My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (20 page)

Rhyson chews on a straw, eyes narrowed with fierce determination.

“I didn’t want anyone to have control over me ever again. Not even Grady.”

“I’m surprised you signed your record deal.”

He wears a crooked grin on his handsome face.

“So true. I signed a deal for just two albums because I knew music, but the business I was clueless about. I had a lot to learn.”

“Wow, really?” I fold my knee up and prop my heel on the seat. “I’m surprised they went for just the two.”

“They wanted me enough to loosen the rules a little.” Rhyson shrugs. “They still allowed me a lot of control given my experience and history.”

“You mean as a genius?” I tease him with a wide smile.

“Yeah, whatever.” He matches my smile and adds a wink that makes my pulse pound. “Can you keep a secret?”

“To the grave.”

“My next album?” He lifts both brows, making sure I’m tracking with him. “It’s not with the record company.”

“What . . . then who . . . ?”

The smug, eager look on his face clicks things into place for me. Rhyson wants to control everything around him.

“You’re starting your own label, aren’t you?”

He touches the straw to the top of my head like he’s knighting me.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!”

“Rhys, that’s awesome.”

So many questions flood my mind, but I’m not sure what to ask. I want him to trust me with whatever he wants me to know.

“It’s called Prodigy, the label, I mean.” Rhyson, so often impassive and guarded, looks almost animated. “Grip’s my first artist.”

My eyes find Grip and Bristol out on the dance floor.

“He’s so popular right now, hard to believe he doesn’t have an album yet,” I say.

“I know. All collabs and features. That was our strategy. To build his fan base and create so much buzz before he even has his solo project. Kind of how Drake did.”

Rhyson takes a swig of his water and reaches for an onion ring from Bristol’s abandoned plate. So we’re passed the eating in public thing.

“We’ll drop his album first and then my next album after my tour.”

I haven’t heard a lot of Grip, just on other artists’ albums like Rhyson said, but I know he isn’t the typical rapper.

“He has kind of his own flow, doesn’t he?”

Rhyson reaches across the table to grab a wing from the large tray in the center, dipping it into blue cheese before taking a bite.

“Yeah, probably the closest I’d say to his sound is Childish Bambino.” He shoots me a quick grin. “When I first met him, his raps were basically a notebook as thick as my arm filled with poems he had written. He’s the one who convinced me to start experimenting with my sound. Figure out how my classical training would translate to a more modern, mainstream sound.”

We chat for a few more minutes before everyone drifts back to the table. I love seeing Rhyson with his friends. After hearing about his awful parents, it’s great to see that he is genuinely loved by someone. And after hearing more of his story, I want to kiss Grady’s feet for being the adult who cared more about him than the bottom line.

It’s been a long few days of double shifts for double pay, and my body tells on me with a wide-mouthed yawn.

“You’re exhausted.” Rhyson stands and pulls me to my feet before looking around at everyone else. “We’re gonna bounce.”

Jimmi stands and walks over to Rhyson, looping her arms around his neck and tipping her head back. She’s a tall girl. Not as tall as Rhyson, but in her stiletto boots, she’s almost eye level. I’ve always been small and lean. Dancing, cheering, and gymnastics always kept me that way, and I love my body. Even my butt, which is almost too big for my petite frame. The only thing I’d change is my small breasts. That producer wasn’t the first to suggest I enhance my bustline. Jimmi has full, gorgeous breasts and presses them into Rhyson’s chest. Is that what he likes? I cross my arms under my modest curves, my cup confidence plummeting.

“Thanks for coming.” Jimmi licks her lips and pushes her hand into his hair.

“Jimmi, if you’re in heat, I’m sure we can find some dog in here to help you out.” Bristol laughs from her seat, shoving at Grip’s face when he leans into her neck. “Grip, I said
no
.”

Rhyson carefully pulls Jimmi’s hands from behind his neck and drops a quick kiss on her forehead.

“Happy birthday, Jim. Your gift should be arriving very soon.”

“What’d you get me?” Jimmi’s arms hang at her sides now that she doesn’t have them wrapped around Rhyson, and she looks a little lost.

“Just call me when it comes. I’ll give you a hint. You can play it and I think you’ll like it.”

A guy dressed in all black approaches and whispers something in Jimmi’s ear. She nods and frowns before addressing Rhyson.

“We got a lot of paps out front and out back.”

“Dammit.” Rhyson frowns at me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I give him an easy smile, even though my stomach knotted a little as soon as I heard “paps.”

“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and waves at his friends. “We’re out before it gets any more intense out there.”

Their speculation is so heavy and thick, I can barely breathe under it. All eyes clamp on my hand linked with Rhyson’s. I tug, but he doesn’t let go, even when we head for the back exit. At the door, he stops and peels his Bob Marley hoodie over his head. His broad shoulders straining against the white T-shirt distract me for a moment so I’m surprised when he pushes the hoodie over my head. I absently push my arms through as I breathe in the delicious scent from his body clinging to the sweatshirt.

“I don’t want them to see you.” Rhyson pulls the hood up, tucking my hair into the sweatshirt down my back. “They see you, they’ll start following you. Wondering who the ‘mystery girl’ is. Start stalking and chasing you.”

“But why?” I slide my hands into the front pocket of the hoodie. “I’m nobody.”

