Page 18 of Wild Infatuation (Rebel Rockstars #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Shawn

I ENTER THE AFTERPARTY with Olivia on my arm. A couple cameras flash, but more celebrities than reporters fill the bar the host rented out. Who that host is, I can’t say. This is the party Emmett chose for us, according to the instructions he texted to Dan.

Jacob leads the way inside, his smile lighting up as he takes in the bar with its shelves of high-end liquor and the cozy tables before the window.

Those windows look out over downtown Manhattan, a glittering expanse that makes Seattle look like a town by comparison.

The lights go on and on forever, until they meld with the sky.

The glow drowns out the stars, flattening the world beyond those windows into one uniform sheet of glittering black.

Inside, warm but seductively low light sets the mood.

Music thumps. Beautiful, wealthy, important people drift through the room, smiling and drinking and eating food no larger than the palm of their hand.

There’s even a deck where a few people smoke while hanging over the balcony, and even though I’ve never had a single puff of a cigarette in my life, I suddenly long to take up the habit.

At least it would get me out of this room, and probably keep everyone away for at least a few minutes.

Instead, I stick with my band, letting Olivia cling to my arm.

She’s been wonderful, smiling at the right times, laughing at the right times, even cracking a joke or two during the show to ease my nerves.

I don’t deserve a fake date who’s so patient when I’m being surly and touchy, but no matter how much my mood darkens, it doesn’t put her off.

Even so, the second we arrive at that party, I want to get away from her.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” I say.

She nods and lets me go. I realize on my way to the bar that I should have asked what she wants, and possibly what my band wants. I was so eager to walk away from my own friends that I didn’t even think about it.

I’ll apologize tomorrow. Tonight, I flag down a bartender and ask her for something strong.

She gives me a quick look and doesn’t ask any other questions before grabbing a few bottles.

She keeps snatching more and more alcohol off the shelves, throwing it all together.

Every time I think she’s going to stop, she adds another, then shakes up the terrifying concoction and pours it into a tall, skinny glass.

“Long Island iced tea,” she says.

“Works for me.”

I put a couple bills on the bar, surely way more than a single drink could possibly cost, even in Manhattan.

She swipes them, and I leave with my drink before she can offer me change.

Then I find a wall to lean against. I should go back to my band, but I need a few minutes to myself if I’m going to get through the end of this miserable day.

Despite the intimidating mixture, when I sip on the drink, it tastes almost exclusively like iced tea.

That’s both dangerous and a relief, and I gulp down more as I relax against the wall.

Some of the tension melts out of my back and shoulders as the booze does its job.

I watch the party unfold before me, a cluster of activity revolving around Jacob as always, but other clusters focused on the actors and musicians and fashion designers navigating a complex web of social hierarchy.

Perhaps the sight should leave me in awe.

All of these people have recognizable names, and a year ago I wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near this room, but I can’t seem to muster any enthusiasm for a party of people competing to raise themselves up the pecking order.

At the end of the day, how many of them are exactly like me, regular people who got lucky?

How many of the rest were groomed for this from a young age because they were born into the right family and destined for wealth and status from the start?

Besides, the only person I actually want to see tonight is one ordinary, supposedly unremarkable makeup artist from Seattle.

I want to tell him this isn’t me, that that night in my apartment was more real than any of this.

I want him to know why I’m here with Olivia.

I should have explained it on the night we spent together, but I was afraid.

I didn’t really trust him. If he revealed to other fans that Emmett arranged this whole thing with me and Olivia, the news could tank the music video and cause controversy for the band.

I couldn’t bring myself to put that much trust in Terrance that night, but as I float at the edges of this miserable party, I wish I had.

I shake my head at myself and drink more.

I’m truly being ridiculous if I’m contemplating putting that much trust in a man I just met, a man who happens to be an obsessive fan on top of that.

I made the right call not telling Terrance everything, giving him only the bare minimum, but I still wish there was some way I could signal to him that the night we had together was the real deal.

I’ll figure it out when I get back. I can’t do anything now.

This party is exclusive, but it’s not so exclusive that there aren’t a few cameras around.

The host plucked out their favored paparazzi for this, giving them privileged access in exchange, presumably, for flattering pictures and press coverage.

Besides, I don’t trust any of the people around me.

If I can’t put my faith in Terrance, I definitely can’t put my faith in a bunch of famous people who are all out to further their own careers.

Everyone here except my own band would sell me out in a second if I breathed a word of the truth to them, so I can’t let my guard down until I get the hell out of here.

