22. Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Lacey
The energy inside the venue is electric.
Hundreds of people have packed into the ballroom—industry executives, media, longtime fans lucky enough to snag an invite. With this large of a crowd, there are massive LED screens that flash clips from the band’s latest music videos. The air hums with excitement, a tangible buzz of anticipation as everyone waits for the moment—the first live performance of the Wild Band’s brand-new album.
Nate’s hand is steady on my back as we move through the crowd, guiding me toward the VIP section near the stage. His touch is warm and grounding, but there’s something charged about it tonight. Something that lingers a little longer and presses a little deeper.
I tilt my head, studying him.
He looks so sexy, all dressed in black, his sleeves already rolled up slightly as if he knows he’ll be pushing them higher once he’s behind his drums. His usual scruff frames his sharp jawline, and the intensity in his blue eyes is even more pronounced under the dim, moody lighting.
But beneath the cool confidence, I can feel something stirring.
Something unsettled.
“Nate?” I lean in so only he can hear me over the noise. “You okay?”
His fingers flex slightly at my waist before he gives me a slow, sensual smile. “Yeah. Just ready to play.”
I don’t quite believe him, but before I can press, Sam and Vince appear beside us, drinks in hand.
“Time to warm up those muscles, Nate,” Vince teases, nudging him with his elbow. “Don’t want you throwing out a shoulder mid-set.”
Nate huffs a laugh, but his focus shifts to the stage. His grip tightens at my waist before he finally releases me, nodding toward the section where Rachel and the Wild Band women are waiting. “You good?”
I nod. “Go do your thing, rockstar.”
He lingers a moment longer, eyes scanning my face, then leans down and brushes a kiss against my temple.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs, his lips barely grazing my skin.
Like I would leave.
I watch him disappear into the crowd, following the other guys backstage. The moment he’s out of sight, I exhale, pressing a hand against my fluttering stomach.
I really need to get myself under control.
The lights dim, and the entire room collectively shifts, energy spiking as the LED screens flash Wild Band in bold, flickering letters. The chatter fades into an eager hush, everyone pressing closer to the stage.
Then, the opening chords of the first song pulse through the speakers, deep and resonant.
The stage lights burst to life, illuminating the band in a cascade of reds and blues.
Cass stands at the front, guitar strapped across his torso. His voice smooth and commanding as he launches into the first verse. His vocals blend seamlessly with Luke’s harmonies, their voices weaving together effortlessly, a sound that’s unmistakably new.
Sam’s bass thrums deep in my chest, vibrating through the floor. Vince’s guitar wails through the space, gritty and rich. And behind them all is Nate—
I swallow hard. He’s in his element, I can tell.
Seated at his drums, head slightly bowed, arms moving in precise, powerful strokes. His jaw is tight, his brows furrowed in focus, his entire body attuned to the rhythm. The lights catch in his dark hair, casting a glow over the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the set of his broad shoulders.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more captivating.
The song builds, the chorus swelling into something massive. The crowd feels it too, swaying and singing along even though they’re only hearing these songs for the first time.
And maybe it’s because I know the story behind this album, but—every lyric, every single note—All of it is a weave of different love songs.
Romantic, deeply personal, every word dripping with something raw and aching.
Luke wrote many of these songs for Lila—there’s no doubt about that. His love for her bleeds into every lyric, every chord. But sitting here, listening to the way the melodies rise and fall, the way Nate’s drumming punches through the emotional undercurrent of each song—I swear it feels like Nate’s playing just for me.
My pulse stutters as the band transitions into another track, this one slower, dreamier. Luke’s voice lowers into something intimate, crooning lyrics about longing, about wanting someone so intensely it becomes impossible to think of anything else. Then Cass takes over on the next song and the music continues to soar.
The camera feed on the LED screens zooms in on Nate, catching the moment he glances up—looking straight at me. Our eyes lock, and for a split second, the whole room disappears, and it’s just us.
His grip tightens on the sticks. His chest rises with a deep inhale. And then—he snaps his gaze away, slamming into the next beat like he needs the distraction.
I exhale shakily, gripping the edge of my seat as my pulse speeds up. What the hell is happening?
By the time the final song fades into a roaring wave of applause, my heart is still pounding as everyone surges to their feet.
The band takes its bows, sweat glistening at their temples, grins wide and triumphant. Cass and Luke share a quick fist bump, Vince tosses a guitar pick into the crowd, and Sam holds his hand in the air triumphantly, laughing as they wave to the screaming audience.
And Nate—he barely glances at the crowd. Instead, he’s looking for me.
I don’t get a chance to move before he’s already off the stage, weaving through the mass of people, making a direct path toward where I’m standing.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, gripping my hands together.
The moment he reaches me, his hand is on me—at my waist, firmly pulling me closer.
