CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Man. Eff these mother effers.” Tristan was used to always having his pictures taken, but lately, the paparazzi problem had gotten ridiculous. Mr. Carrington, concerned for his daughter’s safety, had even hired a security team to deal with the throngs of people.

“It’s okay, dolly.” Nyx squeezed his hand, watching out the window as burly men in black cleared a path to the front door of the club. Christopher had called them from 1Oak, which was an ultra-trendy lounge near his Meatpacking District studio, and exclaimed over how good the DJ was. (“Nyx! He’s playing Scooter remixes! Your favorite!”)

His girlfriend could never resist really good techno, so she’d dashed into her bedroom and emerged ten minutes later in a deep indigo, satin dress by Nicole Miller. The fabric clung to her curves, and the plunging neckline was great for her chest. She’d forgone the red lipstick for tonight—actually, she really hadn’t been wearing it lately—and her eyes were dark and smoky. Tristan looked at her profile as she sat next to him in the car. Damn. She looked over and caught him. Her lips curved into a smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Looks like they’re ready for us.” Tristan emerged from the car to shrieks and flashing lights. The mass of people surged towards him, but were held back by the massive biceps of their security team. Hiring them was probably a good idea. Nyx appeared next to him, clinging to his bicep and beaming at the cameras. They posed for several pictures, and Tristan silently admired how easily Nyx had relaxed into this lifestyle. She was good at keeping the reporters entertained, but she never gave them too much. She’d pout and pose for photos, but always kept them wanting more.

Tristan had heard that 1Oak was notorious for having an impossible doorman to get past, but he and Nyx sailed right through like they were royalty. (Well, they practically were.) 1Oak related to Butter somehow, and the décor was similar—lots of nice woods. Tristan’s friends always loved the indoor smoking room and the way it never got too packed due the vigilant door men. He’d also heard that drinks were insanely expensive, but the Carringtons had a house account—bills just got sent to Daddy Carrington. (Money was kind of a foreign concept in their world.)

“Oooh. I love it; I love it!” Nyx squeezed his hand, oblivious to the fact that men were staring at her with drool practically dripping down her face. There were better looking women there—tall, impossibly leggy eastern European beauties who walked for major designers or dangerously curvy Brazilian lingerie models—but Nyx held her own. She oozed sex; Nyx really did embody all those old stereotypes about pin-up girls.

Tristan grinned down at her. He felt the female eyes on him. They were a good looking couple. “Do you want to go dance? Or a get a drink first?” He scanned the room for Christopher. The designer had dyed his hair bright fuchsia a few days ago, and with his height, he stood out everywhere he went. Tristan spotted him moving through the crowd.

“Both, silly!” Nyx pressed her lips to his cheek before diving into Christopher’s arms.
“Hi, my baby angel!”

“Hi, baby angel!” Christopher and Nyx were always coming up with ridiculous pet names for each other. “Want to do shots?!”

“Always! Come on, sexy boy.” Nyx linked her arms through theirs so she was sandwiched in the middle. Her head fell on Tristan’s shoulder, and she smiled at him. Tristan never could help smiling back whenever she looked at him like that.

At the bar, Nyx ordered three shots of Patron Platinum. Toasting each other with outstretched arms, they threw the shots back. Tristan winced and sucked on the lime. Nyx licked the salt off her shot glass slowly, keeping her dark eyes on Tristan. “If you keep doing that, I’m taking you downstairs.” Perhaps due to poor planning, the futuristic bathrooms at 1Oak weren’t on the main level—a real pain to manage when someone was stumbling around drunk. But, the privacy was nice. Tristan once hooked up with Austrian twins inside one of the big private restrooms.

“Is that a promise?” Nyx smiled with her eyes as she flicked her tongue over the flesh of the lime.

His girlfriend was hard to resist. He never got tired of looking at her. Tristan yanked her firmly against his chest—liking how she bit her lip and curled her fingers into his hair. “It’s easier to kiss you without the lipstick, you know.” He planted a soft kiss on her lips. “But, I kind of miss it.”

Her bare shoulders shrugged up and down. “It’s just weird with AJ. I mean—he flipping wrote a song about it, you know?”

Tristan wasn’t exactly thrilled that Nyx had rejoined her old band. Or that their first single was a love song dedicated to her. Or that she’d shared a kiss with her ex-boyfriend. While, he understood it was only acting, he knew that first loves were always hard to get completely over. If he had actually ever really loved anyone, he would have felt the same way. “Yeah. I know.” He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, knowing how it made her knees like jelly.

“Break it up, you two. I’m not trying to be a third wheel tonight.” Christopher reached in between them to grab the two Blue Ampsterdams sitting on the bar. He pushed one into Nyx’s hands.

“Christopher, what is this? It looks like Windex!” Nyx scrunched her nose as Tristan took his usual vodka and tonic off the counter.

“Don’t whine. It’s vodka with blueberries. You’ll love it.” Christopher took a sip—the blue liquid matched his eyes perfectly. Tristan would have bet money that his friend planned it that way. The blue eyes slid to him. “I’ll get her nice and drunk so that you’ll get some tonight,” Christopher winked.

