3. Paxton
3
PAXTON
T he guys were pulled away by our agent. Not me, though. No one cares what I do, so long as I’m where I’m supposed to be when they need me. Since I’m not a founding member of the band, I get a free pass from bullshit meetings, and tonight, I have no issue taking advantage of it.
As I slip down the hall, I find Herb standing in front of an open door. One hand is clasped over his wrist in front of him. An earpiece sits in his ear as he scans the premises for what’s no doubt the thousandth time since Danny told him to keep an eye on my special…guests. Er, Dodger’s special guests? Honestly, at this point, I’m not even sure, but I am curious.
When Herb’s attention lands on me, I lift my chin in greeting. He steps aside, giving me access to the propped open door and the girls inside the room. Tate and Rory sit on one of the couches. The food from before the show has been cleared from the banquet table. Now, it holds different glass bottles, a bucket of ice, a bag of beef jerky, and a tray of pastries.
“At least they have good refreshments,” Birthday Girl notes. She licks some cream from her thumb and picks up a second eclair from her plate. “Happy birthday to me, am I right?”
“You missed the encore,” I announce.
Like a skittish deer, Baby snaps her mouth closed and turns to me with wide eyes. Meanwhile, Birthday Girl looks about as surprised as a doorknob.
Twisting on the green and white fabric couch, she sets her plate in her lap. “Funny. I didn’t think security guards gave encores.”
I give her a sheepish grin. “Hi, I’m Paxton, the lead guitarist for IndieCent Vows.”
“Tatum,” she returns. “Did you know your goon at the door is quite bossy?” She glances at the open door where the silhouette of our head of security stands in the doorway. Not gonna lie, the man’s a brick wall with a military background and a no bullshit attitude the guys respect. Babysitting fans isn’t usually in his repertoire, though.
Closing the last bit of distance between us, I sit on Birthday Girl’s opposite side. “Herb’s a good guy.”
“Is Herb short for cayenne pepper or…?” Her nose wrinkles. “Because he is spicy. ”
I bite back my mirth. “Glad he could give you a run for your money.”
“Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far,” she quips. “Although, now that you mention it, I think you owe me.”
“Oh, I do?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “The question is, what do I want? I guess I could always ask for an introduction, but that almost seems too easy, considering I spent the last hour under lock and key.”
“To be fair, the door’s wide open,” I point out. “And from what I hear, you already know my bandmates.”
“I meant Doomsday,” she argues.
Figured as much.
“So you don’t deny it,” I return. “Knowing the band.”
“We know Dodge.” She shrugs. “And even then, I know of Dodge. His parents run in the same circles as Rory’s, and Rory’s parents run in the same circles as mine, and…”
“And Dodger’s little sister is practically engaged to one of Tatum’s older sister’s best friends,” Rory chimes in.
“Well, fuck.” I grip the back of the couch but leave plenty of space between me and the girl on the next cushion. “Should I get a notepad so you can draw me a family tree? Or…”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s asked for one,” Tatum mutters. Her sarcasm is as thick as molasses. “We’re all very close in Lockwood Heights.”
“Seems so.” My gaze narrows as I inspect her, searching for clues and analyzing my bullshit meter. It’s quiet. Settling back into the couch, I say, “All right, I’ll buy it. Can you explain why you know my bandmates but didn’t recognize me when I opened the side door for a smoke?”
Rory snorts, then clears her throat and pulls her phone out in an attempt to look preoccupied when we all know she’s shamelessly eavesdropping.
“Just because I know of Dodge doesn’t mean I’m familiar with your band,” Tatum reminds me.
I pull back and rub at my chest, pretending to be wounded by her admission, though honestly, I’m almost impressed. “Ouch.”
“Pretty sure your ego can take the hit,” Tatum muses. “You did good, by the way.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
With a laugh, she asks, “And what did I do?”
“Sat there and looked pretty.”
“You think I’m pretty, huh?”
Mirth dances in her pretty hazel eyes and shoots straight to my groin like before. And fuck, if it isn’t growing. The pull. The curiosity. The intrigue. Bending forward, I let my lips brush against the shell of her ear. It creates the same thick tension it did when we were on stage just like I’d hoped, and I feed off it, enjoying the push and pull more than she knows. “If I say yes, are you gonna let it go to your head?”
She dips away, peeking up at me through her thick, black lashes. “Maybe.”
My chuckle ruffles the wisps of hair framing her face as I inch even closer. “You’re a confident little thing.”
“Why, thank you.” She peeks up at me again, and I swear I could fucking drown in those pretty little eyes. “Now, I think the real question is…where’s my introduction, Mr. Security?”
“Careful. If you keep calling me that, Judge or Dodge might overhear you.”
“And if they do?” she asks.
“They’ll set you straight. Speaking of which. In the next ten minutes, this room will be swarmed with fans who won backstage passes. Usually, the guys like some quiet time between the show and the meet and greet, but I already know they’re gonna give me shit for pulling a fast one on stage. I might as well introduce them to the reason behind it, right?”
“As in…me?” she offers.
“Exactly.”
Something flashes in her eyes, though it’s too quick for me to analyze.
“Or,” Tatum pushes herself to her feet and wipes her palms along her jeans. “You can sneak us out of here before we have to deal with any awkwardness, and you can introduce me to Doomsday like you promised.”
“I never promised to introduce you,” I remind her.
“Well, then it looks like I should be going.”
“Tate, he won’t say anything,” Rory starts.
She shoots her friend a look. “Not now, Rore.”
“He?” I interrupt. I shouldn’t care. I don’t even know this girl, but what’s with all the smoke and mirrors? So she knows Dodge. Most women would be over the fuckin’ moon to know a rockstar. Not Tate, though. The question is…why?
A strange, unspoken conversation transpires between the two as I watch, dumbfounded. Rory comes to some kind of conclusion, causing Tatum to look pissed.
“Because Dodger knows our families, Tate’s afraid he’ll tell them he saw us tonight which will open up an unnecessary can of worms,” Rory explains.
“From what I’ve heard, you’re not the only one with Lockwood Heights drama,” I point out. “And who cares if they know you’re here?”
Tatum scowls and folds her arms. “I may have told them I have the flu, which is why I couldn’t come home for my birthday.”
I nearly choke on my amusement but swallow it back. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah, and I love my parents, so I’d prefer not to make them question their parenting skills or our relationship in general all because of a little white lie,” Tatum answers.
When heavy footsteps echo from the hallway, Tatum pinches the bridge of her nose, adding a mumbled, “Fantastic,” just in time for Dodger, Tuke, and Judge to walk in the room. Unsurprisingly, Judge looks dead inside, and Dodger looks…bossy as always. Meanwhile, Tuke’s sucking down a joint like this is par for the course when it comes to touring.
He isn’t wrong.
Looks like shit’s about to get interesting.