“The kiss in the hallway. Real or a stunt?”
I tipped back on my heels. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Even when there’s a video?” Came a shout from the back.
“Especially when there’s video,” I replied with a shark smile. I knew how to play the game. They were going to misquote me all over the damn place. Might as well make the quotes interesting.
“So, there’s more video of you and Kennedy McManus?”
“You were caught at Miley’s club.”
I shook my head in exasperation. Tristan had dragged me in there on a dare. I certainly didn’t go in there to grind one out with Miley. Damn Tristan, he was half the reason my face was in the papers. It was usually my fee for a cooking lesson—going out with him to hit a few bars or clubs.
“What happened to Victoria Sheer? Is she back in the picture?”
My gut tightened. I didn’t want to talk about freaking Victoria. Ever. “I have lots of friends. I don’t need anyone to clean up after me, son.”
“So, you are dating the PR Princess?”
“Or are you having a threesome with Jamie DuCaine and Lindsey York?”
No way was I even touching that one. Fucking assholes. If I breathed on a woman, they assumed I had to be banging her.
I spotted Wyatt and Keys on the stairs. Finally. Hudson Wyatt was a helluva lot more interesting than I was. He’d done a charity race last month that still had the papers buzzing. Bats, Owen, and Zach were heading up the rear.
“Victoria Sheer was seen with Reed Mason, your guitarist, last night. Any thoughts?”
My spine snapped straight. The lazy stance I’d perfected was long gone. What the hell? I turned around to face Bats. Instead of the ready smile and fuck off attitude, his face was blank.
My mood darkened.
I’d been trying my damnedest not to let this freaking Rolling Stone magazine thing kill my release day, but this? What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I turned back to the sea of reporters. “Does anyone actually give a shit about the album?”
When no one asked a question, I stood rock still. Alone on the dais, that fucking magazine cover my only ally. Then a cool, soft hand slid into mine.
Kenny.
Her dark eyes fierce, her wine-colored mouth stretched into a perfect smile. It was a little too perfect. Not quite the crooked one that I’d had to fight for. She lifted up on her toes, and dragged me down to meet her lips. The kiss wasn’t as wild as the hallway, nor as hot as backstage, but she didn’t hold back.
Just enough tongue to let the roomful of press know that we’d definitely done it more than once. I breathed in her orange blossom scent and tugged lightly on the ends of her silky curls that had tumbled forward. She stepped away, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she stalked back to the podium. She swiped her thumb along her bottom lip before speaking into her microphone.
“Yes, we’re dating. No, he is not taking part in any threesomes—or moresomes—with anyone. I don’t share. Now if that’s enough of the reality show drama?” She pointed at an African-American girl with caramel hair done up in an impressive twist of braids. She wore a LA Love & Paws shirt in bright orange. Her fingers were nearly bloodless around the neck of a guitar in the same color. “Shannon, can you come up?”
Her dark eyes went wide. “Um, sure.” She came up on the dais. “We were wondering if the band would sign this for the auction this weekend?”
I smiled at the girl. Love & Paws was the one charity that I dropped everything for. I didn’t recognize this volunteer, but there were so many local shelters associated with it that I wasn’t surprised. “Absolutely.”
The rest of the band came up on the dais, settling into our usual seats. Bats stayed on the far end of the table, refusing to meet my gaze.
Kenny steered the conversation to the charity and all the others that the band supported. Slowly the questions skewed to the charities, the album, and a few more still tried to steer the questions back to our love life. At least this time Wyatt was under fire as much as I was.
Being a former racecar driver, often overseas, he dealt with a whole different socialite set. One that included a lot of damn royalty. And not the LA kind.
I tried to concentrate, but the only thing buzzing in my head were her words: I don’t share. Questions still picked at my brain—the Victoria subject, Bats keeping time with my former girl, why no one told me, but I locked them out with thoughts of Kenny naked in my room later. Naked anywhere later.
Finally, Dex came up to relieve Kenny. He spoke about Ripper Records and the showcase that was coming up in three weeks. We had to pose for pictures for the next half hour, and one last fan club photo op.