Baptism Emperor is the new kid in town, and I’m sure any number of these people would try to knock us off our pedestal before we’ve cemented our place.

I straighten when Olivia slinks through the crowd to join me at the wall. She stands beside me, her shoulder against mine and a drink in her hand.

“What’d you get?” she asks.

“Asked the bartender for something strong,” I say. “She made iced tea.”

Olivia laughs and clinks her glass against mine.

I drink with her, relaxing away from my initial tension at the sight of her.

This isn’t her fault, and she’s been perfect all night.

Even now, she talks to me like she did back when we were her little brother’s annoying friends making noise in the garage.

It reminds me that I do know her, that she’s not some stranger or an actress Emmett brought in to put on a performance.

She’s trying to help, and I agreed to this, so she’s the last person I should take my frustration out on.

“This kinda sucks,” I grumble.

She laughs harder. “Yeah, I always imagined these parties would be amazing, but they’re kind of lame. I feel like I’m at a job interview.”

I chuckle despite myself. “Yeah, it is like that.”

“They’re all trying to impress each other. They’re all playing by some weird rules no one will say out loud. I don’t know how people live like this.”

“I guess rich people are used to it.” I shrug, my shoulder rubbing against hers.

We turn toward each other, forming a protective cocoon that shuts out the rest of the room.

It probably looks suitably intimate to anyone who bothers to notice us, which I suppose is a good thing.

Once again, Olivia has fixed this while I’ve been too busy freaking out about what Terrance might see or think.

Not just Terrance, I suppose. My father’s voice is always there as well, lurking in the back of my mind, saying Olivia is what I should want, probably what I do want, if I would only stop pretending.

I wonder what he’ll think of the pictures from this night.

I wonder if he’ll even see them. I’ve been out of contact with my parents for so long that I have no idea if they realize I’m a famous musician, but even if they did, they’d probably only care about the part where I’m supposedly at a fancy event with a beautiful woman.

Olivia sets a gentle hand on my arm, and I don’t think it’s for the cameras. There’s too much genuine concern in her eyes.

“Hey, Shawn, I know this has been a lot, but I haven’t made you uncomfortable tonight, have I?”

“No, of course not,” I say quickly.

“I’m just trying to do what Emmett asked. It’s all for the band, right? I wanted to help. I’m so damn proud of Levi and the rest of you guys, but if I took it too far…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” I say. “I’m just…”

I don’t know how to finish that. She’s been great.

She’s been perfect. If it was any other woman in the world, I don’t think I would have made it through this night.

I could not have picked a more perfect person to have with me for this, yet the whole thing grates at me for reasons that have nothing to do with her.

“It’s hard to pretend all night,” I say, low, quiet, more into my drink than to her.

She doesn’t seem surprised, and that’s worrying.

I should regret the words, regret the confession lurking within them, but as she squeezes my arm, I find that I don’t.

When she opens her arm, I accept the invitation to fall into her embrace.

I squeeze her against me, taking comfort in a friendly hug from someone who I know has been on my side throughout this, regardless of what an ass I’ve been.

Then the camera flashes.

I pull away from Olivia, but she’s still in my arms, my hand at her waist and hers on my shoulder, when the camera goes again. I glare at the photographer, but he grins and stalks off to find his next victim.

“Sorry,” Olivia says, “I didn’t hear him come up.”

“Me neither. It doesn’t matter. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing, right?

” Though I wish it could have been someone else playing this role.

I suppose Levi is out of the question, unless we could find someone other than Olivia to serve as our decoy, but what about Dan?

Why can’t he do this? The only person he ever seems to text is Emmett, so it’s not like he’s got attachments we need to worry about.

I try to shake it off, but the photographer rattles me.

If I had a battery inside me, it would be flashing red warnings.

I’m out of energy for this performance, and I need to get out of here before I screw it up even more.

I can’t stop thinking about what my band thinks, what Olivia thinks, what my dad thinks.

What Terrance thinks. Those two photos will join all the rest, blasting out to the world to fuel the sort of speculation we hope will help the band, but I shudder to imagine what they’ll do to Terrance.

“I think I need to go,” I say to Olivia.

She nods, angel that she is, and escorts me back to my band. I make my excuses, and Olivia offers to join me when I get a car back to the hotel, but all I want is to be alone, so I decline. She leaves me to it, and I speed through the dark, the lights of the city glaring like camera flashes.