Devoured

“Nice,” I say. He must hear the bitterness in my voice because he smiles. It’s that lopsided one that always gets to me.

“Not really. But I’m a huge fan of your ass. I could write a song about your ass.”

“You’ve never even seen it.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow and gives me a wicked look. “Feeling is believing.”

I smooth a bunched section of my dress down and ease into one of the plush leather seats. I cross my legs at the ankle. Stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he follows my every movement. Every flinch. Every sigh. He’s still looking at me like he wants to pull my panties off with his teeth when Size Nothing returns with our drinks. She hands me a Diet Coke and I start to accept it, but Lucas shakes his head.

“Ms. Jensen asked for a Coke,” he says.

“But—”

He shakes his head, cutting Size Nothing off. She just stands there obediently, her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for him to speak. To give her an order. “Run to the grocery store if you have to.”

She glares down at me like I’m scum under her 4-inch pumps and then casts a beaming smile at Lucas. “I’ll get it ASAP, Mr. Wolfe.” She leaves, but this time, he’s not staring at her backside.

“Do you always have to be in control?” I hiss.

“That wasn’t controlling, that was—”

“Asserting your dominance?”

“Don’t be a sarcastic little shit, Sienna. You asked for a Coke, she brought you diet.”

“I don’t need you to speak for me.”

“Then learn how to do it for yourself. God, you’ve had no problem telling me to f**k off from the start, but everyone else . . .”

He turns away from me, and I focus on a tiny piece of lint on the hem of my dress. My heart is beating erratically—faster than it was last night. I wait until it slows down and I catch my breath to say, “Because you scare me, Lucas.”

His shoulders shake. He’s laughing at me. “I scare you? Do you realize what you’re doing to me, Sienna? What you did to me two years ago?” When I shake my head slowly because I don’t know how to answer what he’s asked of me, he continues, “Of course you wouldn’t realize how dangerous you are for me.”

I’m lucky his band members begin showing up shortly after he says this, because I’m at a loss for words. I follow him into the studio and he instructs me to wait with the sound engineer and the creator of the documentary that he’s taking part of inside of the control room. Lucas raises his eyebrows like he’s waiting for me to argue with this too, but I don’t.

Where the hell else am I going to go while he makes music?

As Lucas steps through the glass doors leading to the live booth, I hear the drummer, Sinjin, say in a nasty voice, “Snap your fingers and she comes, huh?”

Lucas shoots Sinjin a dark look, jerks his guitar from its stand, and says something icily to the rest of the guys. The engineer flips the sound on in the booth in time for us to catch the tail end of what Lucas is saying.

“ . . . her and I’ll break your f**king fingers.”

It’s obvious the “her” Lucas is talking about is me, and that he’s probably warned his band to stay away from him while they’re here because there’s a ripple of nervous laughter amongst them. I’m half expecting Lucas to drawl in a thick Southern accent, “Sienna is mine!” but he doesn’t.

Apparently, I watch way too much cable TV.

Shrugging the strap of his bass guitar onto his shoulder, Wyatt McRae makes a soft tsking noise. “Not into redheads,” he says, meeting my eyes. He’s grinning like the damn cat that ate the canary and his head is tilted to one side. Suddenly, it feels like the entire band, minus Lucas, as well as the sound guy and the documentary creator are staring at me.

Waiting with baited breath for me to snap under the pressure.

Digging my fingernails into my palms, I decide I should go ahead and nip any snide remarks from the band in the bud right here, and right now. Being around these guys is awkward enough as it is without them making me feel like I’m just one of Lucas’s f**k buddies. “Instead of trying to get a rise out of me, maybe you should focus on the music. After all, Mr. Wolfe’s schedule is very, very busy.”

Lucas smirks, and glances sideways at Wyatt. “Dude, I think Red just told you to f**k off. You heard her, let’s do this.”

The sound engineer asks if they’re ready to begin. Lucas bobs his head, and the cameraman inside the booth with them gives him a thumbs up. Holding my breath, I watch as he becomes the Lucas Wolfe I’d fallen all over myself for two years ago. He winks at me before gazing into the camera and saying, “This is Your Toxic Sequel and you’re getting an exclusive first look at music from our fourth studio album. This is “Handcuffs”.

And this is when I feel my body go numb. Maybe it’s pretentious and silly of me, but I’m about 99% sure this song is about me, specifically the night I almost spent with Lucas. It’s not rude and he’s not saying anything f**ked up, but I feel completely naked right now.

“Did you hear me, Ms. Jensen?” I hear a voice ask. Slowly, I tilt my face up toward it. The documentary maker’s pockmarked face comes into focus. He’s looking at me expectantly. “Would you like to comment on your relationship with Lucas Wolfe?”

“I’m standing in for his assistant while she’s on vacation,” I say.

The man gives me a smile that reminds me of the ones my mother gave me when she was tolerating something I had to say when I was a child. “I’m talking about your romantic relationship.”