Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
HENDRIX
“They say nothing good happens after midnight. Clearly, they’ve never been to Nashville! Thanks for all the love,” Asher hollers into the mic as the crowd goes wild. “Good night!”
We’ve already done three encores, and this crowd is so wild they’d gladly take a dozen more. But Ash gives a final wave, his shirt long since tossed into the crowd. His hair is slick with sweat, and his tattooed body glistens.
The girls in the front row go fucking nuts, hoping he’ll single one of them out to go backstage. But he doesn’t.
He never does.
He gives us the signal, a quick thumbs up to the crowd, and Darius and I give a quick wave and make our exit first. I hand off my bass to one of the roadies as someone else removes my earpiece and hands me a towel and a water bottle.
I down that sucker in two gulps.
“Christ, that was bloody brilliant,” Darius exclaims, nearly breathless from chugging his own bottle of water. “I fucking love Nashville.”
“I didn’t think they’d be so energetic, considering…” I say, just as breathless. The heat from the lights and the buzz from the crowd have me amped and exhausted all at the same time.
“They’re known for country music here?” Someone offers us both another water as the crowd roars, and I see Zander and Ash leaving the stage. They’re both laughing and slapping each other on the back. “Nah. This city just loves music, period. Can’t you feel it?”
I stare blankly at him. “Feel what?”
“The love, mate. That crowd? They’re buzzing. Giving us nothing but pure love.”
When I stand on the stage, I definitely feel something from the crowd. Whether it’s love, I’m not sure. Excitement? Sure. Lust? Definitely.
Whatever it is, it’s better than any high I could ever chase, and now that I’ve experienced it at this level, with twenty thousand screaming fans surrounding me, I don’t ever want to go back.
I see a tornado of chocolate-brown hair fly by me as Elena throws herself into Zander’s waiting arms. His hands possessively palm her ass, and then they’re practically mauling each other, right there, in front of the whole damn crew.
“Fuck,” Darius curses. “That’s hot.”
Asher joins us and promptly whacks the back of his head. “Ease up with the staring, yeah? If Zander sees you, I’ll need a new bloody drummer.”
“Tell me how, mate? When he’s squeezing her peachy little arse like that.
Ooh, speaking of peaches.” His attention turns sharply away from Zander and Elena, and as I follow his wandering gaze, I see Zara heading our way.
She’s still wearing her white lab coat, and her silky brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Just as she notices us, Darius gives a flirty little wave.
“No.”
“What?” He glances back toward me. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean exactly that, Dar. No. Zara is off limits. She’s too important to the tour for you to pursue for one of your late-night hookups.”
I glance back in her direction and see that she’s joined Elena and Zander, who have managed to pull apart. Zander sneaks a glance my way, and I give him a slight shake of my head. He nods.
He will keep the girls away until this little matter is settled.
“Woah.” He holds up both hands, feigning innocence.
“Who said I was going after her?” Asher and I just stare at him, not saying a word.
He instantly folds like a house of cards.
“All right, fine. Maybe the thought crossed my mind, yeah? But can you blame me? I mean, have you had a look at her? I can’t imagine what she looks like under that white coat with all those lush curves—”
“Stop,” I growl. I didn’t realize I had taken a step forward, but now we’re practically nose to nose. “Not another fucking word.”
I see a brief moment of confusion before something clicks, and a wide smile spreads across his face. “Oh, I see.” He takes a casual step back. “You want her. That’s what this is all about. It’s not about me or what’s best for the bloody tour. No, you want her all for yourself.”
I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. I look over at Asher, and his expression is a blank canvas as he just watches the exchange between us. He already knows Zara and I hooked up, but that’s about the extent of what he knows. What anyone knows, for that matter.
My family was generous enough not to ask for details that night when it all came out, thanks to my former favorite sister, Presley. They were more worried about how it might complicate our relationship and the tour. Somehow, I managed to convince them it wouldn’t—on both counts.
I’m not sure how any of them fell for all the lies I was feeding them, when I barely believe it myself.
But I went into this tour trying to convince myself it would all be fine, that Zara Valentine would not be an issue.
And now here I am, three stops in, ready to rip the head off our drummer for even thinking he might have a shot with her.
Yeah, totally not an issue.
Fucking hell.
“That’s not it at all,” I lie. “I’m simply looking out for her. Zara and I are good friends. We go way back, and I know this job is important to her.”
Darius’s grin widens, clearly not buying what I’m selling. “All right.” He nods. “Good to know.”
And then he saunters off like this was some sort of challenge. And he won.
“What did I just do?”
Asher pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t know, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
About an hour later, I rush around my room, grabbing my wallet and room key as I dash out the door. Tonight, the PR team has arranged for us to hit up an exclusive club here in Nashville, and according to Missy or Misty from PR—I can’t remember her name—it is mandatory that the entire band attend.
Even the hired gun.
We’ve been on tour for a little over a week, and it’s been nothing short of insane. The crowds are electric, the band is tight, and the music is fucking fire.
And I’m so fucking exhausted.
