Page 15 of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
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The three dots appear and disappear several times. A giggle bubbles up when I picture him typing several responses, that grumpy face on display, before deleting one after another until he finally hits Send.
Never mind. I’ll pick you up at 2.
Don’t make me wait.
I’ll be on time.
I promise.
Time for me to claim my coal in the shape of a six-foot-two broody musician.
??????
I’m leaning against the doorway when Evan pulls up in his Jeep. My car has officially been towed and is getting a new tire thanks to Jessie, who stopped by to grab my keys from me this morning and met the tow truck driver. I felt bad at first, thinking she was making a special trip, but she told me she was in town anyway. Without the guilt—and the need to meet a tow truck driver at my car—it left me ample time to get ready for the planning meeting this afternoon.
Ordinarily, my wardrobe consists of ripped jeans and comfy shirts. But not today. No, today I opt for a cropped shirt that reveals a wide strip of skin between it and my fitted leather pants. And my choices pay off. As soon as I open the passenger door, Evan’s entire body freezes. I can’t see his eyes—damn the mirrored aviators—but the tension in his chest and shoulders is hard to ignore.
“Thanks for picking me up.” I rest my hand on his arm briefly. An innocent touch.
With a not-so-innocent intent.
“Like you gave me a choice, princess,” he mutters.
“I asked if you minded.”
“And when I suggested you check with someone else, you threatened to ask Chris.”
“Threat? How is asking our bandmate for a ride threatening?”
“Because you know he told us to get along,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.
“Who else should I have asked? Jesus, untwist your panties.”
“Milo? Finn? We have two other band members.”
“Fine. Next time I’ll ask them.” What a dick. What the hell was I thinking? “In fact, why don’t you let me out? I’ll get myself to the fucking meeting.”
One hand on the door, I’m ready to exit the asshole’s car as quickly as possible.
“I’m taking you, aren’t I?”
“Could you be any more of a douche about it? Don’t do me any favors or anything.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to retort, shakes his head, and closes it again, his teeth clacking with the force. Instead of arguing, he reaches over and practically punches the button to turn on the radio.
Fine. I didn’t want to talk to him anyway.
We don’t say another word to each other the entire way to the studio and all the way to the conference room where Chris, Finn, Milo, and Chloe wait. Chloe is the new publicist Cornerstone brought on about the time I joined the band. She’s relatively young—not quite thirty—and the only time I’ve worked with her was on some introductory publicity welcoming me to the band. She’s deep in conversation with Chris about something while Milo watches her, so obviously crushing, it might be funny.
If I wasn’t so pissed off at the asshole who slumps in the chair next to where Finn is scrolling on his phone.
With a sigh I choose a seat on the other side of Finn, capturing Milo’s attention.
“What’s the matter, Lil?” His attention shifts from Chloe to me.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
