Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
“No need. I’m not dying.”
“Cobalts never die,” he says dryly. “You think you’re immortal, got it.”
“Don’t think it. Hey, wait…” I grab his elbow and nod toward the front of the venue. Three people stand at the entrance like they’re waiting for the concert. Phoenix follows my gaze with a head tilt.
“They showed up early, right?” I ask him.
Phoenix shakes his head. “It’s three p.m. Doors don’t open for another four hours.”
“No, dude. I think they’re in line. We should say hi.”
He rubs at his neck into a deep grimace. “We should go to soundcheck.”
“Fuck soundcheck, Phoenix,” I tell him. “We don’t even sell well enough to add meet-and-greet tickets. We have this golden opportunity to make our own pseudo meet-and-greet.” I’m already walking backward away from him, arms outstretched. “I’ll go by myself if I have to.”
Phoenix doesn’t hesitate long before following me.
I’m all grins. “Knew you couldn’t resist me. I’m irresistible.”
He’s definitely shooting me a glare underneath his shades. “Keep telling yourself that, nepo baby. Maybe your ego will fill the empty spaces tonight.”
I smile. “You’re saying my confidence is a necessity.”
“Arrogance,” he corrects. “Just don’t get your hopes up. These people might be tech waiting for someone to open the doors for…” His voice trails off because the three fans start jumping up and down in excitement as soon as they notice us.
Phoenix mumbles a “shut the fuck up” before I can say anything.
This is one of the best days of my life.
The Carraways has never had anyone line up this early before a concert. We greet the two girls and one guy, and they introduce themselves as college students at Boise State University.
Phoenix signs their T-shirts with metallic permanent marker.
I pose for a selfie with the guy, and he throws up a rock-on hand gesture. “Are you going to play ‘Hellbent’?” he asks when he lowers his phone. “I love that one, man.”
“Yeah. One hundred percent. We’re playing the full album.” I lean in between the girls, and they take a pic with me and Phoenix together. He manages to do his version of a smile, where the little edges of his lips lift.
“My favorite is ‘Bruit Préféré,’” the shorter girl tells me. She totally butchers the French, and I fucking love it even more that she was willing to try to say it.
My grin hurts my face.
“It means favorite noise, right?” she asks. “What kind of noise were you referring to? Based on the lyrics it feels metaphorical. But maybe there’s a story there?”
I turn to Phoenix with raised brows. “Is there a story there?”
He looks like he could shove me into the small patch of grass next to us. “It’s metaphorical.”
Yeah, it’s not.
His favorite noise is the one I make when I’m underneath him and getting absolutely ravaged by his dick.
It’s such a dirty secret that the song lands way up in my top three. Watching Phoenix try to avoid the truth behind the title is going to be one of my greatest pleasures.
We finish up with photos and a couple more questions, but before we leave, the shorter girl asks, “Are you two…um…dating? Is that okay to ask?”
“We’re not,” Phoenix says so fast.
It’s a knee to the ribs, even if we agreed to not follow our publicist’s suggestion. She wants us to not outright deny and to just stoke the mystery. Keep suspicions alive.
Instead, I’m also announcing, “We’re just friends.”
He side-eyes me really hard. Like he’s saying, We’re just friends who fuck. That’s it, right?
No.
Not even close.
Phoenix faces forward to tell her, “We’re best friends.”
“Love the upgrade, dude.” I pat his shoulder. He’s stiff as a fucking boulder.
“Cool.” The girl nods with more flushed cheeks. I definitely don’t want her to feel embarrassed asking us anything. I want her to come away from tonight with no worries. The best time of her life. Memories that’ll last decades.
So I make sure to meet her eyes before I say, “Those were really great questions.”
She smiles softly. “Thanks.”
“Enjoy the show tonight.” I wave my hand to them as Phoenix and I step away. It hits me that they never asked about the Cobalt Empire. They didn’t want details about Charlie or Jane or the Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt. It was all about the music.
Yeah, okay, there was one question about our personal lives, but can I hardly blame her? She’s probably seen the many recent videos circulating where Phoenix’s hand slides against my bare waist at the very end of our Spokane show.
It was an innocent touch—that, yes, I burned into my memory—but people are freaking out like it’s the most salacious thing in the world.
Phoenix flips his sunglasses to the top of his head, pushing back the longer strands of his hair. “You’re really good at that, by the way. Did you get training as a kid to deal with fans of your family?”