“Hell’s hot too. That doesn’t mean you want to hang out there for eternity.”
“Nah. But for an hour or two, why not?” He shot a grin over his shoulder and led the way into the VIP room.
Her smile faded as they stepped into chaos. The loud countdown by the guests indicated it was almost midnight, as did the number of faces turned toward the flat screen TVs tuned to the ball dropping in Times Square.
Almost a new year and she didn’t have anyone to kiss. Yet again.
Nick glanced at her, his expression miles more sympathetic than she would’ve given him credit for. “Your call, Jasmine,” he said quietly enough that only she could hear.
Not a lot had felt like her call lately. She was tired of being tugged along in the wake from Gray’s ship. That didn’t mean she would make another colossal mistake just to avoid her loneliness for a little while longer.
She leaned in just as the countdown hit one. “Happy New Year, Nick,” she murmured, kissing his cheek.
He gripped her shoulders and offered her a cheek kiss as well, then eased back and shook his head. “I hope he realizes one of these days how lucky he is.”
“Not sure about that.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced toward where Deak and Harper were wrapped up in each other, smiling and kissing while he protectively cupped her growing belly. She wasn’t jealous. Nope, not even a little.
Liar. She was so green Oscar the Grouch would think she was a long lost relative.
“Hey. Look at me.” Nick tapped her chin until she did what he asked. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You need to tell Gray once and for all how you feel and force him to make a move.”
She tugged him toward the corner of the room and leaned up on her tiptoes to speak near his ear so he could hear her over the noise. “Are you honestly giving me dating advice?”
“Please. You two are so far past dating it’s insane. Just fuck already or get out of the bedroom.”
It took a minute for his words to sink in. When they did, she let out a startled laugh and gripped his shirt, moving in close to speak once more. “You ready to split this party and head home to practice?”
The grin he flashed her was pure sin. “Can’t imagine a hotter New Year’s Eve.”
“Me either.” She grinned. “I’m totally lying.”
“Me too.” He smacked her ass and dragged her toward the exit. “Now get a move on, Edwards. We have magic to create.”
Things weren’t that bad. She had friends. She was part of a successful band. She could do anything she put her mind to. Which meant Nick was right. She needed to stop pretending she was going to make a move on Gray and actually do it, big-boobed-blondes aside. Whether he said yes or no, at least she wouldn’t be wondering anymore.
Time to let the sticks fall where they may.
* § *
He was having a nightmare. That could be the only explanation for the litany of shit currently infiltrating Gray’s brain via a tinny voice on TV.
“In entertainment news, we have the scoop on up-and-coming hard rock band Oblivion. Word on the street is that a red-hot love triangle is about to split the band apart. The band’s drummer, Jazz, looks like she has all she can handle of Oblivion’s guitarists in this undated pic. Last night’s show at Frenzy provided another opportunity for this scorching triangle to generate some heat, though from these pictures snapped at Sharkey’s Bar, it looks like Oblivion’s two guitarists aren’t as fond of each other as they are of the pint-sized drummer.”
“Pint-sized?” Gray groaned. “Jesus.” He wasn’t even going there with the rest of that crap.
“Well, now, that must be mighty difficult, facing both of your love interests day after day. Wonder how long it will be before Oblivion implodes like so many great bands before them. What do you think, Pete?”
“I think it’s too bad. But she is pretty cute. Guess I can see why those boys are pulling each other’s hair out over her.”
Gray cocked open an eye and ascertained that yes, the voice was coming from the TV. And no, seeing himself punching Nick on a 60-inch widescreen wasn’t any improvement over listening to that ridiculous morning monologue spewed by two geriatric types sipping coffee and beaming greasy smiles.
“Had enough?” Cricket purred next to his ear. “Because I have more.” She dropped a newspaper in his lap, considerately turned to a black-and-white photo of Nick hugging Jazz at Sharkey’s. She was gripping his shirt front and leaning up to talk to him—or kiss him. If that wasn’t bad enough, the smaller inset photo showed Nick’s hand on her ass.