Zander warned me it would be like this. He said tour life was not as glamorous as Hollywood made it out to be, and I believed him. I saw it with my own eyes when I visited him over the years, but seeing it and living it are two vastly different things.
Hell, I’ve been so tired that I was late coming into a chorus tonight.
In Atlanta, it was like my brain glitched and my fingers stopped working.
That, combined with my first-day jitters, and I feel like a damn novice again.
I finally had to loosen up on my late-night practicing to get in a couple of extra hours of sleep.
Otherwise, one of these days, I am going to face-plant right on stage, in front of twenty thousand people.
That would certainly mark the end of my touring days. And probably the day I become an internet meme.
As soon as I step out of my room, I hear an echo. The door next to me closes almost simultaneously, and I glance over to see Zara standing at the door down the hall.
Fucking. Hell.
She’s wearing a short miniskirt and a black low-cut tank top. The skirt sparkles with gold sequins that make her olive skin glow. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, and she’s wearing that same dark red lipstick she wore that night we hooked up.
The day after, I wore her lipstick like a fucking brand.
God, I never wanted to wash it off.
She must feel my gaze on her because she looks up and then does a double-take, clearing her throat. “Hey,” she says, a bit startled. “I didn’t realize we were neighbors.”
“Neither did I.” And now that I do, I’m probably not going to sleep a damn wink knowing she’s just on the other side of this thin wall.
“You, um, look nice.” She gestures to me awkwardly. When did things start being weird between us?
Maybe after she pulled you into her clinic and helped you get through your shit so you could perform, and rather than thank her like a normal person, you awkwardly avoided her out of embarrassment.
Right. After that, then.
“You look…more than nice,” I say, and feel instantly rewarded when I see a shy smile spread across her face as we walk down the hallway. “I didn’t realize you were going to this thing tonight. Were you also forced into it as well?”
“Not forced, no,” she answers. When we step up to the elevator, we both reach out at the same time to press the down button.
Our hands brush together, and I feel her inhale a quick breath of air before retracting her hand to her side.
“Elena suggested I go. I haven’t really done much since we left LA. ”
“Why?”
The doors open, and we both step in, each taking a side so we can face one another. The mirrored walls allow me a three hundred and sixty-degree view of her in that short-ass miniskirt. It’s actual torture. Why are there always mirrors? Do they want people to fuck in here?
“I’ve never really traveled,” she explains with a touch of embarrassment in her tone.
“My family didn’t really have the money for it.
Both of my parents are teachers, and finances were always just tight.
They took us on small trips all over the state, but that is pretty much the extent of my travel experience. ”
“You and—” I can’t even say the dipshit’s name, and she must notice as an amused smile tugs at the corner of her red lips.
“No.” She shakes her head. “We went on a short trip to Hawaii for our honeymoon, but I was still in my final year of residency. I stayed on an extra year to specialize in emergency medicine, and then we had our practice to build. Besides, everywhere I wanted to go, he’d already been. So…”
“I’ve been to a ton of places. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back and share those places with the people I love.”
She presses her lips together and gives me a sad smile.
“I’m starting to wonder if our marriage was just some sort of weird social experiment for Tanner.
Like he’d already been everywhere and tried everything, and nothing was giving him joy, so he thought, ‘Well, maybe I’ll try being a normal bloke for a while.
’ Only that turned out to be just as boring as everything else. ”
I grin. “Did you just say bloke?”
She shrugs. “You hang around a bunch of English guys long enough…”
“A bunch? I only know of two, Darius and Ridge. And Ridge has been living in the States so long that he barely counts. On an unrelated note, if you really want to piss off Asher, ask him what part of England he’s from?”
She tips her head back, and the laugh that follows makes me feel like I’ve won the damn lottery. After the initial awkwardness, I wasn’t sure I’d hear it again.
We exit the elevator and head toward the lobby, where PR Misty waits to stuff us into sleek black sedans and whisk us away.
Her eyes perk up! “Perfect! I was looking for you two.” She motions for us to follow her, walking at a pace that can only be described as brisk and stepping out into the sweet Tennessee spring air.
We barely cross the threshold before the cameras begin to flash.
Shit, I forgot about the press.
Typically, when we enter and exit hotels, we use a VIP entrance in the back to avoid paparazzi and the Manic Fanatics who camp out, hoping to catch a glimpse of us. However, in this case, the PR team wants us to be seen.
Something about keeping the wolves happy or at bay or whatever.
Knowing this doesn’t stop me from pulling Zara tightly against my side as we walk to the car, allowing me to shield her from the frenzy.
I don’t miss the barrage of questions thrown my way, though.
Hendrix, will you be taking over for Evans permanently?
Is this your girlfriend?
Do you feel you got your spot on this tour because of your family’s connection to the band?
That last one makes my hackles rise, my fist clench, but I do as my PR training instructed and ignore them all, helping Zara into the town car as I quickly follow.
It takes me a moment to adjust and release the breath I’ve been holding. However, as soon as I do, I hear Darius’s posh British accent say, “Hey, Doc! I saved you a seat. You ready to party?”
Just fucking great.