A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) (8 page)

“Hey!” Max spoke up, while gesturing to his not-wormy physique. Jewels glared at him, so he thought it best to let her slide.

Will moaned as he staggered into the house with Jewels following him. “Let’s get you some antacids,” she offered along with a pat on the back.

“Thanks for the invite,” Mave snapped.

“Figured you were busy eating salad.” Max gave Mave a wry smile, causing his brother to reciprocate it with a punch in the arm.

“Not cool,” Mave muttered, heading inside as well.

“How many dogs did Will eat?” Dillon asked, his feet kicked up on the deck table with his hands laced behind his head. Always laidback.

“I think he managed about nine.”

“And you?” Logan asked, mimicking Dillon’s pose on the other side of the table. His aviators concealing the amusement twinkling in his golden eyes.

“Thirteen, but then I grabbed a few more for the drive home.” Max shrugged before heading in to shower, leaving the guys chuckling.

FIVE

“Mess Around”

-Cage the Elephant

“What If I”

-Meghan Trainor

Tate pushed through the guarded door of the green room that was actually grey. He found the band hanging out as they always did before a concert. Three black leather couches and a few plush chairs were occupied by the guys as well as Blake and Ben. Both Mave and Will were using a set of barstools as makeshift drums while the others watched on. The family had already been escorted to the VIP section up front of the arena to catch the opening show, so now was the bands calm before the show.

Well, that was the plan…

“Interview time. Max, you may want to put a shirt on,” Tate said, eyeing the half-dressed guitarist, also noticing no shoes were on his feet.

Max looked up from the guitar he was lazily strumming. “Why’s that?”

“This is a live interview for
Entertainment Now
, and they want to feature you.” Tate picked up the shirt resting on the arm of Max’s chair and signaled for him to put it on.

“Why’s that?” Max repeated, not making a move for the shirt.

“You just stole the show at the music festival with that mind-blowing performance.
Why
else?” Tate rolled his eyes, his annoyance prevalent with the wickedly talented guitarist still not comprehending it. The entire band, for that matter, didn’t get the ramifications of their talent. Not even multi-platinum records, #1 hit songs, and a treasure trove of awards seemed to make it clear about the level of fame they had earned over the years.

“Get the shirt on,” Ben spoke up as he tossed Max his abandoned pair of Converses.

“Yes, sir,” Max mocked as he pulled on the black V-neck shirt and shoved his feet into the shoes. He reached behind him to retrieve the black fedora from the floor and shoved it low on his head using it as a shield for his eyes and the bad case of bedhead he was sporting. His palm tested the side of his jaw, thankful some scruff remained even though Jewels and Izzy held him down earlier so the stylist could give it a good trimming.

“The reporter has been warned not to go near personal,” Tate said with a reassuring nod as he moved back to the door.

“Yeah, but since when do they ever listen,” Max grumbled, slumping down even further, wishing the suede chair would swallow him on the spot.

“Who’s the reporter?” Dillon asked, his brow pinched with concern.

“Vee Declan,” Tate answered hesitantly.

Groans and grunts moved through the group.

“You guys don’t have to stay,” Ben spoke up while glancing over the schedule attached to his clipboard.

“Yes, we do,” Dillon answered for them all. No one made a move to leave, all nodding their heads in agreement.

After Will recovered from the hot dog binge from earlier, he pulled the group downstairs where they had an impromptu meeting with Max. One thing the band had made clear from the get-go is that they couldn’t keep secrets from one another. It was the only way to truly have their mate’s back, so Max knew as soon as they crowded around him that Will spilled the beans on the break-up. He wasn’t upset about it, because Will was only doing what was deeply ingrained in him to do. Max asked that they just let him be about it for the time being, and Dillon said he knew where they were when he needed them.

So they were right where he needed them when the audacious host pranced her unwelcomed self through the door. Red hair with signature hot-pink streaks and a skintight teal dress reminded Max of an anorexic clubbing Barbie. She set her overly done eyes straight on him and sashayed in his direction as the small camera crew began setting up in front of the chair that refused to swallow him.