“Please. I get some whenever I want.” Tristan lifted his chin cockily, grinning when Nyx shook her head.

“You’re so full of shit, Trist.”

“Shh, baby. Don’t hurt yourself. Here.” He kissed her cheek, and he heard a camera phone go off behind them. Tristan refrained from throwing the camera against the wall. Couldn’t they just go out and have a nice time without people having to watch their every move?

“I hate you,” Nyx mumbled as she turned around to press herself against him.

“I hate you, too.” Tristan kissed her again, running his hands down the back of her dress to cup her ass. He hoped Christopher wouldn’t mind if they snuck away for a few minutes. He already crazily turned on, and they’d only been here ten minutes.

“Yo, yo, yo. Looks like we got the Golden Kids in the house!” The Tiesto song faded, and the DJ was now on the microphone—staring across the bar at them. Tristan glared angrily at the bartender. They came here to have a good time—the fucking spinner should know how to treat celebrities. Nyx squeezed his hand, as if trying to gently calm him down. She lifted her other hand and waved, as she hissed through her smiling teeth. “I fucking hate him.” Her comment caused Tristan to smile as well.

“I happen to have a little single by a band that is zooming up the charts. Have you heard of it, Nyx? It’s called Crashbaaaaaaang.” Nyx groaned as the first few familiar riffs of “Russian Red” began pounding out through the speakers. This must have been a new remix.

“That’s classy. Real classy,” she rolled her eyes and threw back her drink in one fatal sip.

“Hey, it’s cool. The crowd seems to love this song.” Tristan gestured to the dance floor, where people were singing along with their hands drunkenly waving in the air. There were a few sets of red lips moving screaming lyrics in the crowd. “I mean, it’s your band too, right?”

“I guess,” Nyx smiled. “This is a good remix. I wonder who made it.” It was strange to hear her voice floating through the speakers while she was talking to him face-to-face. “Oh. Look. They’re showing the music video. I can’t see.” Nyx tugged on his hand, trying to move so that she was in view of the projected screen behind the DJ booth.

“Have you even seen it yet?”

Nyx shook her head. “No. I never have time to watch TV. I think it only was finished being edited a few days ago.”

“Nyx! Why are you in a Cavalli skirt!? Why didn’t you call me! I would have dressed you!” Christopher sagged against Nyx as he watched the video, his face distraught. He was probably also slightly drunk.

Tristan had never seen this side of his girlfriend. She looked perfectly at home on that stage—head banging and singing her lungs out until she was a blur of leopard print and black hair. Not only was the song catchy, but the video was fun and the band members were all attractive. He bet Crashbang would do well—especially with Nyx back singing.

“I think the kiss is coming up,” Nyx piped up after a minute, nibbling her thumbnail.

“Huh,” Tristan responded. She’d told him it was nothing major—just a quick peck. Then, he watched as his girlfriend kissed the black-haired bassist like they were madly in love. This wasn’t a peck. This was a full-on make out session. The camera would cut to the band singing, then back to the kiss, then to the crowd, and then back to the kiss quickly so that the image of their lips moving was flickering. As the last chord faded out, the DJ whooped and turned the house music back on.

People around them were staring blatantly, probably waiting to see what he’d do. He looked down at Nyx, who looked stricken. “It wasn’t—“

“Just a peck, huh?”

“Tristan, it really wasn’t—“ She put her hand on his arm. Annoyed, he brushed it off and turned back to the bar to finish his second vodka tonic. He wasn’t in the mood for her big, sad eyes.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” That was no peck.

Nyx sighed, peeking around at the people watching them. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

“No. He kissed you in front of the whole world. I look like a fool in front of the whole world. I might as well get the truth with everyone watching, too. Do you have feelings for him?”

“Tristan—“

“Answer the damn question, Nyx.”

Her dark eyes glared a hole through him. “If I say no, you’ll tell me I’m lying. If I say yes, you’ll hate me.”

“Answer. The. Question.”

“Yes!” She blinked, almost shocked at the vehemence of her voice. “Yes,” she repeated more quietly, biting her lip. “I told you; it was kind of weird seeing him. He was really different, and it was just hard.” A sweep of dark curls fell in front of her eye. Tristan had the urge to gently brush them out of the way, but he didn’t. He was angry.

“Well, I think you might need some time to make up your mind.” He didn’t like all these people looking at him. Whenever Tristan got insecure, he found himself getting more and more arrogant. Nyx had melted away most of his cockiness with her optimism and genuineness, but he felt it starting to rise up again. Defense mechanisms, or some shit like that.

“Don’t be silly. I know what I want.” Nyx stepped towards him. “If I wanted AJ, I’d be with him. I want to be with you, but I’m with you. I lo—“ She clamped her mouth shut before anything else slipped out.

Tristan was aware of the way his lip was curling up into a sneer. “Yeah. Okay. So, if it’s cool for you to make out with other guys, I guess I can make out with other women.”

