Midnight Blue

Everybody’s chatter died down. Blake, Alex’s manager—the guy with the stringy black hair, beefy figure, and sharp suit, frowned. Alfie, the tall one with the golden curls, shook his head and kicked little rocks on our way to the SUV. Lucas’ sapphire eyes apologized on Alex’s behalf, and he squeezed my arm.

“Don’t mind him. You all right?”

I nodded. “Other than feeling like an idiot? Fantastic, thanks for asking.”

We climbed into the van, where I successfully didn’t squeak about the right-hand steering wheel, and continued my mute streak. I flipped through the schedule of the tour Blake had handed each of us before we boarded the plane. Alfie had used the edges of the paper as dental floss. I wanted to look out the window and watch Sydney for the first time, but the truth was, I didn’t trust myself not to gush, and I wasn’t in the mood for another round of being Winslow’s punching bag. I figured I had to lie low, at least until I graduated from New Girl to Indie in his eyes. Nonetheless, I hated him for making me feel this way. I also knew I was not going to be Little Miss Doormat for the next three months. I’d find my footing and fight back.

We were staying at a fancy hotel that kissed the ocean of Darling Harbour. I’d been to hotels before, but they were the kind that sat on busy highways and referred to their eighties décor as ‘charming’ in their wrinkled brochures. This one was different. A monstrous building with arrows and arches for miles. Holy crap described the hotel pretty accurately, although Jesus H came in a close second. We had to drive around the place for ten minutes, waiting for security to block the sidewalk with metal barricades so the rock star could check into the hotel, but when we finally pulled over, I realized I had a bigger problem than trying to decide whether Sydney reminded me more of a clean, new Miami or an urban Palm Springs.

“What in the…” I gasped, too taken aback to finish the sentence. There were hundreds of fans lining up beyond the barriers, screaming and waving signs and posters in the air. Sobbing girls were clawing at their faces as they shouted Alex’s name so loud I wondered if their eardrums could spontaneously burst as a result. The SUV rolled to a stop. The Brits stared at each other, contemplative grins playing on their faces. Alex’s face remained emotionless.

“It’s a lot to absorb.” Lucas shuffled in his seat beside me, his palm finding mine then squeezing once for assurance. His touch was warm and sweet. He was attractive, in a soft, romantic way.

“Yeah, New Girl,” Alex surprised me by saying, reaching out to me as well, squeezing my thigh. My heart tailspun to my lower stomach at his touch, prompting goose bumps to spread along my scalp. “This whole thing is about you, so please tell us how you feel about hundreds of people waiting for someone who is not, in fact, you.”

My patience. My sweet, tender patience urged me not to throw a punch straight into his face. True, I needed the job. But Alex Winslow was starting to look like a tight draw next to my financial worries.

“Can I breathe without your nasty commentary?” I peeled his hand from my thigh and dumped it at his side. I wished he didn’t look like an angry god and write like a tortured poet. It would have made hating him so much easier.

“Only if you do it silently and not in my direction,” Alex was just as quick to respond.

“Congratulations, Winslow. You somehow managed to snag The Rudest Person in the World award,” Blake grumbled, still typing on his phone.

“I accept, but probably won’t be able to attend the ceremony.”

“Good idea, you’d probably burst onto stage and steal statues that aren’t even yours…” I muttered, my eyes widening in horror as the words left my mouth. The world paused for one second.

Alfie broke the beat, snorting from the back seat and exhaling, long and loud. “Oi! I’m getting a hard-on by proxy. If you two are gonna hate-fuck each other, I’m buying a front-row ticket.”

“Alfie!” Lucas swiveled his head around with a scolding look.

“What? Front row’s got several seats. You’ll get to see them, too.”

“Enough,” Blake grumbled, tucking his phone into his pocket and sliding the door open. “Everyone—out! Indie, please try to keep a low profile. Our lad here can be a little touchy when it comes to Jenna appointing nannies to him. Understand that he’s a twenty-seven-year-old and one of the most influential celebrities in the universe. You being here is hard to swallow.”

Alfie raised his hand as if to ask for permission to speak. “But if you’re good at that—at swallowing—maybe you could soften the blow after all.”