Stepbrother Backstage (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 3) (10 page)

I sigh, hurrying down the steps after him. So much for
romantic, I guess. But then, there are plenty of prying eyes and perked-up ears
under this roof. Maybe his ribbing is all part of the act? An effort to keep
our families’ off the trail?

Our plan is to crash at the motel where the rest of the band
is staying, since we’ll both be drinking tonight. I’ve got Sophie’s old ID
stashed away in my wallet, so at least I won’t have to be resigned to sipping
Shirley Temples all night. Hopping into the passenger seat of the Hawthorne
family pickup, I promise myself that I’ll find a way to broach the relationship
subject sometime on this little jaunt of ours. We don’t need to have “the talk”
or anything, but I wouldn’t mind knowing what Finn’s thinking about this. About
us.

I’m not a girl who likes to be left guessing.

We roar along deserted country roads, windows rolled down as
we sing along with the blaring radio. Finn keeps one hand firmly on my thigh
the entire ride, and I can barely keep my eyes off his gorgeous, sculpted
profile. He’s wearing black jeans and a white tee, his inked arms on full display.
The stubble on his sharp jaw is more pronounced than usual, and his ashy blonde
hair is just the right kind of charmingly disheveled. My heart swells with
pride at having been invited along on this adventure. I obviously don’t think
of Finn as belonging to me, but I’m thrilled to at least be in his company.
Even if it is only for a couple of weeks. Hell, even if it’s only for tonight.

It isn’t exactly a short ride to the venue—the bar is about
two hours away—but I find myself wishing it would never end as we approach our
final destination. Though we’re both fully grown adults, and our families know
where we are, it still feels like Finn and I are sneaking away together. Being
away from the lake house, I can forget about our complicated situation. Out here,
Finn can just be a guy I met on vacation. And I can just be a girl who’s crazy
about the guitarist in an awesome rock band.

“Here it is,” Finn says, giving my knee a squeeze as we come
up on the venue.

I peer over him and take a look at the place. My defenses
immediately spring up as I take in the trashy, ramshackle bar. The exterior of
weathered wooden planks and roof of corrugated tin lend the joint an
end-of-the-world sort of feel. A neon sign above the door reads, “The Bear
Trap”. I swallow hard, hoping that the place isn’t as violent as its name might
suggest.

“Looks like a classy joint,” I drawl sarcastically.

“Right?” Finn laughs, pulling into the packed parking lot,
“Only the best for my girl.”

I try not to grin like a total idiot as my heart grows
another three sizes. Did he just call me
his girl?
I fuss with my camera
bag, trying to hide my happy blush as Finn cuts the engine and steps out of the
pickup. Following his lead, I hop down to the ground and take in the scene.

At this hour of the night, the bar is already swarming with
people. The crowd is a bizarre mix of Out West and West Coast—indie hard
rockers mingle with cowboy-booted regulars, skinny jeans and daisy dukes appear
vie for dominance. But rocker or cowboy, there’s one thing every patron shares:
a grade A “Don’t fuck with me” attitude.

“There’s our boy!” I hear a swelling voice call from across
the parking lot. I turn to see a familiar, strapping figure striding our
way—the dark, brooding front man of The Few.

He saunters across the parking lot flanked by Finn’s two
other bandmates. The first is a ginger-haired man of average height, boasting a
barrel chest and a beard that would put any Viking to shame. The other is tall
and thin, with a long blonde ponytail and big blue eyes. Accompanying the three
men are three drop dead gorgeous women, one of whom I recognize immediately.
She was the one who waved to me from the back of the band’s jeep as it carried
Finn away from the lake house that first night. Her perfectly wavy brown hair falls
over her tanned shoulders and huge chest, barely contained by a black halter
top. She looks like every dream girl from every rock music video every made.

I straighten my spine and hold my ground at Finn’s side as
the band approaches, telling myself there’s no need to be intimidated. Maybe if
I repeat that to myself enough times, it will somehow magically become true?

“Hey guys,” Finn says, clasping hands with the redheaded man
and giving the blonde guy a firm clap on the shoulder, “How’s it look in there?”

“It’s gonna be a wild show, for real,” the front man grins,
his dark eyes flashing as they alight on me. “Is she with you?”

“I don’t remember hiring a photographer,” the blonde guy
says in a surprisingly high voice, cocking his head at me.

