“Thank you for being real.”

When he brings his hand up, he pushes it into my hair and pulls me down to kiss him. “Anytime, baby.”

35

FOSTER

I haven’t been virginal the past five years. I wouldn’t dare insult someone by trying to claim otherwise. Until my sexy witch and her dick spell returned, I fully lived up to the cliché, just far more discreetly than Felix and Dev.

With that in mind, I would never hold Remi’s sex life against her. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t grind at me to have a guy on my tour who’s fucked her.

The woman has me in a chokehold, and I’m becoming a possessive bastard.

Nah, fuck it. I am one.

And since Xander’s part of her crew—she claims he’ll be invaluable—and he is clearly not going anywhere, I cut calling him Wannabe once we’re back on the road and start pretending he’s a puppy capable of wielding a camera.

By the second show, it takes less energy not to glare at him. They swapped out a couch for one that folds out on the other bus for him, and Christian left Remi on ours for the remainder of the tour.

Otherwise everyone falls back into the groove quickly. The only real change is between me and Remi. We’re not dancing around each other anymore. We feel right. No longer misaligned.

Of course it also means she’s openly calling me on my shit.

After I drop my bag in our dressing room at tonight’s venue, another hits the floor not far away. With attitude.

My lips twitch before I rake my gaze up Remi’s tight jeans and top to the set jaw and eyes narrowed at me.

I lift a brow. “You have words to go with the ice?”

“Oh, I have plenty,” she says, each one edged in brat. “It’s you who seems to be lacking them. Specifically recorded ones.”

I lick my lips to hide a smile and avert my gaze, bringing it back with a sigh. “I relent. Let’s do my solo interview after a show this week.”

She blinks like she expected more of a fight, but I have no reason to resist anymore. It wasn’t the questions I’ve been avoiding but sharing the answers with the person asking them. I couldn’t open up to her while simultaneously locking her out.

I want to share it all with her—I always have, if I’m being completely honest, but I can kick off the self-preservation mode. She can have the Adams North origin story.

“What’s the catch?” she asks, still squinting at me.

“No catch. I’ll answer every single question you ask.” I crowd her against the wall and bring my mouth to her ear. “You just have to buy each one with a piece of clothing.”