I shove it in my back pocket and leave.
Chapter Seven
Devlin
–two weeks later
“Oh my God, was your penis broken?” The redhead who hopped into my bed last night has the most annoying voice ever. And she’s talking in front of my bandmates the morning after our kickass concert in Detroit.
I can feel the guys staring at me. I start to pour myself some coffee from the breakfast that room service delivered just minutes ago. I should’ve told them we’d eat in Max’s suite. Shit.
I grind my teeth. “No.”
“Maybe you were just tired last night—”
“Chill, Brandie. Seriously.”
“It’s Blanche, not Brandie,” she says with a huff.
Blanche, Brandie, who cares? Her parents should’ve named her Blankie. That would describe what’s between her ears.
“But how about this morning?” she continues. “I mean, things were definitely not working.”
Oh, fuck me. I should’ve known she was trouble. A woman whose double-D tits are more functional than her brain is always trouble.
Because that’s the only explanation for her saying what she’s saying in front of the guys.
“It’s because your tits are subpar,” I say sarcastically, too pissed off to care. I don’t have the patience to deal with this before my first cup of coffee. “My dick can’t work with tits it doesn’t like.”
“What!” she screeches in outrage, then puts her hands around the bottom curves of her breasts and pushes them up. Since she isn’t wearing a bra, her nipples stick out through the thin fabric of her tank top. “They’re perfect!”
“Says who? Your plastic surgeon?”
“How dare you! You’re such an asshole!” she screams, then launches herself at me.
Cole and Max immediately jump to their feet and grab her, since they’re closest. Then they drag her out into the hall and shut the door.
They turn back in unison, like members of a boy band who’ve practiced the move thousands of times. They even sport the same smirk, the corners of their mouths tilting upward.
She starts banging on the door and yelling. Fortunately, the room has pretty good soundproofing, and all that comes through is a kind of muffled gargle.
Maybe I should start developing better taste.
“Ignore her,” Cole says. “She’ll get tired and leave.”
“No, she won’t.” Killian sighs and picks a glittery pink purse up off the floor. He opens the door and tosses it out, then slams the door shut before she can stick her foot in it.
“You’re welcome,” he says, raising his index fingers and lifting his arms in a victory pose, like a sprinter coming in first.
“I didn’t even think about the purse,” I mutter as the knocking stops.
“I didn’t know she had one,” Cole says. “I thought she had everything she needed tucked between those breasts.”
Killian rolls his eyes. “Women always come with bags,” he says. “It’s like a law of physics.”
We return to the table and sit down. The guys stare at me, automatically moving food from the plates to their mouths.
“So, uh…” Cole says. “Wow. Things not working as planned this morning?”