Page 98 of Composed
There is no way I’m about to talk about Hendrix and our past sexual encounters to my oldest friend. It’s nobody’s fucking business. Even if we did sometimesmakeit their business.
“Are we going to get your wife or what?”
“Knew you’d see it my way.” He tosses my keys at me before tugging the door open. “You’re driving.”
I roll my eyes as I follow him to the garage.
He punches a postcode into the Satnav, and sinks into the seat when I pull out of the parking space.
It takes less than fifteen minutes to swing into a spot at the back of a lively nightclub.
I shift into neutral, unlocking the doors.
Saint hops out and tugs a hood over his head before he shoves his hands inside his hoodie pocket.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel as Simple Plan plays through the speakers.
“What are you doing?” he asks me.
“What are you doing? Go get your wife then we can get out of here.”
“I’m gonna need a hand with this one,” he says before rounding the bonnet. He tugs my door open, kills the engine, and pockets my keys. “Let’s go.”
I smack my head against the leather and groan. “You owe me for this.”
“Whatever you say.” Saint taps on his phone screen as I follow behind him.
A black door swings open, a bouncer popping his head out.
Saint nods, passing something to him, before we slip past.
We’re pretty used to this game by now. Sneaking inside places, cash trading hands to keep our anonymity while we do. Most people don’t really care if celebrities are in their midst, but we’ve dealt with some crazies in our decade long stardom.
I jog up the stairs after Saint, and into what I’m guessing is the VIP area. “Fucking hell. Slow down, dude.”
I round the door, only to freeze at the sight of Hendrix.
“Hey, Rock Star.” A wide grin sits on her face, gold glittering in her green irises.
She moves to take a step forward, but slips.
Saint snags her by the waist and hauls her upright.
I don’t move. Not when he perches her against the arm of the couch and pecks her forehead. Nor when she looks as if she’s going to drop to the floor. Not sure I can.
Her skin glistens under the bright, dancing strobes lights, her shoulders swaying in time to the loud pop music playing around us. Though I’m pretty sure it’s more to do with the champagne bottle in her hand, rather than her ability to follow a single beat right now.
“Hey, Rixie.” I look past her shoulder, eyeing Saint who looks pretty pleased with himself as Theo curls herself in his lap.
I turn back to Hendrix, my pulse thumping as I take her in. Leather pants, tiny black top, crisp red lips.
Heat licks at every inch of me. “Thought you were back tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” She forces a laugh. “Drove down today so I could check into my hotel and be at the studio bright and early tomorrow.”
She glances down at her black and silver watch, a grimace twisting her lips.
I follow the movement.
