I tucked my lips to hide my smirk when Loren and Jericho left the room behind Houston.
Entering the first room on my left, I found the dining room, which led to the kitchen. Helping myself to one of the Fiji bottles I found in the fridge, I guzzled the water down while kicking off my heels.
I stopped caring about decorum the moment they left me to fend for myself. Hearing my stomach growl, I found the walk-in pantry, spotted a box of granola bars, and tore it open. I devoured two before Loren found me.
Taking in the crumbs dotting my lips and chin, his eyebrows rose as he held up my discarded heels with his forefinger. “You sure made yourself comfortable quick.”
Shrugging, I swallowed the last bite of my breakfast. “None of you seemed interested in playing host.”
“Among other things,” he agreed. His gaze dropped to my chest, and then he groaned. I was about to punch him for ogling when he spoke. “If I didn’t before, I definitely hate you now. Let me guess, you had a thing for Axl.”
“What?”
Wordlessly, he nodded to my dress and the Guns N’ Roses print on the front.
Oh.
“Dictators aren’t really my type.”
Loren peered at me curiously before plucking the box of granola from my hands and returning it to the shelf. He then pulled me from the pantry, and I tried to ignore the burning sensation of having his hand on me. Sure, it was only my elbow, but I was hard up. Sue me.
“Do you have any coffee?”
He dumped my heels unceremoniously on the floor before nodding toward a fancy-looking machine that I had no clue how to work. Jericho walked in before I could ask Loren to show me. When he beelined for me, my guard shot up even higher.
“I’m calling a redo,” he announced, thrusting out his large hand. “I think we can all agree that we got off to a bad start.” I was shocked, to say the least, and when he smiled…I’d never witnessed anything more magnificent. Jericho had perfect pearl teeth and plush pink lips, but it was more than that. It was the sheer honesty behind the gesture that made it even more breathtaking. “I’m Jericho. My friends call me Rich.”
Shaking his hand, I returned his smile. “Brax.”
“Brax?” Loren mocked, wiping the smile from my face. His back was to me, but I could hear the sneer he undoubtedly wore as he fiddled with the coffee maker. It was all he seemed to do whenever I was in the room. “Is that supposed to make you sound cool?” Sensing that he’d won my attention, he peeked over his shoulder, and the look I gave him made him snort.
I decided right then and there.
I hated him the most.
“You can call me Braxton.”
His stormy gaze, the color of a starless sea, held mine. For a while, it seemed we were both caught in the whirlwind.
Unfortunately, he broke free of the spell first, and I cursed him for beating me to it.
“How about I call you brat instead?”
“I’ll up the ante—don’t talk to me at all.” Deliberately giving him my back, I faced the drummer with the genuine smile. “So, your name is Rich Noble?”
“Yup,” Loren answered despite me dismissing him. “He’s a pretentious little shit, isn’t he?”
I inhaled deeply, ready to give him a piece of mind when it occurred to me that Loren wasn’t being rude to be cruel. The wild thoughts flitting through my mind were my most insane yet—worthy of a trip to the looney bin. Still, they couldn’t be helped.
Was Loren trying to steal my attention from his friend? That would imply they were in competition and—
No. I wouldn’t go there.
Without turning around, I spoke to Loren while staring at Rich. “I thought we established that you and I had nothing more to say to each other?”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he prowled on silent feet. By the time I realized he was on the move, it was already too late. Loren had me pinned between himself and Rich. “Bothered, Brax?”
The cool mint on his breath from his toothpaste wafted over my nape like a cool breeze. The small hairs stood on end while goose bumps spread over my skin. He was too damn close. It was all I could do not to drive my elbow into those abs he loved to flaunt. I bet he oiled them since he thought he was too pretty to break a sweat. Watching his interviews online always made me cringe and groan from second-hand embarrassment, yet I never missed a single one.
“We already know you’re hot,” Loren continued. “Is that why you blocked me on Instagram? I just thought I’d return the favor and offer some constructive criticism of your performance.”
Turning, I faced Loren, but I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. He was that close. “I’m no more bothered by you than a fly when I swat it. You’re a mild inconvenience at best. Besides, there’s nothing constructive about you knowing the color of my underwear.”