chapter 8

OUTSIDE, IT'S STARTED TO RAIN, and I pull up the hood of my jacket to keep my hair dry. I parked in the far corner of the lot again, and when I start heading that way, Dex says, "You can ride with us." He spins a key fob around his finger and catches it in his hand, then does it again, still looking right at me.

"Okay. Let me just put this away." I hold up my violin, and he nods.

Hurrying to my car, I put my violin in the trunk, then lock the doors. I catch sight of my reflection in the rear window—hair in a braid, no makeup, rainwater dripping from my hood—and immediately regret saying I'd go out. Unless they wanna head to a casual coffee shop, I am not dressed for a night out. But it's too late for that now.

Once I've rejoined them, Dex turns and leads the way toward a cluster of expensive-looking cars at the front of the building .

"Can I drive?" Sebastian asks, slinging a muscular arm around Dex's shoulders.

Dex shrugs him off. "No."

"You should know the answer to that by now," Michael says. "Dex doesn't let anyone drive the Rover."

As soon as he says it, Dex hits the fob, and the lights flash on a shiny black Range Rover. The wheels are glossy black, and the windows are so dark I can't see inside. Looking at it, I'm pretty sure it cost more than my college tuition.

"Shotgun!" Sebastian says.

"Nora gets shotgun," Dex replies without hesitation, and my insides twist into pretzels. "You're in the back."

Sebastian pouts, but he doesn't argue.

Lucas is already waiting by one of the back doors, texting and looking completely disinterested in us. He climbs in, and then Sebastian slides in after him as Michael and I go around to the other side.

I reach for the door handle, but it's sleek and perfectly flush with the car door; there's no way for me to grab it. A burst of panic goes through me. I'm going to look like an idiot who can't open a luxury car door.

How the hell do I—

Michael reaches over and pushes a little button on the thin black handle, and it pops out. I cast him a grateful look, then pull the door open and slip inside.

It smells like leather with a hint of soap. The interior is matte black, and the display screen on the dash is about as big as my laptop. Everywhere I look, all I see is wealth—and a lot of it .

This is easily the nicest vehicle I've ever been in. I'm almost afraid to touch anything for fear of leaving a fingerprint or a smudge of dirt from my boots.

Dex tosses his cell into the cup holder and puts his sunglasses back on. As soon as he starts the Range Rover, the stereo comes blasting on, and he reaches over to turn it down when I flinch.

The guys fuss around in the back, seeming perfectly at ease squished together like they are. I keep quiet, arms by my sides, as Dex pulls out of the studio lot.

While we drive through LA, other drivers and passengers stare over at us, likely curious about who's behind the tinted windows, and I realize why they're so dark in the first place. I wonder if people would chase Dex down if they saw him driving in the lane next to theirs. Probably.

The traffic is terrible, as usual. While we sit at another light, I steal a glance over at Dex.

He's got one hand on the wheel, the other propped up next to the window, and this close up, I can see the individual tattoos on each finger of his right hand: a sword, an axe, a skull, a mace, and a goblet. My eyes follow his fingers up, and there's a dragon curling across the back of his hand, its tail disappearing into the sleeve of his long-sleeve shirt.

He must notice me staring, because he reaches over and pulls his sleeve back so I can see the rest of the dragon. It's a detailed piece, and the long tail curls all the way around his forearm, where more tattoos ink his pale skin.

"You have any tattoos?" he asks.

"Yeah. Just one." I push my coat away from my left wrist, where I've got a violin and a few notes. I got it when I was eighteen, but it hurt so bad that I haven't wanted to get another one. "How many do you have?"

He looks at me—or I think he does, but his shades obscure his eyes—then down at his hand. His tendons strain under his skin when he flexes his fingers. "No idea." A smile flashes across his mouth. "Maybe you could count 'em for me."

Heat curls in my stomach and between my legs, and I tear my gaze away from him to stare out the window.

Stop , I tell myself. Do not get turned on by him.

He laughs under his breath, and the light finally turns green.

Michael's house is surprisingly modest—for a bassist in a super famous rock band. It's in Valley Village, northwest of Downtown Los Angeles. Dex pulls into the driveway, where a glossy white Mercedes is parked. The white Cape Cod–style house has a two-car garage and a small well-maintained yard. I step out of the Range Rover and try not to get fingerprints on the shiny black door as I push it closed.

Sebastian, Dex, and Lucas are already heading around the corner and up to the front door, but Michael hangs back to walk with me.