“No, we didn’t hire her,” Finn laughs, letting his hand rest
on the small of my back. “This here is—”

“Annabel,” I cut him off, wanting to introduce myself, “I’m
Annabel.”

“Aww, what a cute name!” says the woman who waved at me the
other night, “Sounds like a fairytale princess.”

“If I’m a princess, my goddamn fairy godmother has some
explaining to do. She’s running about twenty years late to work,” I reply,
raising an eyebrow.

The band members guffaw at my response as the woman smiles
icily back at me. Guess she’s not a comedy fan.

“Well, Annabel. I’m Natasha,” the woman says, nodding back
at the two other women in the group, “These are my girlfriends Gigi and Bex.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply.

“What about us?” the front man barks, his grin growing
wider, “Isn’t it nice to meet us guys, too?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t introduced yourselves,” I reply
evenly, turned off by the lead singer’s arrogant bearing.

“You…Don’t already know who we are?” the singer scoffs,
crossing his muscular arms.

“Jesus Christ,” Finn laughing groaningly, “You get to be
more of a cocky douchebag every day, don’t you?”

“I didn’t choose this life,” the singer shrugs, “This life
chose me.”

“That’s Blaine Anders,” Finn tells me, nodding at the
preening would-be rock star, “The ginger is Buck Sanchez, and blondie over here
is Gabe O’Rourke.”

“Cool. Hey guys,” I say, looking around at the assembled
group.

Everyone nods amiably, excited for the show to start.
Everyone, that is, besides Natasha—who’s eyeing the hand Finn’s resting on my
back—and Blaine, who looks put out that I didn’t immediately offer him a
blowjob upon meeting him. I’ll just try and get to know the members of The Few
who don’t look like they want to kill and/or fuck me, thanks.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Natasha asks breezily,
as we all head toward the back entrance of the venue.

“Oh, we go way back,” Finn lies seamlessly, “Our families
are old friends.”

I swallow a laugh at this rather prettified version of
events.

“Huh. I’ve never heard Finn mention you before,” Natasha
says, giving me a none-too-friendly once over.

“Then again, Finn’s hardly much of a talker,” her raven
haired friend Gigi adds.

There it is again. This idea of Finn being closed-off,
closed-lipped. How is it that no one else seems to know about his gregarious
side? Why am I the only person who doesn’t see him as a silent, brooding bad
boy and nothing more?

“And let me guess, you’re going through your photography
phase or something?” Blaine adds meanly, eyeing my Cannon.

“Excuse me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You know. Like how all twenty-something girls do,” he goes
on, “They decide they’re photographers for a week, then they move onto being
singer-songwriters, or saving the whales, or whatever.”

“First of all, I’ve been taking photos for years, so I’m
pretty sure this phase is here to stay,” I tell him, “And secondly, is there
anything a woman could be interested in, that you’d actually take seriously?”

“Uh,
me
for starters,” he cackles, laughing
shamelessly at his own joke as we descend into the darkness of backstage.

I shoot Finn a look that says,
Why do you hang around
with this asshole?

He rolls his brown eyes back at me, clearly replying,
Fuck
if I know.

“The Few!” cries out a bespectacled stage manager, “You’re
on in ten!”

“Have a good show,” I tell Finn, as the rest of the group
trudges off to get ready.

“I will, knowing you’re out there,” he murmurs, wrapping his
arms around my waist and pulling me against him. Our lips meet in the dark,
hectic staging area—and for all the commotion, we may as well be the only two
people here for that moment. I shiver with delight as Finn tongue brushes
against mine, his lingering kiss sending a deep pang of want searing straight
to the core of me.

“Don’t rile me up
now
,” I warn him, “You’ve got a
show to get through, buddy. Keep kissing me like that and I’ll have to drag you
back to the dressing rooms.”

“Is that a promise?” he smiles, grabbing hold of my
denim-clad ass.

“I’m sure you can wait until your set is over,” I laugh,
running my fingers through his ash blonde hair. “But the second you’re
offstage…”

“Hawthorne!” Blaine calls from the stage, “Quit sucking your
girlfriend’s face off and get your ass over here, man!”

“He’s just so charming,” I say, rolling my eyes, “No wonder
all the chicks dig him.”

“You learn to love him,” Finn shrugs, “Or tolerate him,
anyway.”