“It was for the video! It didn’t mean anything. Trist—“ Nyx tried to touch his arm again, but he backed away. Maybe the alcohol was making him more impulsive than he normally was, but the thought of her wishing she was with someone else was too much to handle. Tristan had never had a fully functional relationship before with an actually decent woman, and now the first person he might actually love was thinking about leaving him? He needed to get out.

“Don’t you know who I am, Nyx?” His voice was low. “You should be lucky to be with me. Lucky.”

She recoiled like she’d been slapped. Tristan looked away as her eyes filled with tears. “Stop it. What are you—“

“Look. This isn’t working, sweetheart.” The pet name was totally sarcastic, and she knew it. “It was fun, but you should probably go back to dating guys your own age now.” Why hadn’t she just said that she didn’t have any feelings for AJ? Why did she have to be so honest?! Tristan had never worried about girls wanting to be with anyone but him, and now Nyx was wanting to be with her ex-boyfriend? She was sucking his face in a video that the entire country would see, and she really thought he wouldn’t care? He couldn’t deal with this. His voice sounded mean and cold. He didn’t like it, but it was really too late now. “I’ll take a cab home. Later.”

Tristan shrugged off the advances of four different girls as he made his way outside. He didn’t want to look back. He knew she’d be crying, and Tristan couldn’t handle that.

*******

“Honey, we have to leave now. They’re closing in fifteen.” Christopher tried to moderate his voice until it was gentle and soothing.

“Fuck that. I still want to dance.” Nyx closed her eyes and moved her body to music only she seemed to hear. She wobbled unsteadily on her four inch Louboutins.

“Let’s go back to my place and dance. Oh, shit.” His best girl friend had slumped to the ground, both hands on her temples.

“Chris, I don’t feel good.”

“Of course you don’t, baby angel. You drank half a bottle of Jager.”

“Please,” she mumbled with her eyes squeezed shut. “I drink way more than that all the time.”

“Not when you’re not eating, you don’t. Hey, get her other arm.” Christopher knelt down and wedged his shoulder underneath her armpit. One of the hired security team bolstered her from the other side. Christopher wished that 1Oak had a secret entrance where they could sneak her out unseen, but short of weaving through alleyways, it was impossible. Christopher just hoped they could get past the paparazzi without Nyx causing too much of a drunken scene.

His poor baby angel. He didn’t blame her for drinking so much. The music had been too loud to realize that Tristan and Nyx were fighting, but he’d caught the tail-end of the conversation and seen Tristan’s face. Poor kids. Sure, it sucked that Nyx was about to round second base with one of her ex’s for everyone to see, but Tristan should have realized that it was just business.

Christopher knew that Tristan was just getting cold feet. He knew that the golden supermodel was pretty much madly in love with Jeremy’s sister. And, he also knew that Tristan was allergic to long-term anything. He tried to wipe the mascara from under Nyx’s eyes. She’d alternated between crying and dancing for the better part of four hours, and now she just seemed exhausted.

“Give us some room, guys.” Christopher flashed his teeth as the reporters began to yell and thrust their cameras forward. Nyx groaned and hid her face in the curve of his shoulder. Their car was waiting with the engine running, and someone leapt forward to open their door. Christopher gently maneuvered Nyx on the seat inside, and then sat next to her. “Take her to my place.”

Nyx passed out on the way home, and Christopher enlisted the help of one of their hunky guards to carry her upstairs. He peeled off her dress and heels and covered her body with his favorite cashmere throw. It was four in the morning, but Christopher wasn’t tired. Maybe it was all the Red Bull and vodka. At least he didn’t have to be into work for another ten hours. Being his own boss was such a huge, amazing perk.

Booting up his iMac, Christopher took a long sip of water. He was curious to see what the gossip blogs were already saying about the reported split. He had them all bookmarked—Perez. Popsugar. WWTDD. TMZ. D-Listed. Maybe Jeremy and Tristan insisted that they stay ignorant of what was being circulated online, but Christopher thought it was smart to know the enemy. The more he knew about what people were saying about him and his friends, the better he could defend them when the need arose.

It was just as bad as he thought. “SUPERSTAR COUPLE BREAKS UP.” “CINDERELLA LOSES HER PRINCE.” “HALIFAX FINALLY BACK ON THE MARKET.” “CARRINGTON RUMORED TO BE DATING JONAS BROTHER.” Christopher chuckled to himself over some of the more outrageous claims. Several of the sites had freeze-framed shots of Nyx and AJ kissing—and Christopher was surprised to see someone had dredged up an old picture of Nyx and AJ together at a party. It made sense that Nyx’s old classmates would try to capitalize on her newfound fame. He squinted as he studied the picture. Poor kid.

He heard her call out from the other room, so he shut the laptop with a soft click. His poor baby angel. Christopher’s fingers itched to text Tristan and ask what he was doing. He’d talk to him tomorrow. He’d help them fix this.

Hopefully it wasn’t too late.