“How’s Erik?” Cary asked with more than casual interest, making me wonder—not for the first time—if he and the band’s bassist had ever hooked up. As far as I knew, Erik was straight, but there had been little signs here and there that made me think he might have experimented a little with my best friend.
“Erik’s dealing with some issues that have come up on the tour,” Brett replied. “And Lance hooked up with a girl he met when we were in New York the last time. You’ll be seeing them all in a few minutes.”
“The life of a rock star,” I teased.
Brett shrugged and smiled.
I looked away, regretting my decision to bring Cary along. Because having him there meant I couldn’t say what I needed to say to Brett—that I was in love with someone else and there was no hope for us.
A relationship with Brett would be entirely different from what I had with Gideon. I’d have had a lot of time on my own while he was on tour. I could do all the things I thought I should do before settling down—living by my own means and spending time unattached with friends and by myself. Kind of the best of both worlds: having a boyfriend but enjoying plenty of individuality.
But although I was worried about jumping from college into a lifetime commitment, I had no doubts that Gideon was the man I wanted. We were just out of sync with our timing—I thought there was no reason to rush, while he thought there was no reason to wait.
“We’re here,” Brett said, looking out the window at the crowd.
Despite the muggy heat of the day, Times Square was packed as usual. The ruby-red glass stairs in Duffy Square were full of people taking pictures of each other, and pedestrian traffic clogged the overflowing sidewalks. Police officers dotted the corners, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. Street performers outshouted each other, and the smells emanating from food carts competed with the much less savory smell of the street itself.
Massive electronic billboards plastered on the sides of buildings fought for attention, including one of Cary with a female model wrapped around him from behind. Cameramen and boom operators loitered around a mobile video screen, which was attached to a traveling platform and positioned in front of the bleacherlike stair seating.
Brett climbed out of the limo first and was immediately bombarded by the excited screams of avid fans—most were female. He flashed that killer smile and waved, then reached in a hand to help me out. My reception was much less warm, especially after Brett put his arm around my waist. Cary’s appearance, however, started a hum of murmurs. When he slipped on a pair of shades, he elicited his own swell of excited yells and catcalls.
I was overwhelmed by the sensory input but quickly focused when I spotted Christopher Vidal Jr. talking with the host of an entertainment gossip show. Gideon’s brother was dressed for business in shirt, tie, and navy slacks. His dark auburn hair caught the eye even in the early evening shade cast by the towering buildings surrounding us. He waved when he caught sight of me, which turned the host’s gaze to me as well. I waved back.
The rest of Six-Ninths stood in front of the bleachers signing autographs, clearly enjoying the attention. I looked at Brett. “Go do your thing.”
“Yeah?” He studied me, trying to make sure I was okay with him abandoning me.
“Yeah.” I waved him off. “This is for you. Enjoy it. I’ll be here when it’s time for the show.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He bounded off. Cary and I walked over to the tent bearing the Vidal Records logo. Protected from the crowds by private security, it was a tiny oasis in the madness of Times Square.
“Well, baby girl, you’ve got your hands full with him. I forgot how it was with you two.”
“Was being the operative word,” I pointed out.
“He’s different from before,” he went on. “More … settled.”
“That’s great for him. Especially with all that’s going on in his life right now.”
He scoped me out. “Aren’t you even the slightest bit interested in seeing if he can still bang you brainless?”
I shot him a look. “Chemistry is chemistry. And I’m sure he’s had plenty of chances to bone up on his already fabulous skills.”
“Bone up, ha! That’s punny.” He waggled his brows at me. “You seem solid.”
“Ah, now that would be an illusion.”
“Well, look who’s here,” he murmured, turning my attention to Gideon, who was approaching with Ireland at his side. “And heading straight toward us. If there’s a brawl over you, I’m watching from the bleachers.”
I shoved at him. “Thanks.”
It amazed me that Gideon could look so cool in his suit when it was still so hot. Ireland looked fantastic in a low-rise flared skirt and tummy-baring fitted tank top.
“Eva!” she shouted, running over and leaving her brother behind. She met me with a hug, then pulled back to check me out. “Awesome! He’s got to be kicking himself.”
I looked around her at Gideon, searching his face for any signs that he was pissed about Brett. Ireland turned and hugged Cary, too, surprising him. In the meantime, Gideon walked straight up to me, grabbed me gently by the upper arms, and kissed both of my cheeks French style.