Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,45

open standoff, until he finally sighs. “Ollie, come on, dude. What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hurting, I get it. It fucking sucks being on the sidelines. Believe me, I’ve been there. I totally understand the need for a distraction, to feel relevant and validated again. And Genevieve Fox? Dude, it doesn’t get any more relevant and validated than that. But trust me, that is not what you need right now.”

“That is not what you think it is. She’s not a distraction. She’s amazing, and you all don’t know what the hell I need right now.”

I storm forward, ignoring the pinch in my knee as I stalk toward the basement.

“Oliver…”

I ignore him, reaching for the doorframe to support my descent down the first step.

“Oliver,” Sandy says, firmer. He grabs my arm to pull me around. I narrow my gaze at him, tired of fighting everyone on this. Tired of pain and weakness. Tired of being a fraction of what I should be. Just so damn tired. “Come out with us tonight.”

“What?”

“We have an off-day tomorrow so a few of us are going out with the wives to grab a bite and a drink. Come with us. You need some time with the team.” He looks sincere, like he’s genuinely worried about me. My gaze flickers to Kelsie who looks the same, and my anger starts to lift. I know they care. As annoying as these intrusions are, it’s only because they all want what’s best for me. And truthfully, I miss the guys. I miss feeling like part of something.

“Okay, but I’m not supposed to be on my knee so no dancing, bowling, or other lame-ass activity.”

Sandy laughs and claps my shoulder. “Fair enough. We missed you on this road trip, man. We really missed you.”

“I saw,” I mutter.

Liars.

Not sure what part of “no dancing” was confusing for my teammates, but here we are at a trendy club, enjoying a VIP table and bottle service. Since I don’t drink and can’t dance at the moment, my night with the guys is turning out to be painfully underwhelming. It was great seeing them, and I appreciate their thinly veiled attempts to make me feel included. Thing is, it’s hard to feel better when you see right through the B.S. A half-hour into the night, I’m already alone at the table. The single guys are off on random conquests, while the committed ones are enjoying a sensual night with their significant others. Even Sandy and Kelsie are rocking a rare evening out with no kids. I’m happy for them, I am, but my brain is already consumed by a petite redhead when her song blasts over the sound system. Heavy bass thumps a remix of this already popular club anthem, and I feel downright sick with longing at her silky signature voice. I’m pretty sure Sandy and Kelsie look over the second the song comes on, but I don’t give a shit. I pull out my phone. Open the video app. And record.

After a few seconds, I send it off to Genevieve with a simple “missing you.”

She writes back a second later. Miss you too. Wish I was with you.

Can you be? I respond without thinking. When I do, shit. Of course she can’t. She can’t just show up in a place like this. And what? Sit at a table with her lame date who can’t even dance?

My phone buzzes, and I glance down. Where are you?

Is she serious? My heart rate picks up. The Six Stone Lounge, but I get it’s not easy for you to be seen like this.

Genevieve: I can be seen in The Six Stone Lounge. My publicist would love it actually *winky face*

Her publicist. I pull in a deep breath and stare at my teammates on the dance floor. They’re having fun, why can’t I? Do we have to live our lives for everyone else all the time?

Are you sure? I type out anyway. Her song continues to blast around me, filling my brain and body with surges of electricity. I see her naked beside me. Feel her firm hips in my hands. I’m one hundred percent regretting making the responsible decision to turn down sex in my apartment last night. I’m technically on day three of my recovery. Okay, fine, day two. Two-point-five.

Are YOU sure? She writes back. Things could get ugly if we’re seen together.

Me: I live for ugly.

Be there in an hour.

An hour. Seems like an eternity, but I know from past experience,