Twenty One - River
“Holy shit! I can’t believe three-hundred and sixty-thousand people like us enough to follow us,” Rad gapes, marveling at his phone from my right.
Swiping up, he clicks through all the stitched and duetted videos of their performances. A pang of jealousy hits me square in the chest as these beautiful women grace the screen with their reactions, going on and on about how charming the guys are and what they want to do with them.
I cringe. God, they’re gorgeous girls. What will happen when Whispered Words are famous? And I’m me? Shit. I can’t think like that. They’re mine for now—in the present. But who knows what the future holds?
“FlashGram, too,” I say, tapping the screen a few times until it pops up. “It’s almost the same amount. You guys need more pics,” I murmur, scrolling through the hot action takes I took over the weekend at Dead End. Nothing beats standing on the bar and snapping pictures as they perform. It gives me the best height advantage and the best snapshots.
“Jesus,” Callum murmurs from my left, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tucking my head under his chin. Shivers roll through me from the proximity of our bodies. Day after day, Callum gets increasingly comfortable in my presence, always finding ways to hold my hand or touch my body. One day, I’ll corrupt this boy into doing the one thing I know he wants. “I can’t believe it,” he says in awe, with his eyes glued to the screen.
“Well, believe it,” Asher says with a cocky grin, startling us from our huddle. “Whispered Words is taking over the damn world one stage at a time.” Asher tips his head back, admiring the back of the main stage we’re nestled behind, concealing us from the growing crowd beyond. The largest grin I’ve ever seen slithers across his lips. And this time, it’s not so damn scary.
Joy lights up his face, chasing away the massive amounts of shadows plaguing him. I don’t know what Asher’s home life is like, but every time he holds his guitar and strums the strings, he’s a different man—a lighter man. Music seems to have the same calming effect on Asher as it does me, and it draws me in.
“And it’s all because of you, River Blue,” Kieran says, stalking toward me with predatory intent. Warm hands grip my cheeks, tearing me from Rad and Callum’s grip as his lips graze mine, entirely devouring me in a matter of minutes.
Jesus. I’m panting by the time he lets me come up for air. Oh, and soaked, too. I swear my shorts are sticking to my damn vagina. But maybe that was his plan. By the look crossing his smug as fuck face, I’d say he did what he set out to do—claim me and make me horny.
“I didn’t do much,” I breathlessly say, panting to regain my breaths against his lips, melting into his grip.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Little Brat. You’re the reason we have videos on ClockTok. The only reason we were able to record our EP last week. Our downloads on The Dot are through the damn roof. And now, here we are,” he says, spreading his arms out, aiming his chest toward the large stage looming before us.
“Let’s start unloading,” Kieran says, nodding his head toward the Tahoe parked a few feet away and dropping his hold on me.
I wrinkle my nose, ten seconds away from asking him to unload in me instead. With a few choice words inside my head, and a lengthy lecture from myself, I think better of it. They have so much to do before their performance in two hours. And Asher would throw a fit. I’m going to Rad and Callum’s after the show, anyway. Speaking of…
Me
Ma. You doing good?
Mother
Just peachy, kiddo. Korrine brought me a nice dinner. I’m feeling a lot better.
Me
Glad to hear! I probably won’t be home tonight. The bar is closed, but I have lots of work to do at the Celebration.
Mother
I figured. You’ve been a busy girl lately. Keep up the good work. Don’t worry about me.
I snort. Right. Don’t worry about her. That’s all I do. If it wasn’t for the nurse and Korrine sharing the responsibility of caring for her, I’d be drowning in it all.
Looking back, I take in the boys who have clawed their way into my heart as they huddle around the Tahoe and slowly unload their gear.
Thankfully, the street festival workers let us drive it back here and back it up to the stage. Or we’d have had to walk a mile through the enormous crowds and back for more. Asher and Kieran pop the doors on the Tahoe and begin unloading it.
A blush takes over my cheeks, and I look away, focusing on the flapping curtain dangling backstage. In two hours, Whispered Words will put on the show of a lifetime for a roaring crowd of eager fans who came from across the country to see them. Since their ClockTok fame, their fan base has grown exponentially.
