Mel escapes my death hug and rounds on him, ready to tell him off. “Don’t you go talking to me like I’m some…” Her jaw drops when she sees Trystan. Mel’s caramel eyes widen and don’t blink.
I poke her shoulder. “Mel, this is Trystan. He hates Sean.”
“So do I,” she mutters.
I say, “Yeah, well, then you guys have something in common.”
Trystan smirks, and then clarifies. “Why is she here?”
“Because I told her to come.”
Trystan sighs and looks up at the ceiling before running his hands over his head. “Great. Jon’s going to kill me. No one is supposed to be out here but me and Sidney, and I told his bouncer to go home. I assume Sean’s coming?” Trystan turns his gaze to me and I nod. “Great.” He turns and walks away, flopping back down onto the chair.
Mel is gaping and pointing. “That’s Trystan Scott.”
“I know. Are you all right? What happened?”
She doesn’t look at me. “That’s Trystan Scott. Like, thee Trystan Scott. Here.”
Oh my God. How cute. Mel is star stuck. She stands there like a twelve-year-old, practically giddy. I look her over and don’t see any gaping wounds. There’s no blood, and her brain has obviously left her body. “Listen, tonight kind of sucked. Grab a drink and join us on stage when you get over your whole boy band crush.”
“I’m not a boy band.” Trystan glares at me with his mouth scrunched to the side.
I smirk. “Of course not.”
Trystan’s lips twitch as he tries not to smile, or curse me out—it’s getting hard to tell which one. I walk over to our table and pour another shot for each of us, before walking it over to him. His long legs are sprawled over the arm of the chair like a surly teenager. I hold out the glass.
His dark eyes stare at the drink for a beat too long, but he finally takes it. “Just for the record,” he says, staring at the floor, “I admire you.” His gaze flicks up and he lifts his glass.
What changed? I’m not about to ruin it and ask him. Maybe he has rock star PMS. “Well, coolness.” I smile at him, sincerely this time, and look at my shot glass. “And just for the record, I’m a total fangirl. Your music is awesome, plus you have guts. So, I guess I admire you, too.” I lift my face so he’s looking right at me. “Truce? Or is it too late?” I hold out my hand, hoping he’ll shake it.
That smirk teases his lips into a full grin. “I couldn’t hate the future Mrs. Ferro, not when it’ll piss off Sean to know exactly how much I like you.” He laughs, clinks his glass to mine, and downs his drink. I do the same and head back to the stage.
As I pass Mel, she’s still staring at Trystan, muttering to herself. “Well, don’t just stand there, go say hi.” I smack her back towards him.
Mel walks over to him like he’s made of magic, as if the illusion will disappear if she moves too fast. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. “Oh my God—it’s Trystan Scott.”
CHAPTER 8
Sidney and I are laughing hysterically, dancing on the stage, each of us with a drink in hand, when I feel eyes on us. Mel’s been blabbering at Trystan for the past half an hour, going on and on, rambling and poking him like he’s a mirage. It’s kind of funny. Nothing fazes her, but put a rock star in the room and she’s gone brain dead. Trystan takes it well enough. He just laughs and pats the arm of the chair and tells her to sit.
Then, two things happen at the same time. Mel’s spine straightens—I see her out of the corner of my eye—she’s a curve of shadow. And then, the rigidness turns to mush and she falls. I stop dancing and stare past her—there are also more shadows moving in the back of the room—people that I didn’t see before.
Trystan scoops up Mel and sets her down in his chair. “Avery, your friend didn’t even drink anything.” He looks up at me and then at the back of the room. “Hey, guys.” Even with my hand shading my eyes, I can’t see who’s back there, not past the glare of the spotlight.
“Avery?” a familiar voice asks, walking toward me. “What on earth have you done to Sidney?” Peter Ferro, uh Granz, walks toward me quickly. I lower myself and hang my legs off the side of the stage. The room tips a little bit and I blink hard. Peter seems tense, and in that moment he reminds me of Sean. Damn, it’s late. When is Sean going to get here?
“Nothing,” I reply. “She asked about stripping, so we’ve been dancing.” I grin broadly at him. “Ask her to show you what she can do with the pole.”