. Somehow, Viper and I had managed to finish the lyrics to what we were tentatively titling “Invitation,” though how I’d been able to concentrate enough to write anything after straddling his lap, I had no idea. Even now as I watched him tune up, his lips set in a serious line, I had the insane urge to walk over there and attack him.

No—I couldn’t think about that right now, as hard as it was not to. The future of TBD rested on how we did today, and I couldn’t afford another screw-up, or they’d kick me out for sure this time.

I turned away from everyone and paced as I hummed the scales, warming my voice up. Don’t think about the pressure. Just focus on the songs. Think about the words…feel the music. Easier said than done, considering what both these songs made me think of.

“How you doin’ over here, Angel?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Viper, and when he got a look at my face, he stepped around in front of me. “You gotta get out of your head.”

“I’m not in my head.”

“Yeah, you are.” Viper touched a finger to my forehead. “I can see the wheels turning, but we need you focused. We need you thinking about the songs, the mood, the vibe…”

Which would be no damn problem if he kept on touching me.

Viper looked over my shoulder to where the other guys were busy warming up, and then brought his eyes back to mine.

“You need me to take you out into the hall and remind you what these songs are about?” Viper’s voice was low enough that I knew no one else heard, but that didn’t stop me from whipping my head to the side to double-check.

“What? Worried everyone in here knows you were riding me the other day until my cock ached?”

“Jesus,” I said.

“Don’t be. They have no idea.” Viper leaned in a fraction and whispered, “But I do.”

If I’d wanted to attack his mouth earlier, feeling his warm breath on my cheek just magnified that desire, like, one thousand percent.

“Mmm, yes. That look you have in your eyes right now, Angel…”

What? Pounce and devour?

“Use it, and then come find me later and use me.” Viper punctuated his invitation with a flick of his immoral tongue across his lips, and as he moved around me, he made sure to brush his shoulder up against mine.

Use him? Shiiit. As if that wasn’t going to be running through my head for the next however many minutes, hours, or whatever until we were done here. But Viper was right.

These songs were about sex. More specifically about being frustrated because you wanted it but couldn’t have it. Not to mention losing your mind because the person in your bed was like a drug, and as I turned to watch Viper walk back to his amp and get situated, I suddenly had no problem feeling either of those two things.

That sinful man had managed to focus me in the best way possible—by all but stroking my dick.

“Right,” Killian said as he, Brian, and the MGA rep came through the door of the rehearsal space, Brian texting away to someone he clearly deemed more important than the band he was there to see.

“You losers ready?” Killian said.

Slade snorted and flipped him off from behind his drums, as Jagger tugged his cuffed sleeves to his wrists, making sure he looked as good as he was no doubt going to sound.

Killian shifted his eyes to Viper next, who was eyeing Brian like he was a piece of dogshit, and said, “You good, V?”

When Viper said nothing in response but continued to glare in Brian’s direction, Killian shook his head and looked to me instead. “You ready?”

No. But hell if I was about to tell Killian I had a sudden case of nerves.

Viper had vouched for me when we’d arrived today, telling the guys I’d nailed down these lyrics like I was born to sing them—his words, not mine—and that pressure from a second ago began to creep back in, almost choking me up.

I raised my eyes to Viper, whose lips crooked up, and I was instantly reminded of the way that expression had felt when he’d done it against my lips and I made myself tear my eyes from him. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” Killian clapped my shoulder and nodded toward the piano in the corner of the room facing the rest of the band. “Then let’s do this fucking thing.”