Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“I think he sounds like a shithead. A jealous, immature shithead who wanted to make you feel bad,” Bear grumbled.
I snickered. “Hardly. I helped him get seen in the music world. Bodhi always wanted to play drums professionally, and now he does.”
Bear glanced at me. “That’s rare.”
I nodded. “It’s not easy to make a living as a musician.”
“No, I mean it’s rare for you to take credit for helping someone.”
My face heated, but I hoped I could pass it off as exertion from walking uphill. “Bodhi was grateful, and he’s very supportive. When I stopped using Noelle as my publicist, he did the same—”
“Zane, Noelle was incompetent. Any idiot would have left her after learning how she and her PR team almost ‘publicized’ you right into state prison.”
He wasn’t wrong. “Still. Bodhi is good people. I got an email from him this morning, actually. I asked him why he never showed at Shaky Knees, and he said he did—he actually really wanted to talk to me—but security wouldn’t give him access to my dressing room after the show.”
I wrinkled my nose. Bear had locked everything down after hearing about the Stamper, and I didn’t blame him one bit, but I hated that Bodhi might have felt unwanted after making an effort to see me.
“Anyway,” I went on, “he’s playing a few gigs somewhere in Ireland, I think, so he’ll be at the Amsterdam show. He asked if I could arrange another VIP pass for him. Kinda cool that the two of us will both be playing in Europe at the same time, huh?”
“Do you think it’s interesting that he’s picked now to ‘really want to talk to you’?”
“Nope. He does this every few years. It usually coincides with him breaking up with a guy. Bodhi doesn’t do solo very well, in music or in his personal life. He probably just needs a shoulder to cry on.”
“Hmm.”
I’d gotten to know Bear well enough in the past year to recognize when he was holding himself back from stating his opinions.
I’d also gotten to know him well enough to know exactly what those opinions were.
First, Bear thought Bodhi was a hanger-on, like certain members of my family. He thought our friendship was mostly one-sided. He’d almost definitely put Bodhi on a short list of possible stampers and was having him investigated by Violet’s team. I knew Bear was wrong about this part, at least—Bodhi might be a little self-absorbed, but he wasn’t dangerous—but I knew better than to waste my breath explaining. Especially not when Bear’s protectiveness felt so damn nice.
More importantly, though, it was Bear’s opinion that I should cancel the remaining tour dates.
“I know you’re over there perseverating on my insistence to still do these shows,” I began.
“Yale grads sure do like their big words,” he said, not for the first time. I glanced away to keep from staring at the edge of his lip that was turned up from teasing me.
“Articulating your vitriol is superfluous,” I said with a sniff. “You imply I’m loquacious, which is a definitive juxtaposition with your previous implication I’m cautious and perspicacious. And totes adorbs.”
Bear’s brown eyes lightened and crinkled at the corners when he laughed out loud. My heart leapt into my throat at the sight. “I don’t remember saying totes adorbs, and we both know it doesn’t sound like something I’d say at all.”
I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “But I am, though. Right?”
He stopped and turned to face me. All traces of his smile were gone. “People magazine named you the Sexiest Man Alive,” he said, reaching out to untangle the hoodie cords at the front of my throat. “It’s too bad they don’t have a Totes-iest Adorbs-iest contest.” The words sounded comical in his deep and steady voice. His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “You’d nail it every time.”
My breath came in short, insufficient bursts like air dragged through a broken straw. “So… not sexy, then?”
What in the world had gotten into me? My question was inappropriate and provoking. Almost… flirty. What the hell was I thinking?
“No…” he said, and my stomach dropped.
But then he continued softly. “People got it right.” He turned back to the trail to continue walking. “They just failed to add you’re the sweetest, too.”
I stared after him. My stomach was a tumble of rabid snakes, all lifting their heads up to ask what the fuck had just happened.
Had Ryan Galloway—my stoic, professional, grumpy Bear—just called me sexy and sweet?
“You done stretching your legs?” he called back over his shoulder.
“N-no,” I admitted.
“Then quit standing around, and let’s go.”
We spent the rest of the walk in silence as I replayed the exchange in my mind. Was it possible Bear was just trying to be nice because he knew I’d been thrown by the threatening email?
Or was he simply stating a fact that didn’t much matter to him—like “Yeah, Zane’s a nice guy, and I guess I can see why people call him sexy, even though he definitely doesn’t do it for me”—kind of like the way I found Gal Gadot objectively sexy with her deep voice, even though I didn’t want to sleep with her?