Page 12 of Just Wait

If he asked a question, I definitely missed it.

If the press is correct, Malcolm is the most playful of all the members of Liminal. He’s a bit of a shameless flirt and the wild card. Or that’s what I’ve read in articles about the band.

From what I’ve seen during their shows, he’s an all-around talented musician, and I have no idea how long he was watching me fumble through singing the practice lyrics while trying to play a guitar that’s too big for my hands.

Okay, that’s technically a shitty excuse, but I have way smaller hands than Theo, so it counts.

A lazy smile crosses his face, and my heart rate picks up.

Now is not the time to be starstruck.

Now is the time to scurry away and pray he just walked in.

Seriously, what is happening to my life?

Kincaid bumped into me before Liminal went on stage last night, and now I’m casually running into Malcolm with no screaming fans or security around to tackle me if I freaked out and begged for his autograph.

Which I would never do.

Mostly because it would embarrass Theo.

Speaking of my boyfriend, he’s never going to believe this.

“You must be good at getting around security,” Malcolm says, nodding at me as his pointy canines dig into his lower lip.

Jesus.

No wonder women turn melty when he looks at them.

He’s hot.

Malcolm’s wavy brown hair falls an inch or two past his shoulders, and his blue eyes are so shocking that they stand out in comparison to his dark stubble. He has big black gauges in his ears, along with a few other ear piercings.

Both nostrils are pierced with silver hoops, while a surface piercing falls just under the compass tattoo that covers his throat. Actually, he has tattoos covering every inch of visible skin from his neck down to his fingers. He’s wearing a tank top with the sides ripped down to the top of his jeans and combat boots.

Okay.

Malcolm is basically the rock-star aesthetic personified.

And I’m still blinking like an idiot.

My hand flies to my chest, pulling up the badge held up by the lanyard around my neck.

“I don’t have to dodge security, because I’m allowed to be back here,” I say, smiling tightly. “But I know it’s close to when you guys are supposed to practice, so I’ll get out of your way.”

“Is the label bringing in a new opening act?” he asks, his head tilting.

“Not that I know of.” I take off toward the stairs and make my way down.

Not all arenas have a practice setup like this one does. Having a smaller space to work on songs is a luxury, but tomorrow will be my last day to practice here before we move on to the next city and venue.

“What was that song you were working on?” Malcolm asks as I make it to the table with all my stuff. “Did the label send you? Are you working with us next?”

I freeze.

Shit.

No one outside of the band knows I write the lyrics for Tangled Desires. As for the music, I give them a basic composition, and they each put their own twist on it, changing it up and adding the little tricks that I can’t, because I don’t play every single instrument.