Rock Redemption (Rock Kiss, #3)(33)

“You aren’t better,” Thea said with an arched eyebrow. “You’re phenomenal. Split you up and you’d be good, perhaps even great, but it wouldn’t be this magic.”

“I’m too lazy to go solo anyway,” Abe drawled. “At least this way, I get a breather during concerts when you showboats take over.”

“Fuck you,” Fox and Noah said in stereo while David fist-bumped Abe.

And he was okay. For tonight, for this instant in time, he was okay. As long as he didn’t think about the fact that some other man was probably putting his hands on Kit right now.





Chapter 12


Kit crawled into a cold bed and stared up at the ceiling. She’d had fun with Terrence, but when he’d kissed her good night, all she’d felt was a keening, horrible pain. Because it wasn’t Noah, wouldn’t ever be Noah.

I f*ck everything female that moves. I don’t want that with you.

Those words were important, she knew that, but they also hurt. So much. It would’ve been easy to say yes to the invitation in Terrence’s eyes, to ask him in, to lose herself in his body. He was handsome and kind and her friend.

And she couldn’t use him that way.

“I’m not ready,” she’d admitted to him. “I… I’m getting over someone.”

To his credit, he’d cupped her face with slender writer’s hands that felt too smooth against her skin, kissed her on the forehead. “I was starting to get that vibe.” A warm smile. “Feel free to rebound on me. Anytime you need a date or a plus one? I’m here for you.”

Throat thick with emotion, she’d hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she’d whispered, drawing in his scent—and that scent, it wasn’t right, wasn’t of the man she should’ve been hugging.

It was all so frustrating and stupid.

“And,” Terrence had added, “I’d like to keep seeing you if you don’t mind. We can go as slow as you like. I don’t want to stop and try to start all over again now that we’ve discovered we can have a good time together, just the two of us.”

Kit’s heart had hurt, but she’d nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.” Then she’d remembered her one prior engagement. “I promised Noah I’d go with him to a charity gala next Saturday, but we’re not dating or anything.”

Terrence’s smile had been open, his hazel eyes clear. “I know that, Kit. Everyone knows you and the Schoolboy Choir guys are tight—if you’d intended to date one of them, you’d have done it by now.” A deeper smile. “I won’t throw a jealous fit if the tabloids report it as a clandestine love affair.”

“Clandestine love affair?” Kit had laughed. “Careful, or people will start to think you’re a writer or something.” At his chuckle, she’d hugged him again. “You’re a good man.”

“Yes, I am.” A kiss on the cheek as they drew apart. “I can also be an amazing boyfriend.”

Yes, Kit thought, Terrence would be a great boyfriend. He was intelligent with a warm personality, and beautifully creative. Over dinner, they’d talked not only about the industry, but about the deep history of storytelling as well as about travel and how it changed a person. Terrence was also as passionate an advocate of Kit’s talent as an actress as she was of his as a writer.

They were perfect for one another. If only she could forget Noah.

She shoved off the comforter after an hour of tossing and turning, then padded into the kitchen and made herself a cup of herbal tea. She didn’t particularly like the taste, but oddly enough, it did usually put her to sleep. Not tonight.

Going out into the cool but comfortable air of the garden with the half-finished drink in her hands, she took a seat on one of the picnic-table benches and thought about how Noah’s eyes had a way of becoming a silvered gray when he truly laughed. One of her favorite memories of him was from this garden: he’d been lying on his back on a blanket, all lazy and relaxed as they played Worst Rumor while she tidied up the area, tugging out a weed here, clearing up leaf detritus there.

It was a game he’d made up. They had to one-up each other with false celebrity rumors. Of course, half the time they ended up debating whether something was false or not.

Okay, I have a good one, his voice said in her head. G&V is reporting that Bleu Flavell killed and ate his pet pig Pigiligi during a drug-fueled rampage and is now in therapy to get over the trauma.

Lies. Kit remembered rolling her eyes at the ridiculous claim. That pig has its own room in Bleu’s house, complete with a bed and a personal groomer and chef. No way Bleu’s touching a hair on its body.

Yeah? So why hasn’t Pigiligi Flavell been spotted for the past week, huh? And Bleu did have that blowout party last weekend.

Eyes burning at the memory of their ensuing hilarious attempts to uncover the truth, she stared at the spot where he’d lain. “Stop haunting me.” It was a whisper.

Music sounded, soft and gentle.

She’d brought her cell phone outside with her, had been debating whether to text Molly or Becca on the off chance they’d be awake and available to talk. But the name displayed on the screen wasn’t of either of her two closest women friends. It was of the man she’d come out here to forget.

She knew she should ignore the call. It would be the sensible, the healthy thing to do. But then she thought of the way he’d asked her to be his friend, of how he’d exposed his need when he never allowed anyone to see his vulnerability, and felt her resolve break. “It’s two a.m.,” she said into the receiver.