Maybe (18 page)

I forget which way I’m supposed to go, and I end up walking through a door that leads somewhere I’m probably not supposed to be. Turning in circles, I try to figure out just where the hell I am when a deep voice calls to me from the dark end of the hallway.

“Are you lost?”

“I was trying to get backstage, but I think I went through the wrong door.”

A tall figure emerges from the darkness, and again I’m struck dumb. He has an easy smile and ruffles the black hair at his crown with thin fingers. He stops just shy of me, lean and skinny with deep-set eyes. Never dropping eye contact, he reaches right and pulls a door open that leads exactly where I need to go.

“Of course the door is there. Of
course
it is. Thanks . . .”

“Fabian.”

“You must be the other opener. I like your accent. Where are you from?”

“Oh my God. I have an accent?” Clearly he’s joking, and I feel myself relax a bit. “I’m from South Africa. Where are you from?” He gestures for me to lead the way up the stairs, and I do.

“Currently? Seattle. But I like to be all over the place.” When we reach the room I’ve been looking for, I give him a short wave and say thank you.

“It has to be hard to find your way around when you’re following your boyfriend to new places, right?” He looks genuine when he says it, but the words land like lead in my chest.

“I’m from the magazine. I’m blogging the tour.”

His eyebrows raise in light shock. “Magazine, hey? Very cool. You don’t look like a writer.”

When he walks away, I wonder what a writer looks like.

They’re in a circle, having a band meeting, when I walk in. I gather it’s about the performance. Hollis is back in manager mode, but the guys aren’t having it.

“Have you ever noticed that not enough songwriters use the word cock in their songs?”

“I don’t know
anyone
who uses that word.”

“That should be our goal for next year . . . more song cock,” Shawn says.

“You could talk about your cock. His cock. My cock. Actual roosters . . .” Jon is being totally serious.

“In the middle of the concert, we could dim the lights and play ‘What Do You Taste Like?’ That would incorporate nicely.” Cam looks pleased at his contribution.

“We could wear French scarves that say ‘Coq’ on them.” Tyler is trying to keep his voice from cracking because he’s about to explode with laughter.

“That’s
enough
. Have you thought about what you want to do for a finale? For real. None of this cock talk. You can play a cover song for all I care.”

Cam motions to me with his elbow. “Let’s ask the writer. What do
you
want to hear?”

I’m hornier than a seventeen-year-old on Prom Night, and all the cock references aren’t helping my situation. My focus is on Tyler, who is twirling a red sucker across his tongue, regarding me with a sly smile.

“You should do that bad-ass remix of ‘Lollipop.’ ”

The way he grins when I say it reminds me why I’m wishing that the end of the tour was tomorrow. When he points the candy in my direction, I know I’m a dead woman.

“Deal.”

“You can’t learn that in two and a half hours.”

Shawn snickers and shakes his head. “Thanks a lot, Emily. Now we’ll
have
to.”

“I think you should come on stage for it, personally. You could bang a tambourine.” Cam leans back and leers at me.

“Not the cowbell? I’m offended.”

Tyler reaches over and picks up his acoustic. “Come on, let’s practice. Clap like this.” I hold up my hands to do it, and he stops after a few beats to stare at me, wide-eyed. “You are absolutely terrible. You cannot play the tambourine.”

I’m pissed because I fell into his trap. “I hate you, you know that, right?”

By the time they’ve finished practicing in the room and then played the song for sound check, I know all the words. I know when Tyler lets the guitar drop to sing into the mic and Cam crosses stage left. I know when Shawn is going to come in hard and fast, and I’m fully aware of when he drops to half time. I have Jon’s bass line imprinted in my brain. The only thing I need now to put the nail in my groupie coffin is a pair of . . .

“No. Nuh-uh. I’m dressed just fine.”

Hollis tips her head to the side, and her orange bangs slide over her eyebrows. “You think so? You’re fine with looking like a ninth grader while backstage at a concert where the guy you’re
not
sleeping with
is onstage in front of hundreds of screamers with their undies in a twist? Okay. Fine by me. You just keep looking like a stagehand.”

“God, you’re awful.” I snatch the stupid black pleather pants out of her fist and drop my jeans right in front of her.

She eyes me for a second and grins. “Nice underwear.”

Shit. I forgot I was wearing the ones he got me. There is no way this isn’t out in the open now.

“He definitely pissed on his territory with that one.”

I’m busted. There’s no lying anymore. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’ll be objective. This won’t affect working with you in any way.” The pleather pants are already making my ass sweat, and I’ve only had them on for sixty seconds.

Hollis crosses her arms, and her gaze travels from my face to my toes before she purses her lips. “The thing about him touching you and writing, is it true?”

“So he says,” I whisper, wide-eyed because it all sounds so crazy.

“Then I don’t give a single fuck about you two sleeping together. Look around, Emily. We’re here. It’s
happening
.” Her arms widen in the air, and she turns a little in both directions. “He’s writing. He’s up on stage and taking us along with him for the ride. If he has to sleep on you for the rest of his life, I don’t care. Since that’s out of the way, can we go inside now? I want to see my husband melt faces.”

I’m uneasy and filled with butterflies while we push our way through the back door. When we reach the green room, I realize that I’m not the only anxious one. This isn’t Madison Square Garden, but the other three are pacing, and Tyler is standing in the back corner with his head down and eyes scrunched up tight.