"My wife's name is Jordan," he says as we head toward the front door, which is now standing open. A golden retriever waits in the doorway, and as soon as Michael steps up onto the porch, the dog bounds outside to greet him. "Hey, girl." He gives her scratches, and then she turns to me for more attention. "That's Nala. She's friendly."

"I can tell." I reach down and scratch her behind the ear, and she spins in excited circles and covers my hands with kisses. A big smile stretches across my face as I give her a little doggy massage down her spine. "I love dogs."

"You and Jordan will get along, then. She runs a big rescue."

My head snaps up. "Really?"

I'm not sure why that surprises me; maybe I assumed the wife of a rock star would spend most of her time lying by the pool or getting her nails done. It makes me realize with a start how judgmental I've been of them all from the beginning, and I feel a bit ashamed.

"Yeah, she'd love to tell you about it. Come on in. I'll introduce you."

We step through the door, and my gaze sweeps across the foyer. The hardwood floors are a pale blond, and a big quarter-turn staircase stands in front of us, leading up to the second story.

Nala bumps my legs as she runs past me and down a hallway, where voices are carrying from.

The guys left all their shoes on a rug beside the door, so I take my old boots off and set them next to the expensive Nikes they all wear.

Michael hangs his shoulder bag in the closet, and then he leads me through the foyer. To our left is a formal dining room with modern furniture, where a big picture of Michael and Jordan on their wedding day hangs over the table.

We head down the hallway, which opens up into the kitchen and living room. Everything is cool grays and whites, and the space is impeccably clean.

Sebastian has already tossed himself onto the big gray couch, and Lucas sits in a plush chair, a petite dark-haired woman—who I assume is Alisha—sitting on his lap .

A blond woman stands in the kitchen, leaning against the marble island countertop, engaged in conversation with Dex. When we walk in and she turns toward us, her eyes go wide.

"Jordan, Nora. Nora played strings on ‘Ghost,'" Michael explains to her.

"Of course, welcome!" She holds out her arms and pulls me in for a hug. Her hair is soft against my cheek, and she smells like lavender. "Mike told me how talented you are. It's great to meet you. Alisha! Nora's here."

The woman in the living room looks over, and her dark eyes light up when she sees me. She pulls out of Lucas's embrace and stands up, slapping his hand away when he reaches out to grab the waistband of her tight black shorts.

"Hey!" She pulls me into a hug, and she's so short that I have to bend down a bit. "Sorry you've had to deal with these guys on your own. They're a pain."

"Aw, Alisha, you're gonna hurt my feelings," Sebastian whines from the living room.

Alisha tosses her waist-length braids over her shoulder and tips her head. "All you've got is feelings. Toughen up."

Sebastian pretends she shot him in the heart and falls back onto the couch with a thump.

I quickly scan Alisha's and Jordan's outfits and feel majorly self-conscious. Alisha's wearing short shorts that show off her gleaming brown legs and a baggy Lakers tee with thin layered necklaces and gold earrings. Beside her, Jordan's long legs look amazing in a pair of tight black jeans with a tiny black tank tucked into them. She has a single silver necklace around her throat and a chunky diamond ring on her left hand .

And then there's me: basic jeans, a tee and jacket I picked up from Target, and my mousy-brown hair pulled back in a braid.

They look like they're ready for a night out on the town; I look ready to go on a walk with Nala. Maybe I should just stay here and do that instead.

Jordan must notice me scanning her, because she says, "The guys sprung this on you at the last moment, didn't they?"

I give her a shy smile as Michael opens the fridge and starts to rummage around. "Yeah, kind of."

"Come on." She waves for me to follow. "You too, Alisha."

Dex looks my way as we head out of the kitchen, but his expression is blank, unreadable. I don't understand it.

We walk back into the foyer, then take the big staircase up to the second floor. Nala follows behind us, her nails tippy-tapping on the hardwood floors. Turning left, Jordan leads me into what I assume is the master bedroom. It's full of sleek modern furniture, still in the gray-and-white color scheme. Then we walk through the huge bathroom and into an equally huge walk-in closet.

"You don't have to borrow anything, but you're totally welcome to," Jordan says.

I glance around the closet, which must be almost as big as my bedroom back home. "A-are you sure?" I ask. Everything looks so expensive; I can't imagine she'd be okay letting me borrow anything.

"Of course! What style do you like?"

"Um, I don't know. I don't really have a style." I laugh, and Alisha smiles at me as she walks past us and takes a seat on a fluffy white rug in front of the floor-length mirror .

"Go with something feminine," she says to Jordan. "I think it'll suit her."

