Page 4 of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
“Not all of us are speed demons. Is it fun?”
His sneer morphs to confusion. “Is what fun?”
“Paying all that money for speeding tickets.”
He barks out a laugh, appreciation softening the hard angles of his face.
Pissed-off Evan is enough to inspire all sorts of fantasies—hell, he still makes the Top 10 Sexy List for Rock Stars after twenty years. But this Evan? Smiling, laughing Evan?
This one makes my knees weak. It opens the door on all sorts of thoughts I shouldn’t have since he’s an ass 99 percent of the time. I smile, taking a step closer, and his smirk immediately fades into his resting dick face.
With a sigh, I shift back and almost pretend I didn’t move closer. Instead, I reach into the back of my car for the large bag I use as a purse.
“You could house a family of seven in your bag, princess.”
I shrug but otherwise ignore the comment.
“You could probably feed them for ten years with the money you spent on it.” His taunt pulls me up short.
“How do you know how much my bag cost?”
“I don’t. But that shiny little emblem on the front of your brand-new Mercedes tells me you have money, princess. And lots of it. Daddy’s? Seems unlikely that astruggling musiciancould afford it.”
My parents come from money, but I don’t touch it—most of it will sit in a trust until I get married. Instead, my Aunt Sarah set up a different trust for me. One I gained access to when I turned twenty-five. And I used her financial manager after I got access. The hyper blue metallic Mercedes is a reminder that in a world of black and silver, I’m bright blue and proud of it.
“Eat a bag of dicks, Andrews. I don’t answer to anyone, including your self-righteous ass.”
The roar of a motorcycle echoes down the driveway in the silence after my outburst, and I use that as my excuse to slam my car doors and head for Chris’s house, giving the dick in the driveway as much space as I can.
Screw Evan Andrews.
And not in the fun sense of the word either.
CHAPTER 2
EVAN
Lilah Stevens has no idea how badly I want to screw her.
In every position, as many times as possible. All the fucking time.
I wait until she passes me to turn my head. Her hips sway in a siren’s call, and my hands itch to press against her curves and take them for a ride.
But I won’t. I can’t.
First, she reminds me way too much of my ex-girlfriend. The one I found in bed with Milo hours after I broke up with her. Same long blond hair, same wide-set eyes—although Taylor’s were blue instead of hazel. Second, and probably the more important reason, there is a clause in our contract with Cornerstone—band members are forbidden to date one another. No fraternization.
What the hell does that mean? Until recently, Just One Yesterday was comprised of five friends from high school. Why is that clause necessary?
The answer to my question pulls up on his motorcycle and kicks the stand down behind my car.
Milo.
Why have we been explicitly told that all employees at Cornerstone were off-limits?
Milo.
Maybe I should hate him for what happened with Taylor. When I found the two of them in bed together the morning after I broke up with her, the black eye I gave him had felt justified. A part of me still feels like my reaction was okay. But after twenty-two years of friendship, I can’t write him off entirely. Especially after someone at the bar told Chris they were paid to roofie Milo. By Taylor.