My heart skips a beat, anticipation shooting through me. Every time I see them perform; it never ceases to amaze me. Their music. Them. It all clicks in my soul like this entire thing we’re doing is meant to be, and fate brought us together like this.
Over the past three weeks, their social media presence has blown through the damn roof. Like an elevator exploding through the ceiling and flying into space, type of boom. The boys have recorded their EP at the school, uploaded their music to The Dot, and successfully invested in merch. All in a short period. It’s like all they needed was for me to light a fire under their ass and get them going with these goals. My chest puffs with pride watching my little worker bees make their dreams come true. I’d say I’m a proud mama, but that would be awkward. I’m the proud woman, standing on the sidelines, watching as their empire grows with every song they sing.
“Jesus, it’s hotter than Satan’s asshole out here,” Rad gripes, tugging at the collar of his new shirt. I’m sure he can’t wait to tear it off. “I’m sweating like a whore in church,” he whines more, puffing out his bottom lip like a damn child.
“You are a whore in church,” I mutter playfully. “But the shirts, huh?” I ask with a grin, slapping his hand away and plucking his lip.
He groans, catching my wrist. “Yeah. They’re cool, Pretty Girl. All fancy with our band name on it, but I’m so restricted.” Rad leans in closer to my ear. “It feels like a damn lake in my pants. My balls are so sweaty, babe,” he pouts, begging me with his eyes to give him permission to strip them off and air out his dangly bits.
“Keep your pants on, Cowboy. You can’t scare away the crowd. You can air those out later tonight, in private,” I say, smoothing out his shirt that sticks to his skin. His lips pop open in retort, but he’s cut off.
“The sun will set soon, and it’ll cool down when it does,” Asher grunts, rolling his amp down the ramp attached to the back of Kieran’s SUV. “Please keep your dick in your pants.” He scowls in Rad’s direction. “We’re in public,” he mutters the last part with a headshake. “And there might be children present. The last thing you need is a trip to jail.”
Rad recoils at the thought of jail but continues his rant anyway. “But it’s hot now. Can’t I strip?” Rad whines, pulling at the ends of his shirt, attempting to take it off.
“You heard Evil Ash. There’s definitely a no stripping rule on stage,” I say, fixing his shirt and earning a scoff. “But I do have an idea.”
Rad’s eyes widen when I whip out my knife and flick it open, exposing the sharp blade gleaming in the sun.
“Pretty Girl,” he says with apprehension. “I might be into a little stabby-stabby in the sack, but uh…” he trails off when I pull the sleeves away from his skin and yelps when the blade tears through the fabric, eliminating the sleeve. I swear his body sags in relief when the slight breeze blows through, cooling him off. “Ah, finally. Fuck. I think I love you, Pretty Girl. Will you marry me?” he asks breathlessly as I do the other sleeve and even cut down the sides to expose his ribs.
“Evil Ash?” Asher huffs, amusement pulling the edge of his lips. “We’ll discuss that later.” I roll my eyes at his attempt to discipline me.
We definitely won’t be discussing that later. What is he going to do? Spank me? Bend me over his knee and tell me I’ve been a bad River? I shiver. Okay, so it doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me. He seems like the—take control in the bedroom—type. I’m down for that only if he’s ready to take on a brat.
Over the last three weeks, Asher and I have grown a little closer. We aren’t besties by any means, and sometimes I want to smash his skull in the doorway, but we’re getting there. Just recently, we’ve gotten into this push-and-pull sort of relationship mixed with heavy amounts of sexual tension. One day, Asher will blow his lid and take me like I know he wants to. So, I’ll keep pressing his buttons and getting on his last nerve.
“Fine.” Rad frowns, looking up at the back of the stage, losing his pout.
A closed, dark curtain cuts off the audience’s view, separating us from the growing crowd beyond. Our stage is nestled in the back of Central Park, situated just past the large fountain, and facing a blocked-off street. Several businesses line the road, towering above us. People drunkenly walk the streets, free to roam without worrying about traffic. It’s street festivals like this that I live for. The atmosphere, people, and smells of food—make it perfect.
People hoot and holler as they roam the blocked-off streets of the Celebration. Police barricades sit at the end of every downtown road, forcing traffic to avoid this area. Not like they’d get through the crowds or people, anyway.
