Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

“Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Oh.” She makes a face, but quickly recovers. “Well, it still wouldn’t hurt to come and ogle Rafe. Loads of girls will be doing just that. No harm no foul.”

A stab of almost physical pain rips through me. Other girls, looking at him. Of course there will be. How can I be jealous when there’s nothing between us?

“I’ll come,” I hear myself saying, as if from a distance. “What time?”

At nine. I’m to give her a call when I arrive, so we can meet in the crowd. I hear all this through a buzzing in my ears.

Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

***

The rest of the evening goes surprisingly well, considering I avoid looking at Audrey, the center of attention tonight. Plus, when my gift is unwrapped, everyone starts muttering. Apparently it’s not up to me to decide the sex of the baby.

But after my second glas

s of red wine, I find myself chatting with a copper-haired girl who says her name’s Ev and she knows Zane and the Damage Boyz. She works with runaway youth and homeless people, and as it turns out she’s head over heels for one of Zane’s fellow tattoo artists, Micah.

Everyone’s in love these days. There must be something in the air. Then again, the guys of the Inked Brotherhood are all gorgeous, and apparently like attracts like, because the Damage Boyz are also to die for, as are all their friends and acquaintances.

Sounds ridiculous, but there you have it. These guys have a following. They’re hot and badass, and total chick magnets. It’s a fact of life. Which is why next Saturday there will be plenty of girls waiting for a chance to ogle and chat up Rafe.

Again that stab of jealousy.

Goddammit. I haven’t fallen for Rafe. I can’t have. It’s not possible. We haven’t even talked, for chrissakes. I don’t know anything about him, apart from rumors and gossip. Gossip about his past—the gruesome murder of his family when he was fifteen—and rumors about his kindness when it comes to others.

So I have absolutely no right to be upset. Then why am I trying to figure out who to ask to take over my shift next Saturday night, and what I can wear to the concert?

Holy crap, I’m not even trying to get out of it. I’ve really made up my mind to go.

What harm would it do? a teeny tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers. Just watch him play. Just see his beautiful face again, his strong body. See him lose himself in the rhythm, like Tessa said. Try to understand what makes him tick, what makes him who he is.

Even if he’s not interested in me. Nothing has happened between us, I expect nothing and therefore I can’t get hurt. Right?

Boy am I a bad liar. I can’t convince even myself.

Chapter Two

Rafe

The crowd is trickling in, slowly filling up the bar. Halo is the Brotherhood’s latest favorite spot, and my gaze skids over the familiar, cheesy decorations of cherubs and wings covering the walls.

I return my attention my drum kit, setting it up, while Luke and Quinn check the sound of their guitars. Even Riley is here, unpacking his bass—ahead of time, which is a miracle. Koko—Dakota—is talking to Zane in a corner.

At least that’s what she said she was going to do. Looks more like mouth to mouth to me, but hey, that’s none of my fucking business. Good for them.

This is a familiar place, with familiar faces. A familiar situation, preparing for a concert, going through the motions. My friends have found their soul mates and are okay for the first time in ages.

Then why am I on edge?

Closing my eyes, I drag my drumsticks over the cymbals, then tap them lightly on the snare drum, feeling the vibrations travel up my arms. Trying to find my headspace. Loud noises always startle me, but the steady beat of the drum, the fact I’m the one producing the loud bangs, and drumrolls, and rattle steadies me most of the time.

Not tonight.

Shit. Something’s triggering this. I’ve been taught to identify the triggers before it gets too bad, but right now I can’t pinpoint what’s bothering me. A smell? A noise? A set-up?

I put down the sticks and listen. Just the chatter of the crowd, the strumming of guitars, Riley’s bass joining in. Then I inhale. A mixture of perfume, styling products, and hot cables.