Managed (VIP 2)
Kill John is going to do a run through of a new song before we set off again, and I want to see if they’re up to snuff. Sophie, of course, will be there to take photos.
Having gained two hours of sleep—a bloody miracle, by my count—I’m feeling so relaxed and mellow that I nearly hum one of their tunes. I might very well be losing my mind, but I don’t bloody care.
“About what?”
“About me rooming with you.” She waves an arm in exasperation.
She’s adorable, really. And so fantastically soft and rounded and warm. God, she’s warm when she sleeps, her lemon tart scent stronger, earthier somehow. I’m tempted to turn us around and demand more nap time.
I have to force myself to pay attention. “Do you not want them to know?”
“Well,” she falters. “I don’t know. It’s just kind of…” Brown eyes narrow on me. “Do you want them to know you need me to fall asleep?”
“Not particularly.”
She stops at the threshold of the room. No one has noticed us yet, so we have a bit of privacy. “They’re going to think we’re together.”
A lovely flush pinks her round cheeks. My finger itches to stroke them.
“And that would be a problem?” I find myself asking.
Her full lips part, then snap shut before she answers. “It’s a problem if it’s a lie. And, no, I don’t like the idea of people I work with gossiping about us.”
“I see.” With a nod, I turn toward the room. “Oy, listen up. Sophie will be traveling with me on my coach. And it’s none of your bloody business why, so I’d better not hear a word about it. Understood?”
At my side, Sophie makes a strangled gurgle that sounds like a drowning chipmunk.
My boys, however, just blink back at me before grinning.
“Well, all right then, Scottie,” Rye drawls. “Glad to see you taking initiative in your personal life.”
Whip shakes his head. “Fucking knew it.”
“You know nothing,” Sophie hisses at him.
Jax high-fives Rye. “You owe us each fifty bucks, Killian.”
“Shit, and I was so sure he’d hold out longer. Thanks a lot, Scottie.” Killian glares at me. The little arse.
“What did I say about speculating?” I warn. “One more word and I’ll have you all doing a music video with synchronized dancing faster than you can say Backstreet Boys.”
Whip lifts up a hand. “Okay, geesh. Got it. You two are an impenetrable wall that no one shall gaze upon. No need to go all Simon Cowell on us.”
I don’t have time to see how the others react. Sophie pinches my side.
“Ouch. Do you mind? This is a silk-wool blend. You’ll wrinkle it.”
“It’s about to be shredded.” She seethes up at me, eyes shooting sparks. “You just totally threw our business out there.”
“I told them not to talk about it.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Which means they’ll be talking about it even more.”
“No, they won’t.”
“Yes, we will,” Rye calls.
I point at him. “Start practicing your Running Man.”
“Is anyone else impressed that he knows dance moves?”
Sophie pokes me with her finger to punctuate each word. “This is all your fault.”
Brenna takes it upon herself to stroll over. Her smile is wide and smug. “What did I tell you, Scottie-boy? I hire the best people.”
Poor Sophie is beet red now. I feel a pinch of regret for putting her in an awkward position. But I know these people. They are my family. Better than family. Teasing aside, they’ll do as I ask, if only because I’ve never asked them for anything personal before.
I would tell Sophie this now, but I think it would embarrass her further. So I settle for meeting her gaze and putting all the tender gratitude I feel into my voice. “Yes, Brenna, you do.”
My reward is Sophie’s expression going soft and luminous. Something cracks open within my chest. I don’t know what it is, but I do know one thing: my chatty girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. Because I’m not letting go.
* * *
Sophie
* * *
“You excited about touring?” Jules asks as we sprawl on the grass lawn in Edinburgh’s West Princes Street Park.
Above us is a rare, cloudless blue sky. If I lift my head, I’ll see the dark, craggy face of Castle Rock rising almost straight from the earth and the low-slung, imposing fortress of Edinburgh Castle sitting on top of it.
Last night, Kill John played at the castle’s Esplande, which is an open, U-shaped stadium on top of Castle Rock with the castle as a backdrop. I’ve never experienced a concert like that, the glittering lights of the city below us, the medieval-looking castle creating an air of timelessness as Kill John brought fans to a screaming roar. It lifted goose bumps on my skin.
After taking a few pictures of the guys practicing at a recording studio this morning, I was given the rest of the day off. Since Jules also has free time on her hands, and I was too worked up about the prospect of rooming with Gabriel, I convinced her to escape with me and tour the town until we leave later this evening. And so we are taking full advantage, soaking up the sunlight streaming down on this lovely day.