Page 90 of Unleashed By Eden

Megan watches me over the rim of her glass. “What’s going on with you?”

I snort. “Nothing. Just living my best nightmare.”

She sniggers, followed by a sigh. “With only three cities left, I thought I’d have hooked up with Carter by now.”

I choke out a sound.

Pouring myself a triple this time, I toss it back, gulping it down in three big mouthfuls.

She doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t. If she knew, she wouldn’t be saying this to my face or confiding in me. Would she?

She looks over my shoulder and I follow her gaze. Cindy’s thrown her head back, laughing too loud at something Carter’s said, her hand on his chest, eyes doing all the work.

I guarantee that whatever he said wasn’t that fucking funny.

“Looks like she’s gotten her claws into him for the night.”

I clench my teeth hard, half expecting a molar to crack. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“He shot me down after the first interview, you know?” Megan continues, a little bitter.

I turn back to her, one eyebrow lifted.

“I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but I kept thinking that maybe toward the end of the tour, he’d warm to me. But honestly, he just tolerates my presence. He’s not interested.”

“What about Kai, or Theo, or Xander? There’s plenty of band cock to go around.”

“No, I’m no groupie. It’s Carter for me or no one at all.”

Ugh . . . feels.

I grab the bottle and pour us another round.

Megan tips her glass toward the other side of the room. “Mika and Dave never seem to strike out.”

I glance over. One girl is wedged between them, hands everywhere.

“They’re like heat-seeking missiles,” I joke.

“Good for them.” Megan finishes her drink and sets the glass down. “I’m going to crash early. I want my brain intact tomorrow.” She pauses, studying me. “You sure you’re okay? You seem off.”

Megan doesn’t need to know I’m about to claw Cindy’s eyes out of her head. I don’t want to be fired over Cindy Winters of all fucking people. She’s not ruining this gig for me.

“Nah. I’m good. Just tired.”

“Okay, night. See you tomorrow.”

I nod in farewell and finish my drink.

This is the most I’ve ever drunk on tour. The room softens at the edges, everything going slightly hazy. The sharpest points of my rage seems to dull.

I set my glass down and walk straight toward Liam, Carter, and Cindy.

“What’s up, party peoplllle,” I announce, and immediately want to bite my own tongue off. No idea why a nineties catchphrase just possessed me, but here we are.

Carter twists his mouth to hide a grin. Liam’s crease between his eyes deepens, assessing me in the way he did when we were teenagers—deciding whether I’m about to vomit or start a fight.

Cindy just stares at me, confused by my existence.