“Dude, listen,” I yell over the music. “I’m Chris Rewey, the singer for Reckless Alibi. I was up on that stage an hour ago.”
He finally looks at me. “I’ll give you points for originality, but fuck off.”
“I came out to watch their set and didn’t think about how I’d get backstage. My bad.”
He ignores me.
“Jesus, at least look me up on your phone. If it’s not me, I’ll fuck off.”
He looks irritated, but he gets out his phone. He raises his brows at me. “Well?”
“Look up Reckless Alibi,” I tell him. “I’m the lead singer.”
He taps on the phone, then holds it next to my head, presumably to compare me to the online picture. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and opens the door. “Don’t forget your credentials next time.”
“Thanks, and just so you know, my three bandmates are still out there. They’ll try to get through this door later.”
“Wonderful,” he says, heavy on the sarcasm.
“I wouldn’t mind in the least if you messed with them.”
He laughs. “Name’s Hulk.”
I try not to react, because this guy could pummel me with two fingers. “People call me Crew.” I extend a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He shakes and nods at the hallway. “Get out of here.”
Not many people are behind the stage. Everyone is in the wings. I stop in the doorway of White Poison’s dressing room. Someone is setting up a bar. He looks up, and I keep walking, knowing I shouldn’t be here.
I step on something and lean against the wall to examine the bottom of my shoe. Fucking wad of gum. I pick up a piece of paper off the floor and try to get it off my shoe when I hear voices around the corner.
“God, Aimee, you’re so lucky,” a woman says.
“I know, right? I’ve waited so long for this, and it’s finally going to happen. He texted me earlier and told me to meet him at midnight. He said I could stay for half an hour and if I told anyone, he’d never shag me again. Oh, my God. I’m going to shag Adam Stuart!”
The other woman squeals. “Exactly what did it say?”
“Here, look.”
A second later, they’re both squealing.
I roll my eyes. Why do women lose all sense of worth and decency when it comes to rock stars? Hell, even in the small venues we’ve played, girls came out of the woodwork. They offered to sleep with anyone in the band or even just give us a blow job, and we’re nobodies.
I’m not much better than Adam Stuart, however. I’ve occasionally taken advantage of those situations, welcoming women into my bed. I’ve never gone so far as to give them a time limit, but they all know it’s a one-time thing. It could never be anything but.
I clear my throat before turning the corner. The women look at me from head to toe. Then they look at each other and smile. I wonder which of them is Aimee.
One takes a step forward. “You’re the singer for the opening band,” she says with fuck-me eyes, leaning forward so I can see her impressive cleavage. “I’m Aimee.”
I snort. “Of course you are.”
I half expect to hear a ‘fuck you’ behind me as I dismissively walk away, but I don’t. I guess they’re used to cocky rock stars. I duck into the dressing room, upset with myself for the nasty comment, and vow never to become a stereotype, no matter how famous we get.
I’m collecting my things when I hear the backup singer’s voice again through the speakers in the room. She’s singing with Adam, then she sings a short solo. It’s so powerful it makes me stop what I’m doing.
What the hell is happening to me?
I turn off the sound, grab my shit, and call for an Uber.
Chapter Three
Bria
Exhausted from the concert, and let’s face it, almost three months of being on the road, I lie in bed, listening to Reckless Alibi. They’ve opened for White Poison twice, and their music touches me in a way I can’t explain. It’s so personal. It’s like their singer, Chris Rewey, is singing to someone every time. Lucky girl.
My phone pings with a text.
Adam: How about a little shag before we retire? I won’t keep you up late, luv. I promise.
Me: I’m so tired.
Adam: Too tired for me already, are you?
I sigh and let my head fall back against the pillow. I know all too well the position I’m in. He can have anyone he wants, and he chose me. But I’m not a fool. I know thousands of women are waiting in the wings. It’s why I try so hard not to rock the boat. Our relationship is still new. I admonish myself even before I send the text. I let him win too much. On the other hand, I knew going into this he was the one in control.
Me: Give me an hour.
Adam: That’s what I like to hear, poppet.
I throw my phone on the bed because that’s exactly what I am—his puppet. It’s a term of endearment, but it’s hardly endearing. He pulls my strings to get me to do what he wants.
A few weeks ago, when we were in Chicago, I wanted him to take me shopping to a few places I’d heard of but had never been to. Instead of accompanying me, he hired a car. In New Orleans, when I wanted to check out a famous nightclub, he got one of the male roadies to take me. He doesn’t realize I want to do those things with him. As a couple.
Now that I think about it, what have we really done together? We never go out unless his entourage is with him. The only time we have romantic dinners is when he has them catered in his suite.
As I freshen up, I stare at myself in the mirror. “It’s the tour. It’s stressful for everyone. Things will change in a few weeks when it’s over.”
I smile. Convinced I’m one hundred percent right.
I check my watch. I got ready a lot faster than I thought, but I head up anyway.
As I enter the elevator to go up to the private floor the band has booked for themselves, I wonder where Reckless Alibi is staying. I know they aren’t here. I’ve never seen any of the opening acts at the same hotel, and it has me wondering if White Poison wants it that way. Then again, we stay in hotels most people can’t afford.
The elevator doors open, and I show the credentials hanging on the lanyard around my neck.
“Is Mr. Stuart expecting you?” one of his goonies asks.
You’d think after almost three months, his security team would get that I’m his girlfriend, but they ask anyway. “He asked me to come up,” I say a little too harshly.
Freddie, their manager, sees me and runs down the hall. “Piss off, Cole.” He pulls me into the sitting room. “Darling, Bria. Let me pour you a drink.”
“But Adam is expecting me.”
“He’ll only be a moment. He’s finishing up with a meeting.”
“At this hour?”
He pulls out his phone and taps on it. “Fame and fortune never sleep, my dear.”
I take a glass from him and stare into the brown liquor. “Freddie, will it ever change? When we’re not on tour, I assume things won’t be as difficult or complicated.”