𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 is far from perfect. Before starting her senior year of college, she's already guaranteed her position as the black sheep of her once prestigious family. To make matters worse, she took up bedding the rival family's eldest...
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"𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍, don't that type of shit annoy you?"
Evelyn snapped out of her daze and back into focus when she heard Mariah speak up from beside her.
The chaotic atmosphere of young adults running around the room with different instruments and stage parts gave her enough anxiety to withdraw from complete awareness. She hated everything about dress rehearsals—from the awkward, half-polished run-throughs to the constant pausing for adjustments. And she hated them even more after spending just thirty minutes watching Michael flit from group to group, hearts practically floating around every girls' head as he funneled them advice and provided instructions.
"What does?" Evelyn asked Mariah in response to her earlier question, tearing her eyes away from Michael to look at her.
"That."
Evelyn followed the direction of where Mariah had angled her fluffy head until her eyes fell on a group of girls huddled near a set of risers. They couldn't have been any older than freshmen, all three of them shoulder-to-shoulder as they spoke behind their hands and glanced suggestively at a shirtless Sigmund Jackson from across the room.
She then looked over at Jackie. He had finished running through a song with his brothers at the start of the dress rehearsal. A long song. One that had him stripping off his top and glittering with sweat by the end. The grooves between his shoulder blades deepened as he stretched his arms over his head then laughed at something Tito said, causing a flurry of high-pitched murmurs to erupt from the gaggle of girls near the risers.
Evelyn pushed a dismissive breath through her nose before turning her attention back to Mariah. "Jack- Mr. Jackson is not lookin' at those girls, and they can stay lookin' at him. I don't give a damn."
Mariah's full lips twisted in doubt. "That man ripped his shirt off too fast. I know the basement don't have any air conditioning after hours, but it ain't that damn hot in here. He just wants the attention."
Evelyn felt a flutter of annoyance float through the anxiousness that had made home in her chest. "I told you he's not like that, Ri. He's like me. He hates performin'. That's why he quit it and started studyin' to become a professor. If anyone likes the attention, it's Michael," she bit out. "It was his idea to do all girls anyway."
At the mention, her eyes were drawn to Michael again. Light-wash jeans clung to the slender shape of his hips—ones that he'd swung skillfully to the beat of his songs earlier—and a red polo was tucked into them. Spindly fingers traced over the defined edges of his jaw in thought as he gazed warmly at one of her classmates while she spoke. Of course, his most popular accessory was the teeth-flashing grin he always seemed to wear around the school. His fangirls weren't far behind him either, all lined-up with some toying with their fingers and nearly bouncing with excitement at the very opportunity to speak to him.
A chill tickled Evelyn's spine when she remembered how that grin, along with all its charming innocence, had disappeared when he threatened her during their studio session. "He's so fuckin' phony," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
