Fox’s eyes looked black in the light as he held Noah’s gaze. “Bullshit.”
“Fuck you.”
“Now that we’re past that, we’re going to talk.”
Snorting, Noah swiveled on his heel and went to walk inside. Fox blocked him. Noah shoved at his shoulder, Fox shoved back, and then they were throwing punches, Fox’s mug falling unheeded to the rucked up dirt and dying plants. If it had been Abe, Noah would’ve been in trouble—the keyboard player was big enough that his size was a distinct advantage in a fight.
Fox and Noah, however, were evenly matched. He landed a punch for every one of Fox’s. His fist smashed into Fox’s cheek, the other man’s slammed into his jaw, making his teeth crash down on the side of his tongue and the hot taste of blood fill his mouth. He retaliated with a punch to Fox’s ribs that made the lead singer double over.
Reacting to the hit, Fox headbutted him in the gut, taking him to the dirt.
And Noah stopped thinking.
Wiping the blood off his face with a towel some time later, Noah looked in the mirror. “You fucked up my face, man.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Fox snarled from the kitchen area.
When Noah walked in, the other man threw him a bag of frozen peas that had probably been around since the Ice Age. Noah didn’t even know who had put it in his freezer. Fox was holding another bag of some frozen thing against his eye.
Noah chose to use the peas against his jaw. Unlike Fox, he didn’t have a black eye. He had a jaw that felt as if it had come to within a hairsbreadth of being broken, a cut above his left eye, and another one on his cheek. His mouth wasn’t in the best condition either.
“You look like shit,” he said to Fox.
“Thanks, princess. You look great.” His hair damp from the water he’d thrown on his face at the sink, the lead singer pointed at Noah. “You’re calling Thea.”
“Not happening. Let the tabloids make up some bullshit story about how the band is splitting up.” The fact they’d been in a fight would be pretty damn obvious as soon as the two of them were caught on camera. “She’s probably asleep anyway.”
“Thea doesn’t sleep, and you’re a chickenshit.”
Noah didn’t deny it—Thea was goddamn scary when she got mad. “I don’t see you calling her.”
“Bastard.” Stabbing in their publicist’s name on his phone, Fox put it on speaker. “Noah and I punched each other,” he said when she answered. “Our faces look like crap.”
“Of course you did, and of course they do,” she muttered. “It’s not like I enjoy having a peaceful life.” A small pause and rustling noises followed by a masculine murmur in the background.
“David says he’s going to punch you both in the morning.” Thea actually sounded like she was smiling. “I’ll make a preemptive strike, say you fought after a few too many drinks, then kissed and made up. Long as they have a reason and you don’t give them a juicier option, we can ride it out.”
She made a small hmming sound. “It’s not like they can sell the line that you were fighting over Kit—not when Fox is so openly crazy for Molly.” Thea’s voice softened on the last part. “And rock stars are expected to behave badly once in a while, so this is actually good for your image. Leave it to me.”
After hanging up, Fox went straight back to the conversation that had led to the fight. “You screwed up. Why?”
“It’s what I do.” Noah put down the bag of frozen peas, felt his jaw. In one piece at least.
“How long have we been friends?” Fox’s tone was dead serious. “Over twenty years. You don’t get to bullshit your way through this.”
“What, you want to have a heart-to-heart? Shall we paint our nails together while we’re at it?”
“You love her,” Fox said, stealing all the air in Noah’s lungs. “You’ve loved her for so long, and now you’re just going to give up? That isn’t the boy I knew.”
Noah sucked in a breath at Fox’s oblique reference to their childhood. “Don’t go there,” he said quietly. “Never go there.”
“Is keeping your secret worth giving up Kit?”
“Yes,” he said on a wave of gut-twisting pain. “I’ll lose her anyway if I tell her.” It was torn out of him, the serrated edge in every word ripping him bloody. “I can’t stand how she’ll look at me.” How his father had looked at him.
His mother had stopped looking at him altogether.
“You don’t know that.” Fox threw down the bag he’d been holding against his eye. “She loves you too.”
“So much she threw me out.” That hurt, that she’d thrown him out the first time he’d fucked up… except it wasn’t the first time, was it? He’d more than fucked up the night in the hotel suite when he’d orchestrated that ugly little play that had devastated her.
He could still see the stark, shocked pain in her eyes, still hear the dull sound of her heels on the carpet as she ran out of the room.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he collapsed into a chair. “I was so angry at her,” he whispered through a throat gone raw. “For expecting me to be normal.”
“You sure she’s the one expecting anything?” asked the man who’d known him since he was a boy who just wanted to be like everyone else. “Or is it you?”
Chapter 31
When her phone beeped, Kit gratefully abandoned the script she’d been trying to read since throwing Noah out. It was a message from Becca: Hey, I know it’s late, but I’m out with some girlfriends not far from your place. Want to join us?
Kit didn’t usually go out so late, but that was because she’d been on back-to-back early-morning shooting schedules. She had no reason to be up early tomorrow. And what else was she going to do but stomp angrily around the house?
Sounds fun, she messaged. Where exactly are you?
Becca texted back the name of an upscale bar located a short fifteen-minute drive from Kit’s place. After stripping off her clothes, Kit slipped into a short and shimmery dress in beaten gold, let down her hair, and slid her feet into sky-high heels. Five minutes in front of the mirror and her face was done.
Becca would probably play with it in the bar’s bathroom anyway. The makeup artist couldn’t help herself—she constantly tweaked all her friends’ looks, but since she was so damn good at it, no one minded.
Turning, Kit checked the back of the dress in the mirror—there wasn’t much, the two sides held together by chains of tiny pearls that just asked for a man to break them. Below that, the fabric hugged her hips without being so tight as to look ridiculous. Sweeping her hair down her back again, she made sure the front was sitting well. The shoulders merged into a kind of a cowl-neck that softened the otherwise clean lines of the dress.
It didn’t need jewelry.
Since Casey was back from his delayed break, she asked him to drive her while Butch sat in the passenger seat. Another two guards remained behind to watch the house. Thank God she could now actually afford them—but much as she liked all the men, she wished she didn’t need the entourage of security.
Damn her stalker.
“Thanks, guys,” she said as Casey opened her door in front of the bar. “I’ll be fine inside. It’s pretty busy.”
Neither guard looked happy, but they nodded. The three of them had long ago come to an understanding that while she’d take their advice, she’d call the final shots. Right now, she just wanted to hang out with women who weren’t close enough friends to pick up on her mood. Becca usually would of course, but if she’d been at the bar for a while, she was probably happily buzzed by now.
Walking in, she immediately found Becca’s group. A pretty, bubbly foursome, they were ensconced in a relaxed seating area around which circled several hopeful men. At least one had made some headway, was whispering sweet nothings into the ear of a blonde Kit couldn’t recall meeting before. Becca, meanwhile—dressed in a short black dress paired with black boots striped in blue—was firmly rebuffing all advances.