“FINN!” Blaine bellows again, “COME ON!”

“See you soon,” Finn says, giving me one last hard kiss
before going to join his band.

I spin around, not even trying to hide the dreamy smile on
my face as I slip out of the backstage area. The stage is in the back room of
the bar, so I head to the front to fetch myself a drink. Hard rock music pumps
through the air, and I guess that there have to be at least a hundred people
sardined in here. Hugging my camera tightly against my body, I ease my slender
shape through the packed crowd, eventually sinking down into a coveted bar
stool.

“Could I get a Jack and coke?” I ask the surly bartender.

“ID,” he gruffs, not even looking up at me as he pulls a
draft.

I produce Sophie’s drivers license, which the bartender
glances at absentmindedly before setting off to make my drink. I’m just about
to slip the card back into my wallet when it’s suddenly plucked from my hand.

“Hey—” I exclaim, whipping around on my stool to find
Natasha starting back at me, eyeing the ID with amusement. She, Gigi, and Bex,
the blonde bombshell, surround me on all sides. Gigi and Bex seem totally cool,
but I can tell that Natasha is not exactly keen on me. I can also see quite
clearly that she’s the ringleader of this little posse. If she tries to ice me
out, the other two won’t be able to do much about it.

“Who’s ‘
Sophie
?’” Natasha asks with a mischievous
little grin, “What happened to Princess Annabel?”

“It’s my sister’s,” I tell her point-blank.

“Oh my god,” she groans, thrusting the ID back in my face,
“Please don’t tell me you’re, like, fifteen or something.”

“Come on. Finn’s not like that,” Gigi chides her friend.

“You don’t know what he’s doing when we’re not around,”
Natasha sniffs, “Or should I say,
who
he’s doing.”

“I’m nineteen, actually,” I cut in, “So, no need to worry.”

“Nineteen?” Natasha says condescendingly, “Still a little
young for a place like this.”

“And yet, here I am,” I shrug, happily accepting my drink
from the bartender.

“Three margaritas,” Natasha snaps at the man, her eyes hard
on my face.

“So, spill,” Bex puts in, “What’s the deal with you and
Finn?”

“No deal, really,” I tell the women. “We’re just…You
know…Hanging out.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Natasha
says, crossing her arms.

“You’re not sleeping with him?” Gigi asks, surprised.

I guess I am technically sleeping beside him, even if we
haven’t had sex yet…But I decide to leave the specifics out of it.

“No,” I tell them, “No, I’m not.”

“Oh thank god,” Bex laughs, “Natasha would have had to kill
you if you were—OW!”

I look up, surprised to see that Natasha has “accidentally,”
stomped down on Bex’s foot. This girl does not mess around.

“What Bex means is that I’ve been…pursuing Finn.
Romantically speaking,” Natasha tells me cooly.

“For like, two years,” Bex pouts, shaking out her foot.

“And he’s finally coming around, isn’t he?” Natasha smiles
icily at her friends, drawing out tepid murmurs of agreement.

I try to keep the skepticism out of my gaze as I take
Natasha in. I have no reason to believe that Finn is actually interested in
her, but still—this makes things rather complicated.

“Oh, I know!” Natasha exclaims with faux enthusiasm,
accepting her margarita from the bartender, “Why don’t you go for Blaine? He
couldn’t keep his eyes off you before.”

I promptly choke of my drink at the mere suggestion of
“going for” Blaine Anders.

“Hard pass,” I tell her laughingly, “He seems like a top
notch dick bag to me.”

The women gasp as if I’ve taken the lord’s name in vain.

“Annabel…” Gigi whispers, “He’s the lead singer.”

“In a rock band,” Bex adds, eyes wide.

“So?” I reply, “That doesn’t make him a god.”

“Doesn’t it though?” Natasha sighs.

“Well, if he’s so incredible, why aren’t any of you with
him?” I ask the trio.

“Oh, we were,” Gigi says casually.

“We’ve all been with Blaine,” Bex nods.

“Been with? You mean…?” I ask.

“Fucked him, yeah,” Natasha clarifies, “That’s the whole
point of hanging around musicians. They’re all real hit-em-and-quit-em type
guys, you know?”

“Any of The Few could score with just about anyone back in
Portland,” Gigi says.

“It’s not a big city. They might need to head down the coast
once they get through everyone back home,” Bex laughs.