Maybe (22 page)

He tastes like sweet cherry again, and it makes my head swim, my knees weak, and my lips tremble. I’ve missed it. I remember how it felt back in Austin when the flavor was in my mouth for the first time. I want him to touch me like he did in the alley after our year-long separation. I want him to look at me the same way he did in the mirror the night it all came crashing down. My affection has grown, and I’ve tried to push it aside. It’s stupid, and frankly, I’m over it.

“Tonight I get to lay you down on clean sheets. I get be inside you again. And the thought is enough to make me want to pretend I’m sick and cancel this show.” Tyler’s soft, warm lips plant a gentle kiss on my nose. “But there’s this
finale . . .
”

I pinch his side and twist, and he laughs before he steps back. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

He cocks a brow. “Tit for tat, right?” Even in the dim lighting, I can see that hunger in his eyes. “I’m gonna use your body like sheet music soon.”

There’s loud throat-clearing from behind us, and Jon’s smirking, his left hand pointed in the direction of the hallway. “Your boss is early. You should probably wipe your mouth and put on some lip balm.”

“You and your wife are certified cock-blockers. You should get business cards or something.”

This time he grins. “Already have ’em.”

One more stolen kiss and I’m back in professional mode, taking confident strides to meet Rynn. She has her finger in her ear and a phone pressed to her cheek while she yells at someone on the other line. She’s
always
yelling.

“I swear to God, Franco. If you do another one of those Internet . . . no. No. No. You listen. Oh my God. You’d better be in my office tomorrow morning, or shit will hit the fan.”

If she could throw her phone against the wall, she would.

“Franco?” I ask when she turns around.

“Mind your own business, Portman. Hello. You look well. Blah, blah, formalities. What time does this start?”

“In less than an hour.”

“Good. We have time to chat, then.”

Like an obedient puppy, I follow her back outside. There’s a cluster of people smoking, some are inconspicuously drinking, and there’s the skunky smell of really good weed. She waves her hand in front of her face and pretends to gag.

“I don’t miss this part. Tell me what I want to hear. Give me dirt.”

It feels terrible, and I’m just about to tell her the truth, exactly what she wants to hear, when Shae stumbles by in bright pink espadrilles and little else. Her dress is pretty much a belt. She is devastatingly beautiful and inelegantly wasted. I count to five, and Shawn appears right behind her, with Cam bringing up the rear.

“They’re really boring, boss. Nobody does anything. Maybe drink? But that’s about it. This is as storyless as you can get.”

“The lead singer doesn’t have a story? Bad relationship with his daddy? Psychosomatic issues? Is he a sleep-humper or a furry fucker? Does he hear voices or see music in colors? Addictions? There’s no possible way that a story isn’t here.”

“Would the parent thing even be a story? Every article and book ever about rock stars includes a father who is disappointed in his son. I’d hardly call that worth writing about.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.”

I nod my head and press my knuckles to my mouth. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m not digging deep enough.” I don’t care what I say to her now. If things go as planned, then I won’t be dealing with this much longer. It’s none of her business what Tyler’s story is, and it’s certainly none of her business what part I play in this. I will never, ever let her know about how he feels when he’s with me.

She throws a disgusted look my way. “This won’t get you a senior position. Little blogs about crowds and pictures of street signs and bars, singers blurred out by stage lights—none of that will get you where you want to be. I expect more from you.”

“Noted. Would you like to go inside and meet the bands?”

“No. Just text me when they start.”

When I walk back inside, I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up this time.

“She’s pretty good.” It’s a compliment, coming from Rynn. She is watching Shae onstage. My boss does this thing while she’s observing talent. If she likes them, then her head moves back and forth like a chicken finding feed. If they’re awful, she looks like she smells burnt popcorn.

Right now, she appears to have been let out of the coop.

“She is good. You’re right.”

“Pretty, too.”

“Yep. Also Brazilian.”

“No story there either?”

I shrug and keep staring at the stage. “She’s not my assignment, right?”

While Fabian’s band is being set up, Rynn follows Shae to speak with her for a few minutes before appearing at my side again. I suddenly notice that her nails are black tonight, and it seems completely fitting that they look like claws.

She pushes her blond curls from her face and fans her neck. The deep V of her designer shirt reveals a glistening sheen that makes me look away. Now is not the time to ask about menopause.

Fabian’s set always thrills me, and I don’t even realize that I’m swaying with my eyes closed until she nudges me with her elbow. “Stop it. You look like a rookie.”

I pretend for the next twenty-five minutes not to be affected by his melodies. I’m good at pretending now.

Again, she steals off with Fabian and his manager for a quick chat, only this time she doesn’t come directly back to me. She has Hollis cornered, but my friend, now that I can call her that, is holding her ground.

“Hey, I know I’m not supposed to talk to you or anything . . .”

I smile and slide my eyes over to where Tyler is standing to my right. “I didn’t say we couldn’t speak.”

“Yeah, I know.” His lips twitch when his hand brushes mine, and after all we’ve done, this simple touch lights up every cell in my body. He turns my wrist, and I feel something press into my palm before he folds my fingers over it. When he walks away, I look down and laugh at the sucker in my hand. He’s thoughtful, but he’s also a snarky asshole. I like both sides of him.