He brushes a thumb over my bottom lip, and it’s like an open sesame for my senses. My lips part automatically. His eyes sear the sensitive skin of my lips, and I feel him like a kiss.

“I’m never out with girls, Kai, besides Jimmi and Bristol.” He squats until we’re eye level. “If they see us together, they’ll figure out that you’re special to me.”

His words snatch my breath. Hearing this man who has become so special to me say that he feels the same literally takes my breath away, just for a second. I start breathing again, wanting to look away. I
need
to look away because the longer we stare at each other, the warmer I become.

“You ready?” He has one hand on the back door bar and one hand at my back. “As soon as I open this door, keep your head down, okay? And keep your face covered.”

I nod that I’m ready. When the door opens, I realize I’m wrong. I’m completely unprepared as we slam into a wall of lights and sound.

MY HEART IS STILL RACING. WALKING
out of the bowling alley was like running the gamut in a war zone, with us as the possible prisoners of war.

“That was crazy.” I turn in my seat to study Rhyson. His hands are relaxed on the steering wheel, but he keeps flicking glances to the rearview mirror.

“Yeah. We’ve still got a few trailing us. I want to lose ‘em before I take you home, or else they’ll be camped out at your place tomorrow.” He slants a grin my way. “You sure you want this? Paps staking you out and bugging you every time you leave the house?”

“No, I don’t want
this
. I just want to perform.”

“Yeah, well, the days where you get to just make music and not have
TMZ
in your face every time you go out are gone. At least if you’re good enough for the public to care.”

He looks over his shoulder and frowns.

“I’m gonna drive around for a little bit to shake them. Sound good?”

I nod, still a little freaked by all the lights, the intrusive cameras, the bodies pressing into us on our way to the car. All of them yelling, asking Rhyson who I am. Apparently word had spread pretty fast that not only were Jimmi, Grip, and several other celebs at the party, but the elusive Rhyson Gray too. His disguises when he comes to see me have always just been funny, but now I understand how little privacy he has without them.

My phone lights up in my lap with a text message.

“Hey, It’s Dub. Great meeting you tonight. This is my number. I’ll send you deets about the video.”

Rhyson glances from the phone in my lap back up to my face before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” he says. “Guess he doesn’t just move fast on the dance floor, huh?”

My cheeks flush hot, but I remind myself I don’t owe Rhyson an explanation. Only I remember how ill I felt when I saw his arm draped around Bristol. Before I knew she was his sister, I wanted to rip her hair out strand by strand. So even though I don’t owe him an explanation, I offer one anyway.

“I gave him my number so he could send details for the video.” My knee bounces with the nerves I’m feeling. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He swivels his head in my direction, and the passing lights of the city illuminate his frown. “So he didn’t ask you out?”

“No, of course not. We just met.”

“I asked you out pretty soon after we met. Of course, you turned me down.”

It’s the first time since the beginning of our friendship that he mentioned that again. I can’t draw enough breath. The interior of the car closes in on me. I can’t go there with him. He can’t make me resolve this problem we’ve created over the last few months. Not right now. Not yet.

“Rhyson, you know why I turned you down.”

“Yeah, you didn’t want people to think that you succeeded because you slept with me, right?” His mouth distorts into a sneer. “High profile choreographer is after you now, and you just scored a video gig. Looks like being my friend is working out for you after all. All the benefits without the fucking.”

If we weren’t whizzing through the streets at fifty miles an hour, I’d jump right out. As it is, I’m trapped in the car with his anger and his resentment. They crawl over me and press onto my chest, oppressive and unfair. Instead of firing back at him, giving him the fight I’m guessing he wants, I turn my face toward the window so he won’t see the tears standing in my eyes. He doesn’t try to get another response from me, and I don’t offer any words for the ten minutes left in our ride to my apartment. It’s a fragile silence, and I think we both realize that breaking it with the wrong words could break everything. As frustrated as we are with one another, neither of us wants to risk that.

As soon as he pulls into the parking lot of my apartment, I’m out of the car almost before it stops rolling. I take the asphalt strip between his car and my front stoop at high speed. I’m fumbling with the keys when I feel him at my back. His big hand covers mine over the doorknob. He presses his chest to my back and rests his chin on my head.

“I’m sorry, Pep.” His voice, deep and low, rolls over me. It should soothe, but it incites. His body so close and so warm incites every part of me. I can’t believe how numb I was before I met him. My body, my heart, and my soul twist around one another, a three-stranded nerve waiting for his touch, his words, his attention.

So dangerous.

He turns me around by my shoulders until I’m forced to face him. I strain my neck back to look up at him.

“I didn’t mean it, Pep. You know I didn’t mean it.”

I swallow my hurt and force myself to speak.

“Then why’d you say it?”

He rolls his eyes up to the starless night sky before dropping his gaze to his feet, a breath huffing past his lips. He rests one forearm against the door behind me, bringing our bodies so close to touching.

“I was jealous,” he admits with steel pellets lodged in his voice.

“Rhyson—”

“No, listen.”

He dips his head until his lips hover over mine. If I open my mouth, I’ll taste his words. If I move even a little bit, we’ll share our first kiss. If I do nothing, I’ll imagine his tongue dancing with mine all night.

“I can live with being just your friend as long as everyone else is too.” His thumb caresses my jaw and he drops his forehead to rest against mine. “You know what I mean?”