Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN
WAIT UNTIL THE TIKTOKER HEARS ABOUT THIS
Kick and I are backstage tuning our guitars and getting ready for tonight’s show when Deacon Sparrow shows up.
“Hey, you two.” He pats us both on the shoulder. “Wanted to say you guys have been killing it on this tour. I’m hearing nothing but good things.”
“Thanks,” Kick and I say at the same time.
I search Deacon’s eyes for any hint that he’s learned the truth, if my mother called him or if Cheddar’s broken my trust and told him I’m a Lovejoy. He’s hard to read, just like Don. Even though we’ve seen Don a handful of times, we never see Deacon except right before we go on. Sparrow doesn’t do their own soundchecks and Deacon never comes to catering.
“Have you had a chance to catch our set?” I dare to ask.
Before he can answer, Nic shows up and calls him away.
“What do you think he would have said?” Kick asks.
“Nothing we’d want to hear.” I strum my guitar half-heartedly. “It’s like we’re on two different tours.”
He pauses, waits for me to meet his gaze before he says, “I’m glad I’m on the one you’re on.”
He keeps saying things like this, things that border on sincerity instead of shameless flirting. Things that will eventually need to be dealt with. Between my mother’s threats to blow up the tour and Cheddar’s knowledge of the truth about me and Don’s suggestion that we become a legitimate band , I have more than enough things to deal with. I can’t handle Kick’s puppy dog eyes.
“Kick,” I murmur, unsure what I should say next.
A familiar screech echoes down the hall, interrupting us. I squint into the distance and my mouth falls open in surprise as my pretend manager flys straight toward me. I pull my strap over my head and shove my guitar at Kick just in time to grab Cass in a huge embrace. Cass, who is very much smaller than me, picks me up off the ground with the force of her hug.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came to see rising star Mari Gold,” calls a familiar voice behind Cass.
It’s none other than Jackson Lord.
“It’s so good to see you, babe,” he says, wrapping his arms around both me and Cass. I feel Kick’s eyes on me as Jackson spins the three of us in a half-circle.
I pull away and grab them both by their shoulders. “What is happening right now?”
“You think I wasn’t going to come see my best girl on her big tour?” Jackson swings his All Access pass around his neck like ta da .
“Best girl?” Kick says.
“Jackson Lord,” Jackson says, holding his hand out to Kick, “Nashville screenwriter and filmmaker.”
Cass and I exchange a look. We’ve never heard him introduce himself as a screenwriter or a filmmaker.
Kick takes his hand but his expression looks like he wants to commit a backstage murder.
“Seriously, what are you two doing here?” I say. “I had no idea you were coming, but I’m so happy to see you!”
Jackson winks at me and turns to Kick. “I’ve been watching your livestreams. Y’all are hot shit together. I’d love to film you sometime.”
Kick side-eyes me. “Thanks?”
“Give it a rest, Jackson,” Cass says.
Jackson catches on, but only five percent. “My dad starred in a video for Sparrow a few years back and is friendly with the band. Since my best girl was out on the tour, I thought I’d come check it out. Cass begged me to bring her along.”
“I remember meeting you at your house,” Kick says. “At a party last April?”
“That’s right,” Jackson says, dragging out the words. “Y’all’s cute little alcove songs. I love that this all happened because of my party. Didn’t I tell you Pen…Mari? I said my party would be worth coming to, didn’t I?” He looks at Kick. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
He and Kick share a look like they’re daring the other to make the next move. Jackson’s trying to take credit for me and Kick and Kick’s looking at Jackson like he might grab my acoustic and swing it directly at his face.
“I can’t wait to watch you live and up close,” Cass interjects. “And maybe peruse the merch stand. Check out the…merchandise.”
“So you didn’t just come to see me?” I joke.
“I’ll buy your merch,” she says. “If that merch happens to be sold by a beautiful merch goddess named Mo I am definitely hoping to kiss? All the better.”
Rod finds us and circles his finger in the air like a propeller. “Time to roll.”
“You can get in this way,” Kick says, motioning for everyone to follow him.
Cass and Jackson have tickets so they go find their seats while Kick and I wait side stage.
“So. That guy. Not a musician, huh.”
Kick’s face is a mask of torment. He’s working so hard to hide it it’s doing nothing but shining a bright light on how bothered he is. Does he actually think something’s going on with me and Jackson? That I’ve been hiding it this entire time?
Then I remember Jackson’s snide comment about his connection to Sparrow.
“Just so we’re clear, Jackson’s supposed ‘in’ with the band has nothing to do with me. I promise you I got that audition on my own.”
Kick shakes his head and opens his mouth, closes it again. Puts his hands on his hips. Puts them on his head. Turns around in a circle, his guitar nearly knocking into me. “You’re dating that guy?”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me.
“He called you his best girl,” Kick says. “Twice.”
The look on Kick’s face can’t be anything other than jealousy. I can’t stop laughing because Kick Raines, America’s Most Desirable, the guy people drool over every single night, the guy whose pockets are stuffed full of phone numbers after every meet and greet, is jealous.
“Are you serious?”
Kick cocks his head, waiting. “You haven’t answered the question. Are you two a…thing?”
“Jackson Lord believes the world exists for him to reign supreme over. He’s one hundred percent about making connections, knowing people, and being known by people. He’s only here to flex that he has access to the band.”
“So, you’re not dating him.”
