Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(8)
Not just an orgasm.
Not just anonymous arms that would slip away once the sweat cooled.
She’d actually quieted the voices that usually only faded with alcohol or a song. Then she’d walked away without a backward glance.
And seeing her again had dredged all that shit up.
Why they’d added her to the album, he just didn’t know. It wasn’t like she was going to be on tour with them. It was a layer that Gray and Nick had to try and recreate on stage.
It sounded amazing on the studio track—and they were getting known for that little bit of extra. If that pulled them away from the herd of other artists out there, he’d take it.
He just wished he’d missed her visit.
He’d been doing just fine. He’s put her out of his mind. And now he’d have to work to do it again.
With the water set on scalding, he stepped under the spray and let it beat along his neck.
When he was pink as a baby and squeaky clean, he hung a towel at his hips and checked his phone. A list of messages he didn’t have the energy to read scrolled by. Then came the texts from Lila and Nick. Just as he was about to click off, Jazz filled his screen.
He sighed and answered the FaceTime request. “Purple Penis Eater, I’m naked. Did you want an extra show?”
A pair of long, purple lashes and wide violet eyes filed the screen. “Ugh. You know my pregnancy stomach isn’t up for that kind of thing.”
“Because the thought of my manhood would negate Gray’s baby mojo, of course.”
“You are delusional, my friend.”
He pursed his lips and brought the camera closer. “I only speak fact.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re late. Lila is going to have your balls for a dinner mint.”
“Whoa, whoa. Let’s not insult the boys here.”
Her raspberry lips curved into a broad smile. “Then get your ass here, Super Slut.”
Because the words were hitting a little too close to home right now, he forced his lips up into the smirk she’d been expecting. “I must beautify. Some of us can’t add some glitter and be perfect.”
“This is true.” Jazz’s laugh tinkled over the line and he didn’t have to pretend when he smiled back that time.
She really was the only one in the band who made life bearable when the road got too endless.
“I’ll be there in a few. Charm that Kim chick until I get there.”
Jazz rubbed her hands together. “I’ll tell her that story about when your pants ripped open in Colorado Springs.”
Simon poured another two inches of vodka in his glass to stave off the wine hangover and grabbed his pants off the bed.
“You mean when I got the standing ovation?” He winked and ended the call.
* * *
“Is that any way to talk to your favorite little sister?”
Margo’s jaw clenched. Wherever Juliet Reece was, chaos followed. “How did you even find me?” She pushed inside and stopped in the middle of the room.
Not because of the pure elegance and beauty of the space. No, she’d have to enjoy that later. But because her room currently had about fifteen different outfits strewn across every surface.
She curled her fingers tighter around her handle. “How long have you been here?”
“About an hour.”
Margo shut her eyes. “Again, how did you find out where I’d be?”
Juliet curled into a high-backed chair that was tucked next to a large desk. “Hacked your email.”
“You what?”
“You really have to pick harder passwords.”
The thought of redoing her makeup was the only thing that kept her from rubbing her eyes in frustration. After a mental bookmark to redo all her passwords, she turned around to face her little sister.
“I thought you were in Paris with Tomas.”
“Boring.”
Only her sister would call Paris boring. And only her sister could go through men as quickly as she changed her shoes. Juliet crossed her long legs, bouncing her foot to her inner beat—the one that was never still for long.
“Of course I did get a little tidbit of information while I was with Tomas.”
“Oh?” Margo set her violin on the desk and gathered up Juliet’s strewn clothing to drape it over a chair.
“Naughty sister dear. As if it wouldn’t get out that you weren’t really on hiatus from the Philharmonic.”
Margo froze. The conductor was supposed to give her a few weeks before he’d let that information out. So much for that promise.
All she needed was a little bit of time to line something else up before her parents found out she wasn’t good enough. Before her name was struck from the programs and her photo banished to the bottom of the former artists section.
Louis Renard, the conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, had never been a saint, but at least he understood lies of omission. At least she’d thought so. It wasn’t public knowledge yet, but the string section was particularly gossipy. Especially Tomas, the little snake.
All her years of work gone in a half measure. Now there would be the sly, smug smiles behind her back. The half dozen other people that would be fighting for her place smelled the blood in the water. But all of that should have been a few weeks away.