with is rich.”
“All I know is he stands to get his hands on a shitload of money the day he turns twenty-five.”
I peek out. “There are a lot of secrets in this band, aren’t there?”
His brows are drawn. “Maybe there are good reasons to keep them that way.” There is an edge to his tone that tells me to stop prodding.
I pick my favorite dress of the four I tried on and take it to the counter. Crew hands over his card before I can give her mine.
“You’re not buying my clothes,” I say.
“I am, and the shoes, too. Every penny you save is a penny you can put toward your new place.”
I roll my eyes, but I concede. He can afford the seventy-five dollars a lot more than I can.
On our way out, a young man approaches us. “You sing for Reckless Alibi, don’t you? I’ve seen you at least a dozen times. You guys rock.”
“Thanks,” we say at the same time.
“Chris Rewey, right?” He looks at me. “And you’re …?”
I open my mouth to tell him when Crew captures my elbow. “Leaving,” he says curtly. “We’re in a hurry.”
“Oh, okay. Bye.”
We reach the car and get in. “Kind of rude, don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t rude.”
“If that’s not you being rude, I hate to think what it looks like. We have to be nice to our fans. We don’t want to get a reputation for being arrogant.”
“We’re not arrogant.”
“But he doesn’t know that. What if he tells all his friends we are, and they stop coming to our gigs? It can snowball easily.”
“If they like our music, they’ll keep coming. He’ll probably tell his friends he met the singers from RA so he can look good.”
“We should be more accommodating.”
“Accommodating?” he says with disgust. “You want men following you? Touching you?”
He’s jealous again. Jealous of someone I don’t know. “Of course not. Just be nice. Do you think you can manage that?”
He blows out a breath in frustration. “Whatever.”
“So what are we doing the rest of the afternoon?” I ask. “Can we hang out at your place?”
“You want to go to my apartment?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because it’s … dirty.”
I chuckle. “You should have seen Brett’s first apartment. I think I can handle it.”
He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “Okay.”
He gives me directions. It takes longer to get there than I thought it would. We pass the You Are Now Leaving Stamford sign.
“It’s these apartments,” he says. “Turn in up here.”
I try not to let my jaw drop. This complex must be fifty years old, maybe older. Paint is peeling off the siding. Dirt, not grass, lines the property. Cars as old as Crew’s fill the parking spaces.
“You were expecting the Ritz?”
“No, but—”
“I never said I was rich, Bria.” He points to a building. “That’s mine. Park over there.”
“I assumed—”
“You and everyone else.”
“But how can you be so against my place when you live here?”
“It’s different. You’re in the city, and you’re a—”
“Girl? It’s different because I’m a girl?”
“Yes.”
I snort my displeasure.
“Bria, I don’t make up the rules. The fact is it is different for girls. I’m not being sexist. Guys can protect themselves better than girls. We aren’t as vulnerable. We don’t get stalked.”
“Stalked? That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not.”
“We’re not famous yet. Maybe then I could see it.”
“You think you have to be famous to get stalked?” He opens his door. “Forget it. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
“You forget I have a brother. I’ve seen it all.”
He shakes his head. “Wait five minutes and then come up.”
“Fine. Jeez, go hide your porn.”
He runs up the stairs two at a time and enters the first apartment on the right. Considering where he lives, I feel guilty letting him pay for my dress.
After five minutes, I get my things out of the backseat and go up. He left the door cracked for me. When I step inside, I see a mess on his couch. He darts across the room to pick up the dirty clothes and throw them into a closet.
“It’s not so bad.” A few old guitars hang on his walls. A keyboard and synthesizer are in one corner. There’s also an impressive collection of albums that would rival mine.
“It’s not as nice as your place,” he says.
“But it’s a lot bigger.”
He picks up one of his guitars, nervously strumming as I check out his separate kitchen and peek into his bedroom. He’s playing one of our songs. I stop snooping and watch him play.
“You’re as good as Liam, you know.”
“Don’t