If I could stuff the look on Kick’s face into a jar and keep it on a shelf, I would. His normally confident veneer has cracked, part of his heart peeking through. I look him in the eye as Deacon and Don hop up onto the stage steps in front of us, waiting for us to follow.
“Why does it matter?” I flip my hair when I say it and his eyes go hilariously wide.
Kick grits his teeth but follows me up on stage. We plug in as the Sparrow brothers introduce us and rev up the crowd. I can hear Cass screaming from the third row and it fills me to the brim with joy. I look over at Kick and his eyes are boring into me, waiting for confirmation to his question. The Jackson possibility has punched Kick’s energy into overdrive. I flash him my brightest, sweetest smile and he bites his lower lip and closes his eyes.
This is going to be so good.
As soon as the spotlights hit us, we’re all fire and spirit, throwing everything we’ve got at each other as we launch into “I Kissed Her In An Alcove.” Kick’s singing like he has something to prove, like he’s singing straight to me, to Jackson, letting us both know exactly how it went down that night in Jackson’s backyard. The crowd is giving it right back, the entire venue a giant ball of crackling energy. We sing like we haven’t sung before, play like we haven’t played before. Miguel and Mateo are giving it just as hard.
When the song ends, we’re both out of breath, watching each other, our faces glowing in the bright stage lights. It’s the perfect moment to let my guard down and show Kick what I’m made of.
I lean into the mic, still watching Kick, and drop a bomb big enough to rattle the internet. “I can’t believe you wrote that song about me.”
The screams are so loud I can’t hear my own laughter. Kick’s face goes from surprise to something downright dirty. We’ve never admitted this online, never in a meet and greet line, never on stage. I don’t know why we’ve been avoiding it since everyone already assumes, but saying it out loud tightens my stomach in the most delicious way. I’m standing in front of twenty-three thousand people confessing I made out with Kick Raines in a tiny alcove.
And I liked it.
Kick leans into the mic and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’d tell on me like that in front of all these nice people.”
The giant screen behind him projects his face all the way to the back row of the third balcony. He’s beaming so bright the screen’s in danger of cracking down the middle .
“What, like you told on me in that song? The alcove was our thing and then you made it everybody’s thing.”
My flirty mouth is running away with me and I’m happy to watch it go. Maybe Kick’s jealousy over Jackson is a good thing because suddenly I have nothing to lose.
“If I recall,” Kick says, eyes on me, his sparkle gaze piercing my soul, “you wrote a song about the alcove too.” He looks out across the audience as they gulp down every word we’re saying. “Hey, Chicago, would you like to hear the song Mari Gold wrote about kissing me in an alcove?”
The roof shakes with their cheers and applause.
“Good God, woman. I’ve never seen you play like that, ever,” Cass says once we’re offstage and in the back hallway.
I pull her away from anyone who might be listening, namely Kick. “Was it too much?”
“Smoke’ll be coming out of the internet tonight but no, I don’t think it was too much. I think you and Kick are the greatest duo since Joey and Chandler.”
“So you think we’re good as a duo?”
“Mari, we’ve been over this a million times, but since you’re a moody artist who cannot absorb actual facts, I’ll say it again. Today is not forever. Being the opener for one act, for one summer, even as a duo, doesn’t define your entire career. This is only the beginning. A massive, incredible beginning. I’m your manager. I should know. And you can’t tell me that wasn’t fun.”
“It was fun, yes, more than fun. But what if this is like when an actor gets a big role right out of the gate and then can’t ever play anything else ever again because they’re always known as that first character. Like the Luke Skywalker guy.”
“First of all, Mark Hamill is an actual cinnamon roll human and we will only speak of him with glowing praise. Second, you are not Mark Hamill.”
“I could be Mark Hamill.”
“No. You’re Mari Gold, Manipulator of Melodies and Crafter of Words. White Hot Performer. Stage Vixen. One summer as a duo can’t change that.”
“What if it’s more than one summer?”
She pauses, stunned. “What do you mean?”
“Don Sparrow told us he’d produce our songs so we could shop them around town. As a band. Like, that we’d do this for real. Be a band. The four of us. Me and Kick and the guys.”
Her eyes go impossibly wide. “I love that so much. So much! What did you say? What did Kick say?”
“Kick said we’d think about it.”
She grins and lovingly squeezes my shoulders. “Everything’s coming up Mari Gold. You, my love, are a star.”
“Who’s a star?” Kick says. His cheeks are flushed and he’s still breathing hard.
“You two,” Cass says. “And if you’re asking, my vote is yes to the band, yes to recording with Don, yes to all of it. You should definitely, definitely do it.”
Kick’s shit-eating grin takes over his whole face. “I’ve been telling Goldie that since the night we met.”
I roll my eyes as dramatically as I can. “Would you shut-up? She means we should be a band.”
“Oh wow,” Cass says, catching on. “He really is as bad as you said he is.”
He’s still grinning. “You told her I’m a bad boy?”
“I told her you’re a dumbass. Now go away so I can talk to my manager in private.”
Kick throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your conversation about me being a bad boy. ”
I watch him walk away and Cass shakes her head. “There is no way the two of you haven’t ripped each other’s clothes off.”
“We haven’t and we won’t. We’re professionals.”
She looks down the hall at Kick who’s still walking backwards, smiling at us. “It’s only a matter of time.”