Page 118 of Silver Sweet

“No, I don’t believe that.” Birdie leans back against the cabinet and weaves his arms over his chest. “Because if he cared about his band, he would have hired me.”

“Yeah…about that…” I scrub at my eyes.

He frowns. “Please tell me you’ve slept.”

I nod. “A couple hours.”

He chews on his lip in thought. “That enough?”

“I’m functioning,” I tell him. “Do you want to know why he wouldn’t hire you or not?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“Because he thought you were hot,” I express plainly. “And I’m guessing he anticipated you’d be a distraction in his band.”

Birdie double blinks. “Say that again.”

I roll my eyes. “Repeat it in your head.”

“He wants to have sex with me.”

“I did not say that,” I growl.

“He thinks I’m hot.”

“Hethoughtyou were hot. Three years ago.”

“Excuse me.” Birdie motions down his body. “Not much has changed.”

“You have about ten more tattoos and two piercings in your lip.” The snake bite hoop piercings are a new addition from last week. Seeing as how they’re not discreet enough to be accepted at the orchestra, I took this as a good sign. That maybe he’s letting go of our parents’ expectations and shutting the door on the Symphony.

“Did you ask him if he still wants to fuck me?” Birdie asks.

“Jesus Christ, you’renotfucking him. He’smybandmate.” The thought roils my stomach. I snatch the Pedialyte off the table. “And I haven’t exactly told him I know about this. I found out from his brothers.”

Birdie pushes off the cabinet. “What are you still doing here? You need to go tell him that you know. And that if he had hired me, I wouldneverhave distracted him and jeopardized the band. I wouldn’t have so much as flirted with the guy.”

It’s honestly scary that he’s not wrong. Honestly scarier that I’ve done the exact opposite of Birdie. He’s been determined not to implode his rock band dreams while I can’t seem to get anywhere without putting dynamite in mine.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m leaving my window cracked while I’m gone so that it doesn’t get musty in there. If it rains, can you close it?”

I grimace. “Man, it’s going to smell like burnt pepperoni when you get back.”

“Better than straight armpit.” He hikes the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.

“I’ll see you end of April?”

He shakes his head. “Early April. Label knocked off a month from the tour since we didn’t get the Grammy nom.”

“Shit. Birdie…” I know how much he wanted that nomination for Best Alternative Music Album. Riot Records had anticipated it and gave Nothing Personal an extra two-month tour. It felt like it was a sure thing. Birdie thought it’d help legitimize the band to Papi and our parents, since the sales and millions of streams haven’t swayed them yet.

Birdie shrugs. “It is what it is. I think Steffi’s taking it the hardest. She’s already talking about going full throttle on the third album.” My breathing slows. It’ll be the first album that I don’t help them with—and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. Guilt tries to ascend, but it floats somewhere low. Somewhere beneath what I have with Tom.

“Scally and Neil?” I ask.

“Oh, they not-so-secretly hope The Carraways crash and burn so we can get you back.”