I stand here at the curb of the arrival section of Birmingham Airport. Asher should be here at any moment to pick me up. My nerves are all over the place. I clutch my hot pink luggage tightly to redirect my focus. My luggage is the most colorful possession that I have. Black is my usual color of choice. From my baggy jeans to my black nail polish, everything I wear is black. The darkness matches my soul and my past. It keeps people away from me, especially men. I don’t trust them. The only person to penetrate my fuck-off shield is Irelyn. She is my best friend and my complete opposite. We met at the community college I just transferred from, and from day one, she refused to be ignored. She didn’t stop until she broke down my defenses. She thinks I’m just a cynic, but she only knows the lies that I told her to explain why I am the way that I am. The pink luggage was a gift from her, and a rebellious attempt to protest my black obsession. Whatever. A sleek, black Escalade pulls to a stop in front of me, interrupting my thoughts. Asher steps out of the SUV, and I swear he has hit a growth spurt. I don’t remember him being so tall. He comes around the back of the SUV as he runs his hands through his blond hair. His cerulean blue eyes crinkle, and a frown creases his brows as he takes me in.
“What the hell happened to my baby sister?” he jokes. There is an underlying seriousness in his tone. I’ve always had brunette hair, but now my waist-length tresses are blue-black from my home dye job. I’m told my hair makes my gray eyes look freakish. My hair is my veil to hide when I don’t want to be seen. I’m not the girl he remembers from three years ago.
“What do you mean? It’s still me,” I chide. He begins putting my suitcases in the back as he shakes his head.
“Still you, but Gothified.” He chuckles. “My princess has turned into Goth Barbie,” he teases. Princess was the nickname he had for me before our parents separated, and Mom moved on to husband number three.
“Hush, you still love me. And Gothified is not even a word.”
“Of course it is. I just need to get used to your new look.” He closes the trunk and opens the passenger door for me. He is still the sweet guy I remember. Even though he is a little taller now, he’s still lean like a swimmer. With his charm, I bet all the women swoon over him, but I don’t want to think about him in that way. I want to keep my sweet image of my stepbrother pure. Hopefully, he’s not a whore magnet like most guys in a band. Okay, to be fair, I don’t know any guys in any band—all I know is what I see on TV.
“You’re late, brother. This look is not new. This has been me since you left,” I point out.
“Whatever, Goth girl, let’s get you to your new home for the summer.”
With three levels and a deck that leads to the lake, this place is a dream. The main level is on the second floor, where I am now. The bedrooms are on the first and third floors. The furnishing and décor are contemporary and don’t look like the home of rockers. Leave it to Mr. Nolan, Asher’s dad, to spare no expense for these guys. That trait is what attracted my mom to him until she got greedy and went for a bigger fish. I think my favorite is the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, which let in all the natural light. The only thing missing is having Irelyn here with me. She is visiting family instead, and then she’ll be transferring to the University of Alabama with me in the fall. I’m walking around the state-of-the-art kitchen and admiring the cherry wood cabinetry when the other bandmates arrive downstairs.
“The guys are here,” Asher says excitedly. He hops up from the sofa and heads to go meet them and to clue them in that I’m here, I’m sure. The guys come upstairs in a boisterous manner, bantering about whom was going to put away the groceries they just bought. Asher introduces them to me, and I must say, my first impression is that they aren’t as bad as I originally thought they’d be. So it seems. Killian Andrews is their lead guitarist, whereas Asher is the bass guitarist. Like my brother, Killian has shoulder-length hair, but his is brown like his chocolate eyes. Ren Lowry is their drummer. He has a black Mohawk and seems to be the only one who rivals my Gothness, as my brother would say. I’m digging his all-black attire. He gives me a slight chin lift as a greeting.
The guys are all welcoming. They don’t appear to be judging me for the way I look. I get that a lot, but it’s kind of the point. I’m just about to ask who their singer is when he comes up the stairs. Holy shit balls. I wasn’t ready. I hear Asher introducing him as Phoenix, but I’m speechless. Phoenix looks me up and down and smirks. I bet he gets this reaction from women all the time, but this is different. I don’t fawn over men. They’re not even on my radar. My heart quickens, and I work to swallow the lump in my throat. My nerves have kicked into overdrive. This feeling is foreign to me. This guy is so far from what you would expect as a singer of a rock band that it is unreal. He stands about six inches taller than my five-foot-four frame and is built like a fucking tank. The name Phoenix is so fitting for him. He is simply gorgeous. His shirt hugs his chest like a second skin, and I can see every etch of muscle. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm is an intricate work of art and draws your eyes even more to his fit physique. From his goatee to his perfectly styled short hair, he is perfection. His angled facial features are chiseled beauty. The fucker knows it, too. I can tell this one is going to be trouble. He arches an eyebrow in question, waiting for me to say something.
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I manage to say without getting tongue-tied. Geesh, I feel like an idiot. He is just a good-looking guy. Get it together. “Where is my room?” I ask, turning toward Asher. I’m going to have to stay far away from this Phoenix guy. The others seem nice enough, but my gut is telling me that he is trouble with a capital T.
“The guys and I discussed it. You can take the master bedroom on the third floor,” Asher says. A look passes between him and Phoenix before he grabs my luggage to take them upstairs. Phoenix follows us up the stairs.
“They discussed it,” he comments. “That was my room. I got booted to the room next door, so don’t think you’re going to get that bathroom all to yourself,” he informs. I don’t want to come in taking over their space, so I just nod and look away as we pass the only other bedroom on this floor.
“There are two more bathrooms in the house, Phoenix,” Asher chastises.
“Yeah, but I want to use that one. That is the only master bathroom and the only one with a rain shower. Don’t worry; I won’t bother your princess. She is not my speed anyway.” Phoenix smirks. Asher’s face hardens, and I know he is getting ready to put his foot down. The last thing I want is to cause problems on my first day here. I can’t believe he told them he calls me princess, but like Phoenix just confirmed, I’m not his type anyway. I grab Asher’s arm to shush him.
“It’s fine. Really. I’m sure he and I can set up some sort of schedule. We’re the only two rooms up here, so it’s no problem,” I assure.
“Whatever. You don’t have to agree to that. You’re the only female in the house and should have your privacy—”