She puts her bag on the couch and assembles a camera out of pieces and parts—lens, body, fill flash, and some other doohickeys I don’t recognize. I have no idea how to help her so I pull out my reporter’s notepad and scribble notes for my story, trying to look busy.
Dave calls for a break and the guys disperse to the bathroom and kitchen. Tyler comes straight to me and I introduce him to Violet with careful formality.
I glance at Violet and shake my head slightly at Tyler, begging him to play it cool. Heath and Neil don’t know I live here, so Violet shouldn’t either. I wish I’d called Tyler to get our stories straight.
Tyler angles his body so I’m between him and Violet. “You OK?” His voice is a whisper and he curls his finger to brush the crook of my arm inside my elbow. It’s an intimate, questioning gesture.
I nod and my face heats with the memory of last night. “We’re good.”
Tyler grins when I use the plural. We are good.
Tyler entertains Violet with a grandiose tour of his loft and then Dave takes over, going back-and-forth with Violet on how the instruments should be moved and the band members positioned to take maximum advantage of the light.
The fact that Tattoo Thief is soaked in sweat and Jayce has his shirt off doesn’t hurt. Gavin sheds his T-shirt as well, his freckled shoulders shiny with sweat. Tyler ribs him for showing off but Dave nods approval.
At first I think this is all a bit much for an action shot, but Dave slips back into his manager role and positions the band to its best advantage.
Violet is quiet and thoughtful as she works, taking dozens of pictures as the guys regroup for the rest of the practice session. She never gets too close to them, seeming to hide behind her camera like a shield.
They run through a dozen songs and I itch to go to my room to change, but I’m afraid it would alert Violet to the fact that I live here. Instead, I sneak over to the kitchen, fish the dwindling bottle of vodka out of the freezer, and down several shots while Violet’s preoccupied with the band.
Tattoo Thief resumes practice and sometimes Jayce calls a halt mid-song to work through a chord progression, or Gavin stops them to change the lyrics. They play off each other—Dave as the foundation, Tyler building on that with strong chords, Jayce the virtuoso instrumentalist with his guitar, and Gavin as lead vocalist, shaping the song’s melody.
Sweat trickles down my spine as alcohol swamps my buzzing nerves. I relax toward the end of their practice set, taking pages of notes to create a story about the birth of a song.
I jump when my phone rings. It’s Beryl, waiting downstairs for me to let her in. I open the warehouse door to find her and two of the busty girls from the concert. They’re even more scantily clad than last night and I doubt it’s because of the heat wave.
The girls barely acknowledge me and climb the stairs ahead of us, whining about the lack of an elevator or air conditioning. Beryl and I exchange looks—they’re Jayce’s friends and they’re on a mission.
Violet packs up her cameras as one of the girls settles on Jayce’s lap, winding her arm around his neck. He grins and pinches her ass and she squeals but snuggles closer to him. The other girl frowns and turns her gaze to Tyler, and instantly I feel possessive.
Not that I have any right to be. We’re not a thing, are we? The girl fawns over him, bending low toward him as he sits on a stool, offering an eyeful of cleavage. His gaze flicks to me and she moves slightly, cutting off our connection.
I have competition.
Gavin draws Beryl close for a deep kiss and I love that they’re in love. The chemistry between them is real and fierce and I feel protective of that. I don’t want one of these groupie bimbos messing things up for Beryl.
Or for me.
Dave says Kristina will meet us at The Wren, an unpretentious East Village bar. He calls a car and Tyler shakes off the bimbo, coming close to me and planting a soft kiss on the top of my head, maybe to reassure me.
I look at him with alarm, and then at Violet. She saw it, and now it’s only a matter of time before Neil knows. And then Heath. I push Tyler away even though I want to pull him closer, to mark my territory against the groupies.
How am I going to explain this? I offer to walk Violet downstairs, and as we descend, I try to concoct a plausible, platonic lie.
“We’re just friends. If that’s what you’re wondering. I’m friends with Beryl and she’s with Gavin and…” I trail off, not sure how to explain my relationship with Tyler.
Violet clears her throat and offers me a sad smile. “Stella?” I look at her guiltily. “I won’t tell. Thank you for this chance to cover the band. I don’t need to tell Neil about … anything else.”
My breath leaves my chest in a whoosh, the vodka and heat making me dizzy. “Oh.” It’s all I can manage.
“I’m not the reporter. There’s nothing I need to do but turn in my photos, and you’re not in them, don’t worry.” Violet’s voice is quiet. “So Beryl’s with Gavin, and Dave’s with Kristina, and you’re with Tyler?”
“I think. I hope.” I trade this truth for her silence.
“And Jayce? Who’s he with?” Violet’s inflection is a little sharper, a little more curious.
“Flavor of the month.” I shrug. “That’s what Tyler said. I don’t know what either of those girls mean to him. Probably nothing.”
“Oh.” This time it’s her turn for a short answer.
“Do you—do you want to go out with us tonight?” Something in her sad, drawn face makes me suspect she’s as lonely as I felt a few days ago.
She shakes her head, motioning to the camera bag and tripod slung over her shoulder. “I’ve got to take this stuff back to my apartment and upload the pictures. I probably have a long night of editing. Are you going to turn your story in Monday?”
I nod.
“Well, maybe I can show you the best stuff this weekend, see if it jives with what you’re writing. And I did find a few of your things in my room. Want to meet for coffee and I’ll give them to you?”
Am I making a new friend? The thought warms me and we make plans for Sunday. I hear the band and the girls coming down the stairs.
“It’s funny what a camera sees,” Violet says when I pull open the ground-floor door. “Not the truth, but reality. Sometimes they’re not the same thing. You know?”
I shake my head.
“I’ll show you Sunday. Bye, Stella.” Violet turns to walk up the street as a black stretch limo pulls up to the warehouse. The girls squeal and pile in on either side of Jayce. Tyler takes my hand and squeezes, waiting as everyone else climbs into the car.
“Everything OK?” His brown eyes crinkle and I bask in the warmth of his smile even though the summer evening is still oppressively humid. “I hope I didn’t blow your cover.”
“She won’t say anything,” I tell him.
Tyler runs his thumb along my jawbone and smiles wider.
“Then let’s go have some fun.”
NINETEEN
Kristina’s waiting for us at The Wren at a big table near the front windows and we order a round, laughing and talking like normal people. But when the waitress stares slack-jawed at Gavin, Beryl stiffens. It’s only a matter of minutes before more people start pointing at us.
The bimbos, Shelly and Teal, take selfies with Jayce until he makes them quit. Kristina and Dave ignore their antics, huddled in a quiet side conversation, and I just take it in, sparring with Jayce about the best bands I’ve seen.
The bar fills quickly, but it’s not a typical Friday night rush. People who come in immediately look around, spot us and take photos with their phones. Some of the brave ones say hello and ask for autographs.