Page 98 of Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

I should have put it up.

Hid it.

I should cut and dye it.

I must delay too long because suddenly I’m barricaded between strong shoulders and Cap’s hands land on mine.

He pulls one behind me, helping me tuck my phone into my back pocket, and laces his fingers through the other.

I turn my head as he lifts our clasped hands to his mouth, running his lips across our knuckles, only to let go.

Royce’s arms are around us both in the next second. “Glad the class is getting along and all, but uh, baby girl’s asleep, the concert starts in an hour, and we’re all still sober. It’s a damn shame, really.”

“Fuck you guys, are you really getting drunk?” Raven asks.

I scoff, rolling my eyes as I walk toward the bedroom door. “Please, like your man would allow himself to be anything but stone-cold sober at a concert with his pregnant wife.”

“She’s gettin’ it.” Maddoc eyes me as he passes us by, waiting for us to follow.

She laughs, shoving me to the side and stepping out before me. “True dat.”

My eyes travel over her as she descends the stairs ahead of me.

About six months pregnant, and you’d never know by staring at the back of her.

She’s trim and hourglass-shaped, still wearing her own low-rise jeans and Timberlands. Her black tank top almost blends with her long, sleek black hair. If it wasn’t for the deep purple tips and streaks it would.

She looks over her shoulder, her gray eyes shining and popping against the heavy liner on her lids. “Seems he’s in a touchy mood tonight, huh, Vee.” She winks.

“Raven.”

She laughs, facing forward again. “My hands are on the railing, Big Man, and you’re right in front of me. I’m good.”

I chuckle and Maddoc groans.

Within an hour we’re walking into the arena.

Of course, they got a suite with private security and table service, and no one asks for proof of ID.

The waitress comes back as quickly as she left, and with a tray full of shit. Royce grabs the hand of a girl right behind her, pulling her inside with us as if he ordered her from the menu, too, but then Mac and Chloe, and a few others I recognize from school enter right behind them.

I glance around at the newcomers, seeing a girl for each guy who’s entered.

Royce catches my eye and he winks. “I got you, VicVee.”

I chuckle, shifting in my seat.

Captain leans against the black box railing, drink hanging from his fingers, eyes on me.

I didn’t get a chance to fully look him over earlier, and I’m glad because this exact position, posture, and lighting and all make for a hell of a fantasy.

His sandy blond hair is perfectly swept, but not in a preppy boy way, more tycoon, dark and dirty business-like.

Black on black, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, tattooed knuckles screaming at me as he lifts the amber liquid to his lips, leaving nothing but ice in the bottom of his glass.

I push to my feet, and his smirk slowly grows, but then the crowd goes wild, the last opening act stepping off the stage, having just announced it’s time to get the party rolling.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before.

My eyes fly around the arena. Thousands upon thousands of people are on their feet, screaming and cheering. The lights go off, and it only gets louder, and then a single light above the stage kicks on, smoke following and there he is.

G-Eazy takes the stage and when he does Raven practically leaps from her seat.

Maddoc rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the grin—anything to make her happy.

“He make you think about that punk bitch, RaeRae?” Royce shouts over the crazy of the crowd’s shouts behind us.

Raven’s head snaps his way. “Bass Bishop was no punk, Ponyboy.” She turns to him, but her eyes soften as she reaches out and Royce tethers his in hers. “He was good to me, but never as good as you.” She winks.

He holds her gaze a long moment, nodding slightly as he lets her go.

Bass is the guy who used to run things at the warehouses, he helped her out, breaking his loyalty to the boys in the process.

It pissed the boys off, but in the end, he saved Raven, and Maddoc was grateful, Royce not so much.

He felt like Bass came in and tried to take a place he hadn’t earned.

The joke is Bishop, with the sleek black hair he had, swept back or messy, leather jacket and torn up jeans, looked like G-Eazy. That mix of hood and rockabilly.

“Love you, RaeRae!” Royce shouts with a grin, and she yells it right back.

Maddoc slides behind her right then, whispering who knows what in her ear, and she giggles, her hand coming up to wrap around his neck, and the two-start grinding to the beat.