“Just the man I need to see,” Vee flirted, voice pitching a bit too high from her fake enthusiasm.

As she drew near, Max heard Mave humming the song, “Mess Around” by Cage the Elephant while tapping a drumstick against the armrest of his chair. The suitable lyrics began playing through his mind.

Oh no… She’ll drive ya crazy… No, she don’t mess around. She comin’ for ya. Gonna break ya. Ah, oh no.

After shooting Mave a look that said,
you got that right
, he reluctantly stood and shrugged on his best Maxim King impersonation. “Hey, sweet thang.”

The flirty host went in for a hug, but Max managed to dodge most of it with only a side-hug before launching himself back into his chair. He quickly pulled the guitar back on his lap as a buffer against any more of her unexpected advances.

“Vee, just want to remind you of what we’ve already discussed,” Tate said firmly.

She turned and barely refrained a glare. “Of course, hon. Max knows I’m his good friend.” She redirected her focus on the man in question and gave him an exaggerated wink.

“Good. Let’s get going. The guys only have a few minutes to spare.”

“Just waiting for the cue from my producer.”

Vee made a speedy trip around the room to flirt with each band member and offer unreciprocated hugs. Once done with the greetings, she took the seat a crew member had set up in front of Max and began reapplying bright-pink gloss to her already lacquered lips.

Vee was one of those Hollywood vixens the guys had deemed full of venom and did their darnedest to steer clear of her malice line of vision. If Max were in a better place in his life, he had no doubts the guys would have bailed as soon as the trifling woman’s name had been mentioned.

“Thirty seconds,” the producer warned, so everyone settled down and made a good show of looking distracted by their phone screens. He held his hand up and then pointed in Vee’s direction.

“Hey, hey, my entertainment peeps. Have I got a delicious treat for you today!” Her voice reached that exaggerated pitch again, but settled down a bit when she launched into a rapid-fire pace of questions.

Max let out the breath he was holding when she raved about his performance at the awards show and then asking about the band’s latest music video.

“Oh, I’m stoked about that one. It’s filmed on the lake back home.” Max’s smile was finally genuine.

“Ah yeah. The trailer park where you guys grew up. That’s awesome letting us have a look into your underprivileged past.”

With another reporter, one that didn’t make their living gossiping, Max would have no worries talking about that part of him, but with Vee, he knew it was time to shut it down.

He opened his mouth, but she plowed on with another question.

“Tell me something I don’t already know about the dynamics of this rags-to-riches band.” She leaned forward, allowing too much cleavage on display.

Max knew it was her ploy to get him distracted into saying something he shouldn’t. He’d been meandering through the entertainment life long enough to know most of the tricks of the trade. He averted his eyes to the camera and smirked while strumming a quick riff before moving his gaze to the mole peeking out of the makeup on her forehead.

“Sweet thang,” he began, wanting to reel her in before launching down the music road. “You wanna know how we pulled this off?” He waved around the
grey
green room as though it were the accomplishment.

“Absolutely!” Vee leaned closer, her boobs dangerously teetering on the edge of full calamity right before the camera. Max locked his eyes above her nose just in case.

“I’m lead guitarist, but where most bands get a song going with the guitar, we put that in Mave’s hands with the drums. Dude sets the beat, and then I ease in a sexy riff to draw in the crowd. Dillon is our rhythm guitarist. My man is the driving force, so it’s fitting. Logan keeps us mellow with his bass and Trace tightens our sound with his keys. Now we got Will, and that fella can handle wherever we put him. It’s epic.”

Vee’s eyes glazed over, but Max couldn’t care less.

“I like my role in the band. It’s the
only
thing I take seriously.” He grinned, about to head down a silly path in true Maxim fashion, but Vee latched on to his last sentence like a crazed kitten clawing the catnip toy.

“Don’t you take your
fiancée
seriously?”

The grin froze in awkward place. He cleared his throat and let out a nervous chuckle.

Her snarky eyes narrowed when she caught on to his hesitation. “Seems the two of you hardly spend any time together these days.”