When the first chord rings through the air, the hair on my arms stands on end as the electricity around me pops and crackles. Even after all these weeks, this music reaches inside and takes hold of my bones.

Tyler glances my way several times, giving that signature smile of his that never ceases to make me want to have sex with him at any time or any place. With Rynn at my side, I can’t react outwardly. It’s hard to tell how she feels about the band because her head is neither bobbing nor pushed back into her neck. It’s tilted to the side like she can’t figure out if she likes them or not.

When they finish the last song, Tyler says good night and holds his hand up in a small wave before the four members run backstage. By this point, all three bands have assembled in the wings. The anticipation is nerve-racking, and their excitement is palpable, but I still have no idea what’s going on.

“What the hell are they doing?” Rynn frowns at the musicians lined up and ready to go.

“There’s some kind of finale collaboration or something. I’m not in the know.”

“You don’t seem to be in the know about much.”

Instead of answering, I unwrap my Blow Pop and stare a hole in the side of Tyler’s face.

The crowd starts to chant for an encore, but they let it go longer this time until the sound is deafening. It is a cacophony of sound—cheers, screams, claps, and chants. Tyler closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, savoring the moment. His eyes snap open, and he jerks his head toward the stage, a silent instruction for everyone else to take their places.

Each one walks out onto the stage, their formation scattering as they find their marks and prepare their instruments. The studio drummers for both bands are standing at the kit in back, one on each side. Shae is at a mic, and Fabian is on guitar next to Cam. Jon and the other bassists are plugging in and laughing, but the sound is drowned out by the screams of the crowd.

Tyler and Shawn were lagging behind, and once the others have found their places and are set, they emerge from the side stage. Tyler gives me a cocky grin when he hits the floor.

Then he turns abruptly and runs to the drum set.

The crowd loses their shit.

My eyes pop with anticipation, and my mouth drops open, the lollipop falling out and hitting the floor when Shawn takes the center microphone. I have a sick feeling in my gut at seeing him center stage. He’s been better tonight, but it’s obvious he’s not a hundred percent.

Shawn gives a seductive smile to Shae when Fabian starts to play, followed immediately by Jon.

Those notes.

I know those notes, and I close my eyes as I feel heat rush through my abdomen and settle in between my thighs, then down to my knees.

I am literally shaking when Tyler hits the first drum. My favorite drum beat on the planet. A driving, stimulating, throat-choking drumbeat that makes me shiver and quake where I stand.

Shawn leans into the microphone, his vocals sexually charged while he looks Shae in the eyes and starts to sing that he’s “gonna be somebody.”

The crowd is having a fit watching the two manipulate each other. The lights pulse and bounce while they cross the stage over and over in time to the beats. Shae steps forward, straddling Shawn’s leg while he continues to sing, and she shifts her hips into him and smiles. He grips the mic stand with one hand and her waist with the other while she all but humps his leg. They hold a seductive stare, and she meets his mouth at the mic and sings with him. I don’t want to pay any more attention to them, though.

Tyler goes back to that driving beat, and I turn only a fraction of an inch to watch him work the skins. I’d forgotten how damn sexy he is behind the drums, and I bite my fingernails while I watch his hands move lightning-quick, setting the speed of the song, the rhythm and beat forcing the others to follow. No matter what instrument he plays, he owns it, and he leads the charge.

He looks so damn happy back there, too. His arms and hands rise and fall in a blindingly fast progression, while his feet pump bass and his eyes twinkle with excitement at doing something new. He moves through the bridge and chorus, and when Shawn hits the final notes of the second verse, the guitars come in hard and fast. Suddenly Tyler is beating the hell out of the drums, making me wet with each pop and hit of the heads.

He does a groove and repeats it, but the second time around, I notice that the other drummers are standing, facing him with their drumsticks in hand. When he stops at dead space, they hit the cymbals twice and then stop them with their fingers. They repeat the fill six more times, and each time Tyler stops on the second progression, they hit the cymbals, and he looks elated. He’s laughing. I chance a glance over at Shawn again to just see him full-on making out with Shae, no longer singing. They separate long enough to hit their last notes, and the other instruments fade out, followed by deafening screams and applause while everyone bows and runs backstage.

My boss has pulled aside all three managers now, and I take the chance to slip into the hallway, waiting until Tyler clears the door. He rushes by me with the rest of the guys, and they file into the dressing room. Cam starts pulling his shirt off, but I only have eyes for one person.

When I reach him, I tackle him, making him lose balance and fall to the floor while I assault him with my hands and lips. He kisses me back, covered in sweat and breathing heavily from his exertion behind the drums. He hums a little and lifts a thumbs-up over my head.

“Damn it!” Cam is pissed, and he hands Tyler a fifty.

“More bets?”

Tyler smiles. “I figured that since you loved the first song so much, then you’d attack me after this one. Cam disagreed, and he lost.”

“That was for me?”

He sits up a bit, leaning on his elbows. I feel his hand run through my hair and settle at the base of my scalp, and I look up into his eyes when he sighs and runs his thumb across my neck. “It’s
always
for you.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

First, I need to find more songs that make Emily grind up on me like that.