Manaconda (Hammered #1)(13)

“You’re all heart.”

Wyatt shrugged. “I found one or two that I can make into a poster.”

“Fucker,” I muttered.

I scanned through the pictures. Some were blurry, some were a little too crystal-clear, and still others were far more compromising than anyone would like. All of them were damning.

Dex came up and slapped my back. “You do realize who you were snogging?”

I moved away from him. “It was supposed to be private.”

“When you stick your tongue down Prince Harry’s publicity savior, people are going to notice.”

Wyatt crossed his arms. “The British Harry or One Direction?”

Dex grinned, his white teeth as blinding as the flashbulbs I’d just waded through. “Is there a difference?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Actually both in this case.”

I winced. “It’s just a magazine cover.”

“Just a cover?” Dex’s British accent went so thick and full of bass that even Indie turned to look at us. “Look, boy. I don’t think you are really grasping what this has done for your sales. People are actually buying the album, not just pirating it or listening to it on Spotify. Buying. The demand on the website for concert dates is in the thousands.”

I lifted my chin and shrugged him off. “First of all, don’t call me ‘boy’. I’m not some fresh-faced tween that is going to fall at your feet.”

“Well, then act like it.” He calmly slipped his hand in his jacket pocket, drawing out his phone. “Your job is to sell you, your wares, and the Ripper Records product. It’s not to hide in the back pretending you’re a chef, it’s not to make social media think you’re anything less than available. Kissing the smokin’ hot redhead—that’s good. Getting caught was inspired.”

“Fuck off. I didn’t do that on purpose.” I wanted to glance over Dex’s shoulder to find Kenny, to see what she was going to say, but I couldn’t let this dick think he had the upper hand.

“But you make sure that every girl in that f*cking crowd has wet panties for you and the band.” He turned to Keys. “You make every girl want to be you, or in your shoes.” His gaze shot to Wyatt and Owen. “Every guy should be jealous that you can f*ck anyone in the crowd tonight, male or female.”

“Enough.” Indie’s voice sliced the air. “You don’t talk to my guys like that.”

Dex’s attention drifted to his phone. He held up a finger to her.

I was going to break it off and feed it to him. Maybe knock out a tooth or three.

“Excuse me, Mr. Munroe—” Indie broke off.

He put his phone to his ear and walked away. Indie’s bluebell eyes held murder. I’d been on the other end of that gaze. The dude was f*cked.

Bats and Zach came down the side stairs from the second level. “What’d we miss?”

“Manaconda made the papers again,” Keys chirped.

“Dammit.” I swiped my hand over my face.

“What? Like I’m lying?”

Bats grinned. His tightly trimmed beard emphasized his sharp jaw, giving him a distinctly sinister edge. On purpose, of course, because Bats was short for Batshit Crazy.

The only person I didn’t see was Kenny.





6





Kennedy





I escaped into the theater. Long queues of people were set up for the meet and greet, the new album was being piped in, and people were singing along. The murmur of excitement was heady.

In my wake, people whispered and laughed. I even got a few menacing glares. I knew of this phenomenon. I’d studied fan behavior for years. This was how they reacted to the significant other. Either they wanted to talk you, or step on you.

I’d be bug juice if I wasn’t careful.

And seriously, there was nothing to worry about. Not that I could convince them of that. My hip buzzed. I checked my phone—Lila Shawcross. I let the call go to voicemail. No way did I have an answer about what happened.

I tucked my hair around my ear and caught his scent on my skin. I made a beeline for the bathrooms. I would just freshen up and be ready for the next part of the night. A professional photographer was on hand to take the photos for the newsletters. Also, a promo download code would be given to people from the fan club, and some photos would be used for fan keepsakes.

I pushed open the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Alone at last. I closed myself in a stall and took a few cleansing breaths. There hadn’t been enough time to put the car crash of emotions away. There’d been kissing—all of the kissing. Dear diary, I want to swoon kisses, for God’s sake.

Before I could even assimilate the details there’d been cameras to document my spectacular lack of judgment, and then Dex.

I curled my fingers around the lock. I needed to do damage control, not hide in the freaking ladies’ room.

“Can you believe that girl with him?”

I froze at the voices.

“Imagine all six-feet-three of him swooping down to kiss you like that?”

“I do. Every night. And in my dream, there’s no skank.” Yet another voice.

Skank? Really?

“In your dreams, there’s no clothes,” the first woman said in a 1-900 voice.