“What did you think?” he asks, his voice low.
I swallow, glancing up at him.
He’s buzzing—adrenaline still thick in his veins, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt, his pupils blown wide under the glow of the lights. And he’s never looked sexier in his life.
“It was…” I clear my throat, willing my voice to stay steady. “It—you were incredible.”
He watches me closely, like he’s searching for something beneath the surface.
Like he knows, I felt it, too. The songs. The connection. The way every note seemed to wrap around us, pulling us into something neither of us wants to name… at least not yet.
His fingers press into my waist just slightly.
Before I can say anything else, Emily and Rachel appear, interrupting the moment.
“That was insane,” Emily gushes, beaming. “The label execs were losing their minds. The press loved it.”
Rachel nods, eyes sharp and calculating. “Social media is already blowing up. Photos are already popping up everywhere.”
The rest of the band joins us, all of them still riding the post-show high. Cass claps Nate on the back, grinning. “You were on fire tonight, man.”
Nate barely acknowledges it. He’s still watching me.
Emily clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Okay, you guys have about twenty minutes to relax, then we need you back for press photos and interviews.”
Sam groans. “Do we have to?”
Emily and even Rachel level him with a look.
“Fine,” he mutters, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter. “But I need alcohol first.”
As the others disperse, Nate leans in, his breath warm against my ear.
“Come with me,” he murmurs.
I shiver. It’s not a request.
And before I can think, before I can question why my heart is racing so damn fast—I nod—allowing him to pull me away.
Nate leads me through a maze of hallways, his grip firm on my hand. Away from the crowd, away from the cameras and expectations. My heart pounds harder with each step, anticipation building as we turn another corner.
He finally stops at a dimly lit alcove, hidden from the main corridor. Before I can catch my breath, he spins me around, pressing me against the wall. His hands bracket my face, and his eyes—his eyes are wild with something I’ve never seen before.
“I couldn’t focus,” he growls, his voice rough. “Every time I looked at you out there...” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
I can barely breathe. “Nate—“
He cuts me off with a kiss that steals the air from my lungs. There’s nothing gentle about it—it’s all heat and need and desperation. My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as his tongue sweeps into my mouth.
He tastes like adrenaline and desire, and I’m drowning in it.
His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips to pull me flush against him. I gasp at the contact, and he uses the opportunity to trail hot kisses down my neck.
“The way you were watching me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Like you could see right through me.”
“I did,” I breathe, arching as his teeth graze my pulse point. “I felt every beat.”
He groans, capturing my mouth again in a kiss that makes my knees weak. One of his hands tangles in my hair while the other slides lower, gripping my thigh through the silk of my dress.
I don’t care that we’re in a public place. I don’t care that anyone could walk by. All I care about is the way he’s touching me, the desperate edge to his kisses, and how perfectly we melt together.
“We should stop,” he pants against my lips, even as his hands tighten their grip.
“We should,” I agree, but I’m already pulling him back in, nipping at his bottom lip.
The kiss deepens and grows more heated. His hand slides higher on my thigh, and I hook my leg around his hip, needing him closer.
“Fuck,” he breathes, pressing me harder against the wall. “Lacey—“
A camera flash explodes in our peripheral vision.
We break apart, breathing hard, just as footsteps hurry away down the corridor.
“Shit,” Nate mutters, but he doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
I should be panicking about the photo, about what it might show, what Rachel will say, and how the company will react.
But all I can focus on is the way Nate’s looking at me—like he wants to devour me whole, consequences be damned.
“We need to get back,” I whisper, but my fingers are still twisted in his vest.
He nods, but instead of stepping away, he kisses me again—slower this time, deeper—like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me.
When we finally break apart, we’re both trembling.
“This isn’t over,” he says, his voice rough with promise.
My whole body shivers at his tone. “Good.”
We take a moment to straighten our clothes and fix our hair. But there’s no hiding the flush in my cheeks or how our lips are swollen from our passionate kissing.
By the time we make it back to the party, Rachel is frantically typing on her phone. Her sharp gaze finds us immediately, narrowing at our disheveled appearance.
“Where have you been?” she demands, but before we can answer, her phone buzzes. Her face pales as she looks at the screen.
I already know what she’s seeing—a photo of Nate and me locked in a passionate embrace, my leg hitched around his hip, his hand sliding up my thigh. The picture might be grainy and partially shadowed, but there’s no mistaking the raw desire captured in that moment, looking like we were seconds from tearing each other’s clothes off.
“My office,” Rachel snaps. “First thing tomorrow morning.”
I nod, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when Nate’s hand is still on my lower back, not when I can still taste him on my lips.
Sometimes, the most real moments happen when we stop trying to control them.
And that kiss? That was the realest thing I’ve felt in years.
The company can deal with it tomorrow. Tonight belongs to us.