The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2) by Christi Barth Read Free Book Online

exact look for this tour. And you told the stylist to copy it onto me?”
    Cam gave him a longer look with one eyebrow raised. Then he pulled his sister into a bear hug and tickled her ribs while she was trapped in his arms. “Ari, that’s embarrassing. Insulting, actually, to both of us.”
    When he released her, Ariel squared her shoulders. “The look works for Dylan, too.”
    “It worked for me first. Fuck, we’re not a matching-bow-tie a capella group, Ari. We’re a rock band. And I thought I was your priority.”
    “Not this time. Dylan comes first for the next few weeks. You guys have your own publicist at PKCL. Plus, you’re not in emergency mode like Dylan is.”
    Dylan cleared his throat. Because he was pissed. Something very bad had just gone down, and he intended to make it clear that that could never happen again. “About that. You said we were just doing a photo op for the paps. Nobody mentioned a fricking screaming rope line of the completely wrong audience. The whole point of today was to escape teenyboppers. Escape my old reputation. How am I supposed to shake it when there’s gonna be fresh pictures of girls in braces pawing at me?”
    “On the bright side, this is a twenty-one-and-up club.” Jones, the group’s drummer, came forward to fist-bump Dylan in greeting. Rail thin and tatted up on every exposed inch of skin, he wore a concert tee from four tours ago with the sleeves rolled up. And a condom tucked into the rolled sleeve. “They can’t get into the show.”
    The guy was as cool in person as he looked on the stage. Dylan nodded. “Never thought I’d be so happy about everyone being carded.”
    Jones snickered. Grabbed an open beer bottle off the ticket counter and took a long pull. “I’ll drink to that.”
    Ariel spread her arms wide, palms up. “I’m sorry. I’m apologizing to Dylan, and to all of you. I swear I only invited legit press. And I made it crystal clear there were to be no fans. I don’t know what happened.”
    “I do.” Cam dusted his hands together. “Somebody blabbed. The question is, who?” His gaze shifted back toward Dylan.
    A petite redhead marched over to Cam. Got right in his face. “Obviously, the press. You know, the ones you hate and badmouth on a daily basis? They thought it’d be fun to stir things up. To try and highlight Dylan’s old group in order to drive a wedge in front of his new one. They just wanted a bigger story. Please tell me that you’re not dumb enough to give it to them.”
    After a beat, Cam pulled her to his side. “Should I worry about this evil-genius side of your brain?”
    “Not as long as you stay on my good side,” she retorted, going up on tiptoe to drop a kiss onto his cheek.
    “How about we start over?” Ariel suggested in an overly bright tone. The way the morning sun pinged against a hangover. “Cam Watson, Kylie Stafford, Jones—this is Dylan Royce. Oh, and be ready to do this all again in five minutes in front of the cameras.”
    After a long, deep breath, Cam extended his hand. “You’re helping us out of a jam, stepping in for Jake on such short notice. Thanks.”
    “You’re giving me one hell of a chance. So thanks back at ya.”
    The redhead waved, still tucked against Cam. “Don’t worry, I’m not a surprise fourth member of the band. I’m Kylie, and I’m interning with Riptide. Focusing on tour production and artist management. I’d love to pick your brain sometime on the bus about what you did and didn’t like about your last tour.”
    She was focusing on Cam, too, by the looks of it. Not that it mattered to Dylan one way or the other. Ariel was the only woman he’d be staring at on this tour. “I liked the fries in Belgium. With that out-of-this-world mayonnaise sauce. I didn’t like that I had no control and couldn’t work in any of my own music. Or convince my fellow performers to collaborate on it.”
    “Wow.” Kylie blinked at him. “Okay.” Then she broke into an enthusiastic