Viper (Fallen Angel #2)(35)
That delicious flush that heated Halo’s neck and cheeks whenever he was excited or embarrassed appeared at exactly the same time Jagger smacked a hand to his thigh and gave a hearty laugh.
“Mhmm,” Jagger said, flashing his charming smile at Imelda. “He’s gonna set the ladies on fire and have all the men thanking him for getting them laid.”
“Is that right?” Imelda’s eyes swept over the group. “And what song would you say is the one that will be the most tantalizing for the fans? The most shocking for you to sing?” she said, her attention back on Halo.
But before he could reply, the rest of us all said, “‘Hard.’”
Imelda let out an inelegant snort as Halo tried to glare us all to death. Poor guy was so tense and we were trying to get him to relax. This was just another day at the rodeo for us, but for Halo, it was a first. He was overthinking every little comment he made, not to mention every move, and the sooner he realized he was fucking amazing, the easier this would be.
“’Hard’?” Imelda said. “As in…?”
I snorted. “We’re five guys, Imelda. What do you think?”
“Did you write that one?”
When I nodded, she looked to Halo and said, “I think you must be a rock star if you can sing one of his filthy songs and make him like it.”
I was close to telling her how much I liked it, and that he’d inspired the whole thing. But at the last second, I remembered I wasn’t allowed to announce that the first night Halo had really nailed this song we’d both been hard.
Then Halo said, “Yeah, I’m not too worried. I can handle Viper.”
Jagger choked on his swig of soda, clearly as dumbstruck as I was at the smartass double entendre, and Killian thumped him on the back as he stepped in and saved the day—as always.
“What he means is, we all get along really well,” Killian said, and aimed his lazy grin Imelda’s way. Fuckin’ charmer. “It’s crazy how music can bring people together, and it’s been unreal discovering our new sound and coming up with lyrics and songs we hope people are going to go crazy over.”
“Yeah, Halo’s breathed new life into us,” I said, and when I looked at Halo, I realized for the first time that he had done the impossible. He’d made me fall even more in love with music than I already was. That was some fuckin’ gift right there. Tearing my eyes away from his, I refocused on Imelda. “He’s inspired us to be creative and pushed us to be more.”
Okay, so maybe that’s what he does to me, I thought, when no one else agreed.
But then Killian spoke up. “I agree. The way he commands anything he touches is…insane. Almost unbelievable, really.” At those words, my eyes cut to Killian, who was focused on me.
Imelda whistled. “That’s some seriously high praise, Halo. But I can understand. I’m as obsessed with ‘Invitation’ as everyone else is, and after meeting you, I just know you are going to have people eating out of your hand. So tell me a little more about you. Where are you from? Your family?”
As Halo began talking to Imelda, I saw Killian smiling in my direction like a damn moron, and I reached up to scratch my temple with my middle finger. So I liked Halo—a lot. Was that a fucking crime? No. Was it totally freaking me out? Yes. I had no idea how to deal with this…this…whatever this was. And I had a feeling that Killian, Jagger, and Slade all knew that, which was exactly why they were taking such delight in torturing me.
The timing couldn’t be worse for me to develop an obsession with the angel. He was about to explode on the music scene in ways he didn’t even know, and have so many opportunities thrown his way. Opportunities that could be greatly hindered if it got out he was sleeping in my bed each night, and I was sleeping in him.
As Halo continued to talk with Imelda, the thought that I should put an end to this thing between us now, before we left Miami, crossed my mind. But as I ran my eyes over his profile, down his neck, to the red T-shirt that hugged his biceps and showed off his tanned arms, I knew I wasn’t going to be the one to call a halt to whatever this was between us. I was a selfish bastard, and I wanted Halo, and until he told me to get the fuck out of his bed, I planned to take that angel over and over again.
But until then, I had to pull my shit together and get my mind back in the game, because the game was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
“Right, guys,” Imelda said, putting her pen down on her pad. “I think I have all that I need here for now. If you want to go with Drew over there, he’s going to take you inside and get you ready for the photoshoot. You ready for your close-ups?”
Twenty-Three
Halo
CLICK CLICK CLICK.
“Halo, could you lower your chin a bit? Yeah, right there.” The photographer moved around in front of the five of us, snapping away at different angles. “All right now, Viper, bring your left foot forward a couple inches and turn in… Perfect.”
I held the position, front and center, between Viper and Killian, with Slade and Jagger on the ends beside them. The rest of the band had been outfitted in a shit-ton of black—all except for me. I was the lone man in head-to-toe white, playing off our name. Like I didn’t already stick out like a sore thumb, but as long as they didn’t put an actual halo on my head, I was fine with whatever the magazine wanted.