eavesdropping. They didn’t say anything, though, as they settled on the couch since absolutely nothing happened. Braxton was sticking to her guns.
Rich and Houston ended up eating the beignets while I spent the day becoming more and more pissed off.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,” Houston said to me as the sun started to set.
Braxton still wasn’t back yet. New Orleans was three feet long and our show tomorrow night was the only thing happening. What the hell could she be doing? Even though she had security, I didn’t like that she was alone. Someone was bound to recognize her.
“Don’t tell me how to deal with a decision that didn’t include me,” I snapped at my best friend. “This is your fucking fault.”
“When she wanted in, we didn’t give her that,” he shot back. “The least we could do now that she wants distance is to respect her wishes, Lo.”
“Nah.” I was slumped on the couch with my arms folded, head back, and staring at the bus ceiling.
“So what do you suggest we do?” Houston inquired. I was about to tell him he could go eat a dick when I realized that was curiosity in his tone and not him trying to make a point.
“We change her mind.”
“How?”
I don’t. Fucking. Know.
“We wear her down,” Rich piped in.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious. What do you think the beignets were for?” Without lifting my head, I cut my gaze toward Rich, who had his face screwed up in disgust.
“So you think her pride and self-worth can be bought with a three-dollar pastry?”
No.
God, I hated when he was right. It would be convenient as fuck for me if it could, but then, would I want her so desperately?
Nope.
Fuck no.
“If you have a plan, I’m waiting to hear it,” was all I said in return.
“We wear her down by giving her what she wants. That means leaving her alone, Lo.”
Feigning excitement, I quickly sat up. “Oh, I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down. Your genius plan is to act fifteen and ignore a girl in the hope that she notices us.”
“It will piss her off,” Rich said like that explained anything.
“Exactly why it’s dumb as fuck.”
“Loren,” Rich said while pinching the bridge of his nose. “When have you known Braxton not to react when she’s pissed the hell off?”
I paused to consider his words.
“So reverse psychology…that’s your play?” Houston asked skeptically. He shook his head. “It’s not like you.”
“Braxton has been forcing us to play by different rules since the day she walked into that conference room. I’ve never wanted anything this bad before, so the gloves never had to come off.”
“Not even your wife?” I taunted him. “That’s cold.”
“Shut the fuck up, Lo. You know she’s as much my wife as she is yours.”
“That would be incorrect. I didn’t give her my last name. You did.”
“No, you’re just the reason she’s gone.”
Staring at Jericho, I silently prayed that he wasn’t still pining for that bitch. “I’d do it again,” I told him.
Just so we’re all clear.
Shaking his head, Rich refused to look at me when he changed the subject back to Braxton. I didn’t give a fuck about Emily. “Are we doing this or not?” he questioned angrily.
I hated myself for looking to Houston first. We all knew this wasn’t happening without him on board. He sat on the arm of the sectional, forearms braced on his thighs, and staring at the floor for too goddamn long. “I’m in,” he finally said with a slow nod.
“Sweet. Me too.” I snatched up my phone when Instagram notified me that someone I followed had posted. There was only one person I cared enough to use the setting. Tapping on the notification, it took me to Braxton’s profile and the new photo she’d posted ten minutes ago.
It was a goddamn selfie of her eating a beignet.
Unable to help myself, I left a comment.
[thebassistLo]: petty
There were already hundreds flooding her comment section since her follower count had reached over three million. Before coming out as our new guitarist, she’d garnered thirty thousand on her own. Not bad for someone who hadn’t wanted to be found.
Oni made sure to let us know how hard she worked to sell Braxton so that we didn’t fuck it up.
I snorted.
It’s like she didn’t know us.
After scrolling through some of the comments, I refreshed Braxton’s page to see if she’d replied.
She didn’t.
Instagram told me her account was not found, which meant I was blocked again.