Page 68 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
I do a quick scan, looking for anything personal I don't want Bells finding. The photos of my family go in a drawer. My abuela's rosary gets tucked in my jacket pocket. The book I’m reading, clothes for tomorrow, the letters from my sister—the ones where she talks about her kids, about her divorce, about how worried she is that I'm throwing my life away on music—those go in my overnight bag.
Everything else can stay. Band shit, music shit, the organized chaos that makes sense to me.
Phoenix’s door is already open, which is very Phoenix. An invitation. A welcome.
I step inside and immediately regret every life choice that led me here.
Phoenix's room looks like a fucking nest.
That's the only word for it. He's got pillows everywhere. On the bed, piled in corners, stacked against the walls like he's building a fort. Blankets in varying textures draped over furniture. String lights wound around the headboard, casting everything in a warm, soft glow. It's cozy as fuck, which somehow makes it worse.
"Welcome to the cuddle zone," Phoenix says from where he's already stretched out on the bed, arms spread wide like he's trying to demonstrate just how much space there is.
"I hate you," I mutter, setting my bag down.
“No you don't.”
I grab one of the pillows and hurl it at his face. He catches it without looking, grinning like the smug bastard he is.
“I might after tonight,” I say.
"Left side is yours," he says, patting the mattress. "I'll stay over here in my designated cuddle-free zone."
"There better be a designated cuddle-free zone, or I'm knocking on Rex’s door in the middle of the night."
Phoenix laughs his ass off.
But I'm already pulling off my boots, setting them by the door. The bed is comfortable, I'll give Phoenix that. Figures he’d splurge on a premium mattress. The sheets are cool and soft, and when I sink down onto my designated side, I have to suppress a groan.
Phoenix grabs the remote, flipping through streaming options. "Movie?" he asks even though he’s already found one. The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Definitely not something he would pick on his own.
He’s annoyingly considerate.
The opening credits roll, and I settle back against the pillows, trying to find a comfortable position. Phoenix is a respectful three feet away, true to his word about staying in his zone. But the bed dips slightly toward him because he has fifty pounds on me, and I have to actively fight gravity to keep from rolling against him.
My body slowly relaxes despite my best efforts to stay alert. The bed is too comfortable. Phoenix's room is too warm. The day was too long. Somehow, I end up with my arm draped over Phoenix's thick torso, my face pressed against his shoulder.
And I’m too tired to give a shit.
Chapter
Twenty
BELLS
I've been sleeping in Rex's bed for the past three nights, getting my scent all over his black sheets. Hopefully mysuppressedscent. But standing outside his door with my hand raised to knock feels like crossing some invisible line I can't uncross.
Here goes nothing.
I knock. Three short raps that sound too loud in the hallway.
"You know the code, Bells." Rex's voice filters through the door, sounding tired and maybe a little irritated.
"I'm not just going to bust in there while you're home," I say flatly.
He sighs. "Come in."
I punch in the numbers and step inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Rex is sitting on the edge of his bed, mask firmly in place despite being alone. He's playing a soft melody on a solid black acoustic guitar with silver vine patterns creeping up the neck, his fingers moving over the strings with a gentleness that seems at odds with everything else about him.