His shoulder shrugged before he could stop the anxious gesture, but he somehow managed to keep eye contact with the reporter. He knew looking away would be a dead giveaway. “It’s expected with our professions.”

“Yes, but before your reconciliation with your estranged father last year, you and Mona were inseparable.”

Max inwardly groaned. Nothing about last year’s diabolical bombshell was reconciled. If anything, it had festered until the entire situation became way too sore to touch. Their father had shown up out of nowhere, begging the twin’s mom to take him back. Thankfully, she had enough sense to decline, but she did feel sorry for her ex-husband for some reason Max couldn’t comprehend. If it weren’t for his mother, Max would have never agreed to meet him and then pay for the stranger’s rehab expenses.

Before Max could conjure up an answer or figure out how to disappear instantly, his hat was snatched off his head. Looking around, he saw Dillon standing behind him holding it up high.

“Dude!” he yelled, standing up and trying to grab it back with one hand while covering his unkempt hair with the other.

With a devious grin and flick of his wrist, Dillon sent the hat flying in Logan’s direction. Max took off after it, easily giving Dillon the chance to plant himself in front of the camera.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart. Max had it coming. You know that punk dyed all my shirts pink! He deserved a bad hair day shot over that.” He let out a deep chuckle while smoothing his hand down the front of his splotchy pink tee.

Dillon had been wearing the shirts without acknowledging anything obscure about them, not giving Max the satisfaction of his prank.

“Oh, I love those crazy tricks he likes to pull,” she cooed, leaning forward again while batting her false eyelashes.

“Hate to cut this short, but we gotta kick it soon. Your pretty little self understands, right?”

“I…” Vee scrambled, trying to regain control of the interview, but Dillon wasn’t having it.

“Here. Let me give you a custom Max shirt.” Dillon grabbed the back of the pink tee and whipped it over his head in one fluid motion.

Vee’s gasp of appreciation was quite loud as she gawked at Dillon’s bare torso. The California sun had darkened his already bronze skin even further, showcasing his well-defined chest and abs. As though Blake read his mind, the perceptive assistant handed over a black Sharpie. Dillon scribbled his name across the front of the shirt before draping it over the reporters crossed legs.

“But…” Vee seemed unable to speak, her eyes glued to the stunning male physique on display right before her and the camera.

Dillon allowed a sultry smile to deepen the dimples in his cheeks. Offering the stunned reporter a wink, he tilted his head toward the door before leading his bandmates out of it.

Halfway down the hall, the group erupted in a roar of laughter.

“Bro, Jewels is gonna kick your butt for that stunt.” Trace shook his head.

“Pretty Girl will understand I did what I had to do to rescue this punk.” Dillon elbowed Max playfully.

They hustled into the dressing room, and as soon as the door shut, Max seemed to deflate into the couch. The mood instantly shifted to dark.

“You okay?” Dillon asked as he fastened the buttons of his indigo shirt Blake had just handed him.

Max hitched his shoulder. “Might as well be. Thanks, man, for getting me outta there.”

Dillon worked on rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. “You up for tonight?”

Shoulder shrug. “Sure.”

“If you’re not—” Ben chimed in, running his hand through his greying hair.

“No worries.” Max stood abruptly, feeling the walls closing in on him. “I’ll see y’all out there.”

“Whoa there, speedy. Let’s pray before you run off,” Dillon said.

After the first amen was out, so was Max. He ambled around backstage, looking for a way to relieve some tension while dodging around stacks of black equipment trunks. A rush of chaos came near him, revealing the vile Vee and her crew being escorted by security.

“What’s up?” he asked one of the security guards.

“Found them filming in a restricted area,” the big guy answered, coming to a halt in front of Max.

He directed his attention to Vee, who was red-faced. “Ah now, sweet thang, you know better than that.” Max winked as he shoved his hands into his front pockets, finding a tube of hand sanitizer he had especially prepared for Trace.

“Max, tell them it’s okay. You
owe
me for blowing off the interview,” Vee whined in that shrilling tone, sealing her fate.