Jordan starts flipping through hangers, and I let my gaze wander, taking in all the shoes, skirts, dresses, and accessories.

"Ooh, how about this?" Jordan pulls a hanger from the rack, and dangling from it is a tiny black minidress. Seeing it, my breath catches.

"Oh, I don't know," I say. "I'm not sure that'll fit me."

Alisha looks between me and the dress, seeming to study my body shape. "I think it's perfect. You should try it on."

Jordan hands me the hanger. "Come on, Alisha. Out."

With a huff, Alisha stands and follows Jordan out of the closet, and Jordan closes the door behind her.

I'm left standing in the closet alone, surrounded by clothes I could never afford. I hang the dress on the nearest rack, then start to strip out of my clothes, feeling grateful I thought to shave in the shower this morning.

Now in my bra and panties, I slip the dress from its hanger and start to shimmy into it. It's skintight, and I have to wiggle to get it into place, but once I have it on and turn to look at myself in the mirror, my jaw drops.

I've never worn anything like this before, so thin and skimpy and... sexy . The soft black fabric hugs my hips, showing off my waist and thighs. If I don't look at myself too closely, I can almost imagine I'm someone else, one of those girls who goes out every night and smiles in every photo. And honestly, I kind of like it.

There's a light knock on the door, and then Jordan pokes her head in. When she sees me in the dress, she gasps .

"I knew it!" She throws the door open and walks in, Alisha on her heels. They give me a onceover, and Alisha reaches for my bra strap.

"You should take that off. It'll look much better without it. Want some help?"

Despite feeling a bit shy in front of them, I nod. Alisha walks around behind me and unclips my bra, and then I pull the straps down and yank it off.

"So much better," Jordan says, giving me an approving nod in the mirror.

I'm not usually proud of my tiny boobs, but in this little black dress, they look, well, good . No, great . And seeing myself like this actually makes me smile. I'm not used to it, and I would never have picked something like this for myself, but somehow, it works.

"Okay, now your hair." Jordan waves for me to follow her, and I do so happily, only now starting to get excited about our night out. We walk into her bathroom, and she's already set up a stool in front of the huge mirror over the marble sink. "What style do you usually like?"

I take a seat and shrug. "I don't know. I usually have it pulled back, I guess."

"All right, let's see what we're working with."

Alisha hops up onto the counter and starts scrolling on her phone while Jordan gently and expertly unwinds my braid and works her fingers through my tangles.

"Such a pretty color," she says. "Is that natural?"

"Yeah. I've never dyed it."

" Never? "

I shake my head, and Jordan laughs as she reaches for a comb .

It's comforting, being fawned over this way. I'm an only child, so I didn't grow up with a sister, though I would've loved to, and Mom has never been much into beauty, so I struggled through on my own for the most part.

Jordan detangles my hair gently, then steps back and stares at me for a moment. "Straight? Waves? Curls?" she says, and Alisha looks up, her head tipping to one side.

It feels like I'm on display at a museum or something, given the intensity of their stares.

Finally, they both say, "Straight."

While Jordan pulls out her straightener and plugs it in, I look over at Alisha.

"So, how long have you and Lucas been together?" I ask. Small talk has never been a strong suit of mine, but I have the urge to at least try.

Alisha puckers her lips thoughtfully. "Eight months."

"Really?" Jordan says from behind me. "I didn't realize it'd been that long."

"Yeah. I'm his longest relationship to date." Her full lips pull into a smirk. "I think he wants to put a ring on it." She holds up her left hand and wiggles her ring finger.

Jordan scoffs. "Are we talking about the same Lucas?" she asks. The straightener beeps, and she starts running it gently through my hair, straightening out all the waves and kinks from the braid.

They laugh, seeming completely at ease in each other's company. Suddenly, I get a bit jealous. I had friends in high school and college, but since moving to LA, I've mostly been on my own. Watching them chat so casually and comfortably with each other makes me long for a close female friend.

"What's the deal with Sebastian?" I ask .

Jordan gets a big smile. "He's single, I think. Always running after the wrong women and getting his heart broken. Why? Are you interested?"

"No!" I say quickly. "Just trying to figure them all out." I look down at my hands in my lap and twist my turquoise ring around my thumb. "How about Dex?"

There's a beat of silence, and when I glance up, they're both giving me knowing looks.

"Don't even go there with him," Jordan says, shaking her head. "He's the total opposite of Sebastian."

Alisha nods. "Dex is a fuckboy. He's even worse than Lucas was when I met him."

Jordan mumbles her agreeance, and we lapse into silence as she continues straightening my hair.

