Page 24 of The Only Thing That's Real

“Wow, you got somewhere else to be?”

“Sorry, but I’m working, Rob.”

Why did I say sorry to him? I’m not sorry, because Iamworking.

We’re at one of the big late-night shows and I’m in the hallway across from the greenroom where everyone is waiting to be called to set. Why did I think it was Knox calling when I was sitting in the same room as him? No freaking clue. My mind has been a mess since we sat down the other day.

The door opens and one of the show’s producers leads the band down the hall. This is a quick trip to New York. After the band makes its appearance on the show, we’ll have dinner at Nobu and then get on the plane and fly back to Philly for the next tour stop. Knox steps out of the greenroom, sending my heart racing. My blood pumping so loudly in my ears I don’t hear a word Rob says. Golden eyes find mine for the briefest of moments before he turns to follow the crew.

“So, Knox still the same prick he’s always been?”

This gets my attention. For some reason, my hackles rise with the need to defend a man who doesn’t even like me. “Excuse me?”

Keeping my distance, I follow the band, watching them settle backstage where the same producer fills them inon what to expect, but Knox isn’t listening, his attention is on his phone.

“He’s a prick. Always has been.”

“What makes you say that?” I was ready to end the call, but dammit, I want to know what he has to say. I want to know everything there is to know about Knox.

And doesn’t that just suck?

“Just some business bullshit in the past. The man has to make everything so damn hard.”

My phone vibrates in my hand with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number

U asked me to share more about my friendship with the guys in the band.

I don’t mean to gasp out loud, but when I do, I know I’m being watched. Slowly, I pry my eyes from my phone to find Knox McKinnon observing me, like I have many times before. As always, his face gives away nothing. But my traitorous heart still skips a beat.

“Everything okay?” Rob asks.

“What? Yes. Everything’s fine. Listen?—”

I nod at the brooding rock star waiting in the wings of the talk show stage. At my signal, he turns his attention back to his phone, his thumbs flying as three little bubbles float on my phone screen, sending my nervous system into a tizzy as I wait for his next text.

“Are you even listening to me?”

My phone vibrates again, and the next message from Knox is a long one.

“Rob, I really have to go.”

“Whatever, me too. We’ll talk again before New York.”

“Wait, what?”

“I saw the band is doing a string of shows at The Garden. I figured I’d come see you when you get back to town.”

“I’m really not interested in….”

The line goes dead. I make a mental note to text him later to make sure he heard me. But right now, I have an unhealthy need to read Knox’s text.

Knox

In high school we were each other’s support system. Matt and I had plenty of support at home, but I did his math homework and he wrote my English papers. The man truly has a way with words. He doesn’t just write great songs; he wooed the love of his life with those pretty words of his. I’m sure Kristen would be happy to tell you all about it.

Whoa. What is happening right now?

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