Page 15 of Graves

He raises an eyebrow at the mug, then at me.

“What?” I challenge.

“Just saying—I’m not the maid here.”

A sharp pain pulses in my head as I glare at him. “You’re in the way,” I growl, nodding at the dishwasher he’s blocking.

Koh grabs his coffee and steps aside. I put my mug in the machine and pour myself a fresh glass of water. Maybe I’m dehydrated and that’s why my head is killing me.

Before we can trade any more pleasantries, the doorbell rings and Fox walks in. He’s always done that, and it’s fine with me—he’s had a key since I bought the place. Whether Koh likes it or not doesn’t matter to me.

“Hey, you two!” Fox greets us cheerfully. “Looks like you’re already best friends.”

“Not really,” Koh mutters, taking his coffee and disappearing into his room.

I finish the water and deliberately leave the glass in the sink.

“Ready?” my bodyguard asks. He looks sharp in his black suit.

“Yeah.” I grab my leather jacket and follow him out.

“I parked around the corner. Looks like a few vultures camped out front overnight.”

We leave through the back exit and slip through the small gate by Muvi’s restaurant into the courtyard. I quickly duck into the back seat of Fox’s black SUV with the tinted windows.

“Here,” he says, handing me a phone. “I had this lying around at home. It’s prepaid. You can get a real plan later.”

I stare at the iPhone in my hand, wondering what I’m supposed to do with it. I got by just fine without one for five years, and even before that, I turned it off more often than Leslie liked.

The studio building is near Koreatown, only fifteen minutes by car. But I forgot about New York traffic. It ends up taking almost half an hour before we pull into the parking garage and step out of the elevator on the fifteenth floor just before noon. They’re clearly expecting me—the door to Leslie’s office is wide open and familiar voices spill out.

“Knock knock!” Fox says, rapping on the wooden door.

The voices stop. When I step inside, cheers erupt.

“He’s back!” Mike, the guitarist, jumps up and hugs me first.

“Your hair’s so short.” I laugh, catching the good mood in the room.

“Yeah, time to retire the spikes. I’m going for respectable now.”

“Come here, old friend,” Liam says, pushing Mike aside and pulling me in. The blond hasn’t changed a bit—his curls still make women jealous. “I missed you, man.”

“Missed you too,” I reply.

“Aranator!” Sam yells, lifting me off the ground in a bear hug. The bassist is so jacked I barely recognize him. “Welcome back!”

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask, squeezing his bicep.

“Gym, baby! Took third in amateur bodybuilding last year.”

“Wow… You…”

Words fail me as I realize how long five years is. We made enough money that we could all kick back and do nothing, but I know my friends better than that.

“You went pro?” I ask Sam.

“Got certified as a trainer and did a few competitions on the side.”