I ended up missing a week of school, which meant Dax had to take my place making sure Ellie got home safely. Thankfully, he brought her to my crappy flat every day instead of hers, as she insisted on being my personal nurse, hovering over me and checking on my stab wound to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Just seeing her made me feel better even if the actual wound still hurt like hell.
Danny hasn’t stopped by or even sent anyone to see if I’m going to live. Not that I expected him to, stupid bastard. I’m just lucky he hates Callum Murray as much as I do, so he’ll keep the pressure on them to stay away from Ellie. Of course, he still makes me pay him to do it. Everything with Danny comes with a price.
Ellie hasn’t brought up the kiss from the other day, and neither have I. I swear, we must be the crappiest communicators ever. Having her near me is like the sweetest pleasure wrapped around the worst torture I can think of. Every thought I have consists of me touching her, kissing her, and God help me, having her naked beneath me. Each one of her gentle caresses when she checks my bandage both hurts like hell and sends an amazing sensation to my cock at the same time. I feel like a shitty person for even having that reaction to her kindness.
“Adam, are you okay?”
&n
bsp; I snap out of my daydream, focusing on Ellie as we ride the tube to the Drunken Kitten for my gig tonight, my side painful but mended just enough to not miss work. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m brilliant, El. All healed up, no worries.” Jesus, I’m such a stupid arse. No wonder she hasn’t brought up the kiss or tried for a repeat.
“Seriously, are you alright with me coming with you? I don’t want to get in the way.” Ellie’s cheeks glow with streaks of red, and she stares down at the ground, worrying her hands together before chewing on one of her thumbnails.
“In the way? Fuck no, El. I want you there.” I take her hand in mine and remove it from those plump lips, secretly loving how it feels to hold her skin to skin. “If you weren’t with me, I’d be worried that you weren’t safe so it’s better this way.” Idiot, now I’m using the excuse of protecting her to keep her around me all the time. I want to kick my own arse for not just telling her that I need her, not for her safety but for me.
Ellie lifts her head, just enough so I can see the edge of one blue eye and the corner of her mouth as it lifts up into a smile, her blonde hair tumbling over one shoulder in soft waves of vanilla. “You’d worry about me? That’s rubbish and you know it. You’re the one who got jumped and stabbed. Maybe I should worry about you.”
“Maybe you should,” I mumble, more to myself than to Ellie. Her head comes up the rest of the way and she turns to face me, her eyes wide in surprise.
“Maybe I do,” she whispers back.
I swallow, mesmerized by her gorgeous face and the way she’s staring at me. I study those eyes of hers, deep cerulean blue with shards of icy steel grey in them. Neither of us can look away even though it should be getting awkward with us gawking openly at each other. But it’s not, both of us are equally entranced by the magnetic pull that seems to exist between us.
“This is King’s Cross.” The Underground announcement shakes us out of our little bubble.
“C’mon. It’s our stop,” My words are husky, I have to cough to pretend to clear my throat so she won’t think I’m mental. I grab my guitar case and stand up. Ellie takes my offered hand and follows me as we walk in silence to the DK, weaving through the other pedestrians as the foot traffic becomes thicker near the pub district.
The big bouncer nods and lets us past the queue and we head directly for the back room to meet up with Dax and George, and unfortunately, George’s American nephew.
“Finally!” Dax says as Ellie and I enter the tiny space, which is even smaller now since there are three other blokes, plus Dax, squashed in with us.
“Adam! I wanted you to meet my nephew,” George bellows happily. Looks like someone has had a few pints already. George’s cheeks are ruddy and his small eyes are glassed over, his crooked smile wide and friendly.
“George, how’s it going?” I ask politely, subtly positioning myself between him and Ellie.
“Oh-oh! Who’s this lovely thing?” He strains to see around me so he can get a better look at her.
“Right, George this is Ellie. Ellie, George here owns the DK.” I stay firmly planted between them so George can’t give her one of his usual sweaty, touchy-feely hugs that the girls round here know to avoid when he’s had a few too many.
“Hello,” Ellie says graciously, ignoring his drunken state and instead giving George a brilliant smile.
George is speechless for once. Unable to come up with anything to say to her. I know it’s because she’s so freaking gorgeous. Hell, I’ve been struck dumb around her too. Any man with eyes would suffer the same effect.
“Uh, well yes. Ummmm, my nephew.” George steps back and nudges a tall, blond bloke forward. “Adam, this is my nephew, Gavin Walker. Gavin, this is Adam Reynolds, the other half of the acoustic duo with Dax here.”
We shake hands and Gavin gives me a big smile and a quick once over with his eyes, which is a little odd. Gavin is what I’d describe as beautiful. Most men aren’t beautiful, but Gavin sure is, almost abnormally so. He’s so good-looking, he should be doing aftershave ads or walking a runway in Italy, not standing in the backroom of a smoky pub with George.
“Nice to meet you. Uncle G. hasn’t stopped talking about you since you first auditioned.” His American accent isn’t harsh like most are. His voice is so striking that it’s almost melodic in a way. Gavin nods at Ellie who is still tucked slightly behind me. “Hey,” he says to her.
“So, where are you from?” I ask, not giving Ellie a chance to answer him. George’s flirting I can handle, this overly attractive guy? No fucking way.
“California. Los Angeles actually. This is my friend Hawke.” He flicks his perfectly disheveled hair out of his eyes and gracefully motions over his shoulder to the guy behind him.
“Hey man.” Hawke steps up to shake my hand. I note that he is also American. He’s covered in tattoos and piercings, wearing a hoodie and square black-frame glasses. Real nerdy rock and roll type. The type girls go crazy for because he’s edgy enough to be different but still harmless looking. My instinct tells me that Hawke isn’t as harmless as he appears.
“Hawke?” I ask, curious about his unusual name. Then I see Hawke’s sharp gaze land on Ellie, and the way he looks at her starts a fire in my gut that has me clenching my hands at my sides. Jesus, between the model and the tatted up rocker, it feels as if a fight to defend my girl will be inevitable.
Your girl, right Adam. She’s not your girl.