Play Mine (Brooklyn Dawn #3) - Cari Quinn Page 0,5
swung back and forth between a void or hammering anger. No real in between lately.
Hell, my runs were up to nearly ten miles now just to get my head straight. Even if I was ready to expire by the end of them most days because of the heat.
And that would be why I was going out at freaking five in the fucking morning.
A flash of red hair had me yanking one of my headphones out of my ear.
“Look, if you could just call up there, I’m sure he’d take the phone call.”
“Ma’am, if you know him then you can call him yourself.”
“He’s not answering.” The voice was husky and full of nerves. A voice that was half the reason I was running my ass off every day.
“Shit.” I glanced at my watch. I’d put myself on do not disturb. I didn’t need another email or text or call about all the rules and regulations we had to deal with. I’d gotten out of the goddamn army because I couldn’t stand being told what to do and where to be. Among other things. And now I was being almost as regimented in the band.
“Teagan?”
She whirled away from the desk, her hands fisted around…my drumsticks? What the hell? Her huge bluebell eyes seemed even larger than normal and glassy.
I plucked out the other headphone and shoved them into my pocket. “Is everything okay?”
“Mr. Dallas, I can—”
I held up my hand. “It’s fine, Terry. You can add her to the list for any future visits.”
“Right. Yes, sir.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. No matter how hard I tried to get the security dudes to chill out about calling me sir, they wouldn’t be swayed. Too many millionaires under one roof and most of them were dicks.
But I loved the view and the security. The Edgemont was no joke when it came to fending off the fans who figured out where I lived. More than one—more than ten, actually—had tried to get past the front desk with flirting and bribery of every flavor.
Terry and his crew couldn’t be swayed. So, I put up with the sirs and the sticks up their asses.
Speaking of sticks, I gently wrapped my fingers around Teagan’s and pried one of my drumsticks out of her hand. “What happened?”
“I—” She looked down at her white-knuckle grip as if she’d just realized she was still holding them. “I’m not sure.”
I raised my hand to cup her face. When she blinked up at me, I dropped my hand. Dammit, touching her wasn’t allowed. I was pretty sure if I started, I wouldn’t stop.
I drew her out of the main part of the lobby. “Do you want to come upstairs?”
She looked back down at our hands and finally released the drumstick. “I don’t know. I need to call Lila. To explain. I didn’t mean to break the window.”
“Babe, what window?”
She tilted her head. “The window on the door. I couldn’t get out.”
I was pretty sure she was in shock. “Okay, let’s back up here. Where were you?”
Some of the glassy blankness seemed to shake loose. She frowned. “I made a mistake.”
Her voice was so small. “It’s okay. We can fix it.”
Her bluebell eyes filled. “I don’t know if we can. I just wanted to get some of the music out of my head for a little bit, you know?”
It seemed easier to agree for now. “Sure. I get it.”
I really didn’t. My music obsession was more input-based. I’d always been a collaborative type. From the army to my much better fit with the band, I’d been the guy who needed interaction—for work.
Then I needed to go off alone because there was far too much noise with so many people. It was a precarious balance and all of it was fucked for me right now.
Mainly because of the woman standing before me. All I wanted to do was fix anything she asked me to.
I peeled her fingers back from the other stick she was holding. Her neon pink nails were chipped and a hairline scrape made an angry trail up the back of her hand to her forearm.
I shoved my sticks in the back of my running pants. There was no doubt they were my walnut sticks. I had them specially made because it was one of the few woods I didn’t snap with the force of my drumming.
I brushed my thumb over the scratches. “Let’s go up—”
Her phone started vibrating and blaring out a trumpeting ringtone.