What Alisha said doesn't surprise me, so why does it feel like a knot just formed in my stomach? I've known Dex is a playboy since before I met him, and I've told myself all along not to get swept up in his charm, but it's so hard when he looks like that .

"There. Done." Jordan steps back, and I finally look up from my hands and into the mirror.

"Wow," I whisper. My long brown hair is straight and smooth, and without all the waves in it, it hangs down to my elbows. "It looks amazing," I say as I run a hand through the silky strands. "Thank you."

"Sure. Now we need the final touch. Alisha, wanna do the honors?"

Alisha hops off the counter and slides a bathroom drawer open. After rustling around in it, she pulls out a handful of brushes, eyeshadow palettes, and mascara .

"Michael told me you run a rescue," I say to Jordan as Alisha holds different color palettes up to my skin and eyes. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Oh, gosh." She leans back against the bathroom counter. "I think... three years now? It started off as a little thing, but Michael got involved, and he really helped me expand. Now Wag helps hundreds of homeless dogs a year."

"That's awesome." I smile. "What about you, Alisha? What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a personal trainer," she says as she leans in, eyeshadow brush poised and at the ready. I close my eyes and try not to laugh at the ticklish sensation of the brush sweeping over my eyelid. "And you're a violinist, right?"

"Mm-hmm." I try not to move my head while Alisha works. "With the LA Orchestra."

"That's so cool! Mike and I went to a show last year," Jordan says. "Maybe we saw you."

"You probably did. I've been with them since I graduated three years ago."

"That's sweet," Alisha says. "I wanna hear you play. Now open your eyes."

I do as she says, and she twists the cap off the mascara bottle and sweeps it over my lashes a few times.

"There. Gorgeous."

I look into the mirror, and it's still me staring back, but a different version of me.

My hair shines under the vanity light, and the eyeshadow and mascara make my brown-green eyes come alive.

"You're a wizard," I mumble as I lean closer to the mirror, and Jordan and Alisha both burst into laughter .

"Come on, let's take a picture." Jordan pulls her cell from her back pocket, and I stand to pose with them in the bright lights from over the mirror. She snaps the photo, and when we all lean in to see it, I'm weirdly happy with how I look, especially next to two gorgeous women.

"All right, let's go." Alisha throws her long braids over one shoulder. "I'm starving ."

"One sec." Jordan taps something into her phone. "Nora, what's your handle?"

I tell her, and a moment later, she finishes what she's doing with a smile.

"Okay, now we can go."

Jordan and Alisha head out into the master bedroom, but I pause to take one final look at myself, and my reflection smiles back at me.

"Nora, come on!" Alisha calls, and I can hear their footsteps heading down the stairs.

I quickly grab my coat and purse from the closet, hit the light switch, and walk back through the master bedroom and onto the upstairs balcony. Voices echo from the foyer below; everyone must be eager to go.

I descend the first set of stairs, and when I step onto the landing and come into view, everyone looks up at me. The power of their stares is enough to make me pause, and my eyes find Dex without me wanting them to.

He's standing next to the door, hands in his pockets, a lazy slouch to his shoulders. His gaze sweeps up and down the length of my body, lingering for a moment, and when his eyes meet mine, a thrill goes through me.

He just noticed me, for real .

And I felt it like a burst of electricity running through my veins.

I can still feel his gaze as I descend the second flight of stairs and meet the others in the foyer.

"Damn, Nora." Sebastian sidles over to me, and I give him an easy smile as he slips his arm around my shoulders. "You look..."

"Sexy," Alisha finishes for him.

"I mean, I wasn't gonna say it, but yeah." Sebastian laughs that boyish laugh, and I laugh along with him, realizing I'm starting to feel more at ease around all of them.

"Can we go?" Dex snaps. "This is taking forever."

"He's been in a bad mood all day," Sebastian says, his arm still over my shoulders. "Maybe he's hangry."

"I'm not hangry." Dex yanks the door open, letting the cool air in. The storm passed, but the smell of rain still hangs in the air. "I just wanna go."

The others head outside, and I take a moment to slip into my boots and zip them up. Then I pull my coat on, and when I look up, Dex is still waiting there, holding the door open for me.

"Thanks," I say, and when I walk past him and into the evening air, I let my arm barely graze his.

He draws a small breath.

I don't know why I did it. I shouldn't have done it. But looking like this, feeling like this, gives me confidence. It's not like anything will come of it, and as long as I keep clear on who and what Dex is, there shouldn't be any harm in it.

Right?