Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,30

a fucking rock star.

But I noticed he was quiet a lot too. Very quiet. In a very non-rock star way.

Dec would sit atop an empty desk in the office, starring into space with a notebook on his knee and a pen in hand for hours at a stretch. I’d grab a cup of coffee, play for an hour in the studio then return to the kitchen to drop my mug off, and he’d still be there. I wondered what he was thinking and what he was writing and if he might be up to some kind of silent mischief. But I kept my distance…and tried to tell myself nothing had changed.

I was wrong.

The London was a bougie boutique hotel in West Hollywood with an understated elegant vibe. Something in between the Palm Springs fifties retro and a minimalist contemporary feel. Black walls, brocade furnishings, and modern lighting juxtaposed with crystal chandeliers. It was the perfect backdrop for pretty people who wanted to be seen in the right place with the right crowd.

“Tell me again what the fuck we’re doing here?” Bobby J grumbled.

I chuckled at his put-upon expression as I sidestepped the smarmy twenty-two-year-old boyfriends who’d introduced themselves as “taste-making thought leaders,” whatever the hell that meant…then spent ten minutes boring us to tears about social media algorithms. Ky, Bobby J, Johnny, and I sipped pink cosmos from tiny martini glasses, nodding like zombies until they finally moved on.

“Excellent question,” I huffed, idly scanning the uber-hip crowd for clues ’cause I had no idea what vodka, Instagrammers, and Zero had in common. “Where’s Charlie?”

Ky inclined his head toward the bar. “I see the top of his head from here.”

Johnny nodded. “Why are you hangin’ with us instead of him?”

“Charlie’s working. He doesn’t need his boyfriend to hover over him. He knows I’m watching out for him,” he replied with a sappy smile. “And…I hate this shit.”

“Same.” I tugged at my collar and tossed a longing look at the exit sign over the glass doors.

We’d been tortured for two hours already. Small talk wasn’t my thing, but I’d tried to do my part. I drank vodka instead of beer, engaged in weak-ass conversations about Academy-Award-nominated movies I hadn’t seen, and managed not to growl at the dippy hipster wearing a bowtie and suspenders who argued that the best music these days was computerized. I walked away when he said the drums were passé. It was either that or hurt him, so I figured I’d made the right choice. But I really didn’t see the need in sticking around now.

Zero and Jealousy had taken a ton of photos together and shaken hands with a lot of so-called “important” people. We’d hung out more in the last two weeks than we had since Scratch Records was formed ten months ago. And it wasn’t so bad. Bobby J was a funny goofball, Gill was dopey but sweet, and Dec was…diplomatic, magnetic, and charming as hell. Asshole.

I set my glass on the high table and cast a surreptitious glance toward the bar, where Dec was engaged in an animated conversation with a pretty brunette. The insta-flash of jealousy made no sense. I didn’t get it at all. I wanted nothing to do with the guy.

But I was ultra aware of him tonight.

He’d been chatting with the same woman for at least fifteen minutes. I found myself watching their “get to know you” dance like a creepy voyeur from across the room. Her hand on his forearm, her fingers tracing the rose tattoo on his thumb. He didn’t seem overly interested, but he certainly wasn’t pushing her away.

“Gill left a while ago, and it looks like Dec found himself a date,” Bobby J said, pulling me out of my reverie as he tipped back the last of his drink. “I don’t think there’s any reason to stick around. We’ve talked to everyone we were supposed to. I’m gonna call for a ride.”

“Me too,” Johnny chimed in.

“I’m gonna find Char. I’ll see you guys later.” Ky patted my shoulder and waved before disappearing into the crowd.

I exchanged fist bumps with my friends and took a swig of water just as someone wrapped their tattooed arm around my neck in a playful headlock.

“Tegan! I just met the head of some major dis-bushon firm. I thought it was going pretty well until he asked if Gray and I were interested in a foursome with him and his wife.”

I snorted. “And?”

“Not our thing. I laughed, but Gray wasn’t amused. He’s