My chest aches watching him attempt to pull himself together, and since everyone around us seems to know what we’ve been trying to hide, I go to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m freaking out.” His eyes don’t open, and his left hand twitches a little while he takes practiced deep breaths.

“You’ve done this before, right? Just in a smaller venue. Plus, I’m right here. I’ll be hanging out by the curtain, and I’ll make faces or clap just a beat behind to make you smile. Sound good?”

He finally opens his eyes and faces me, but his hands stay by his sides. Looking down, he smiles. “Could you maybe just turn your ass toward the stage? I can see
that
from where I’m standing. Because I’m in love with those pants right now.”

Feigning shock, I take a step back and hold both palms up. “Oh, you’re in love with pants? Well, excuse me. Maybe I can just sit by your feet on all fours?”

“Yeah. Don’t give me that mental picture before I go on stage. That’s just cruel.”

I lean up on my toes and bring my lips close to his ear. “Would it be cruel to tell you I’m not wearing a bra right now? Because if it is, then I won’t.”

He finally touches me, and I can feel his body relax against mine when he pulls my hips against his zipper. “Damn you, Peach. I don’t have time to jack off before the show. Why would you do that to me?”

“Because you’re not nervous anymore.” My fingers slip beneath his shirt, and I breathe against his neck. “I know you don’t need me, but I’ll be right there just in case.”

“I never said I didn’t need you, and you’ll be out there with me. Just wait.”

“Okay. I have to go watch the openers. I’ll see you after?”

His lips skim my cheek and blood rushes in, making my face burn hot. “Don’t take these pants off before then.”

I don’t make eye contact with anyone when I leave the room to watch the opener. Behind the curtain, I can see Fabian strumming his guitar, and he looks at ease. His music is slow and melodic, it floats and hovers, wrapping itself around my body and making my eyes close when I start to sway. It’s lovely, and I hope one day he has his own band behind him so he’ll get the chance to be successful in these shark-infested waters. Not that the paid musicians are a raw deal. He just deserves bandmates.

The crowd is only half capacity, which isn’t unusual for the opening acts. Those at the front are only there to be close to the Badger. They don’t want to fight the crowds and push their way through. They’ve staked their claim but don’t pay much attention to Fabian, and between each song there are only a few claps. When he completes his set, there’s a tepid response, which causes him to get pulled into his manager’s side. The man whom I’ve been briefly introduced to as Liam, hooks his arm over Fabian’s shoulder and pulls his face down to speak lowly into the musician’s ear.

I’ve seen it before. This is where Fabian gets told everything he did wrong. I hate that shit. When he’s released, the skinny man starts to walk by me, but I tug on his hand before he gets away.

“You were great. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”

It’s a ghost of a smile that he shoots my way, and I can feel Liam staring at us.

“I need to get an interview with you, so whenever you feel up to it or have time, I’d love to pick your brain.”

“Pick away. I just hang out in the bus all night.”

I squeeze Fabian’s hand. “Enjoy your moment.”

His eyes widen when he glances behind me, and he lets my hand go, giving a slight nod before taking off. It only takes me a second to realize Tyler’s standing there. When his palms sweep over my arms, I’m lost in his closeness.

I won’t admit that I missed Shae’s performance on purpose, but I did. Now I’m backstage with this man, about to watch his dreams come true. We stand in the dark, and he looks over my face, holding my upper arms gently. “They know.”

“Yeah. I know they know.”

The building is filling, and I can hear the crowd growing louder. The stage is being set with their instruments, carpets being placed, and mic stands being moved. I know the drill. I can see it without watching, because I’m not looking anywhere but at him.

“You ready?” I lift my right hand to his cheek, and it raises when he smiles. He pulls back to secure the in-ear monitors and steps away.

They’re called to place, and all I can do is stand in the wings to watch them take the stage, arms raised in greeting to the screaming fans. Tyler looks to where I’m standing and raises an eyebrow when he pulls something from his pocket and clips it to the mic stand. Even from where I’m watching, I can see it’s one of the photos he took of me, and I melt a little at the sweet gesture before he looks away.

An introduction. A click of the sticks. One note from Tyler while he cups the mic in his hand, pinching the pick between his thumb and forefinger. The entire place erupts, and his voice is almost drowned out by the crowd singing along. It’s surreal to watch him go from Tyler to Macy in a matter of seconds. He’s all smiles and brooding glances, his movements easy and sexual. His face is shrouded in determination and focus while he plays and sings his songs.

Songs that are no longer about Addie.

No, these songs are about me.

Hollis steps up on my left to watch the performance. The crowd is a deafening chorus, and I close my eyes to stop the tears that are forming there. The hair on my arms is standing on end, and the raw emotional charge of the music rips through me, making me feel full and fragile all at the same time. Tyler’s voice is filled with such desperate longing, love, and even pain, that I have to hold myself together with my arms to stop from breaking down with happiness for him.

When the last note fades across the crowd, Tyler says good night to a chorus of screams and applause. He takes his guitar off his neck and walks tentatively off stage while they begin to chant for an encore. He glances over his shoulder at Hollis, who gives him a thumbs-up, and he grins a cocky half smile at me before he turns back around and sprints onto the stage.

The crowd grows even louder, and Tyler smiles out into the darkness beyond the lights, speaking into the microphone, “Bear with us, but we only ran through this a couple of times this afternoon. We’ll see how it goes.” He throws a devastating smile my way and starts the first chords to “Lollipop.”