The Central Fall Celebration started over fifty years ago. Street vendors who offer food, wood carvings, toys, and anything you can imagine line the streets. Bands play on five different stages, placed around a ten-block radius. It’s practically a holiday for the people of Central City. A time to let loose, drink, eat, and socialize with everyone in their path. It’s the only time both sides of the city come together and celebrate as one unit, bringing in the new season with a bang.
“Sounds like-like a lot of people are here already,” Callum mumbles, hanging tight to his bass case with wide eyes, white-knuckling it. A large lump bobs in his throat when he swallows hard, frantically looking around.
“It’s your fans. You go on in two hours, but everyone is already lining up at the front of the stage.” I peek between the curtains. “Yup, there’s already two or three rows of people.”
Even Tessa and Sara sit front and center as usual with their tits pushed up to their chins and fake smiles on their faces. A gaggle of girls surrounds them, moving their arms excitedly around, anticipating the boys getting on stage. Great. Just who I want to deal with all night. The boys have already dismissed them repeatedly, and I’m not sure how they’re not getting the hint. Maybe I need to jump one of the boys on stage and claim what’s mine for them to get the message to fuck off.
Asher’s grin grows when he stops beside me, peeking out. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles in awe. “You got us somewhere, Little Brat.” Color me shocked when he places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Dare I say he’s happy and proud? “This is the best thing anyone’s ever helped us accomplish.”
Meeting his eyes, I offer him a soft smile and tap his hand resting on my shoulder.
Something odd happens inside my body when his praise hits my ears. I stand taller. My chin juts out, and my heart pounds with excitement. If Asher happens to call me good girl, I might drop to my damn knees and suck his soul from his dick.
“You almost sound proud of me, Evil Ash,” I quip, swallowing the odd feeling bursting inside me. “Is Daddy proud?” I bat my eyelashes, poking the rigid bear.
Ash’s eyes widen, and a little red tint takes over his cheeks as he sputters, collecting his breaths. His eyes slide to mine with a knowing look, most likely remembering the words he spoke a few weeks ago.
“For fuck’s sake, Little Brat,” he gasps, tightening his grip on my shoulder. “You remember what I said, right? What happens when you call me daddy?” he murmurs, inching his face close to mine.
Asher looms over me, bringing our bodies closer and closer together until my back hits a wood support, and he cages me in, examining my eyes. I don’t know what he sees behind them, but he grins, exposing all his teeth.
“I am very fucking proud. Maybe you’ll get a reward later,” Asher murmurs, inching closer until his soft lips land on my cheek, awakening the butterflies in my stomach. “But stop calling me daddy,” he says against my flesh, verbally pleading with me. “Or you won’t like the consequences.” Shivers roll through me when he pushes away and walks toward the SUV.
“Okay, Daddy,” I taunt, watching as he halts his steps before making a mad dash away.
“You’ve gotta stop winding him up, River Blue. Especially before a performance,” Kieran chuckles, wrapping a sweaty arm around my shoulders.
“Um, what’s the fun in that?” I laugh, shrugging off his heavy arm. “You boys have two hours until the show. It gives you time for sound check and all that fun stuff.”
“And you?” Callum asks in a small voice, making his way onto the back of the stage with his bass. Standing high above me, he tilts his head and examines me. “You’re staying, right-right?” Big puppy dog eyes greet me when I look up at him, drenched in the shadows of the stage.
Offering Callum a soft smile, I nod. “Of course. I’ll be out there setting this up. Let’s see how much your fans love you,” I say, picking up a box full of shirts.
He grunts, setting down his bass, and jumps off the stage. Landing with a soft thud, he yanks the box from my hand. As we walk from behind the stage, we finally catch a glimpse of the full view of the crowd lining up to see them.
“That has-has to be the biggest crowd we’ll ever play for.” Callum shudders, placing the box on a table set up to the right of the stage. He swallows hard, surveying the crowd with awe, and reaches for my hand, squeezing tight.
“You’ll do amazing,” I whisper, squeezing his hand back.
His cheeks darken at my compliment, and he nods. “Thanks, River,” he murmurs, kissing my cheek.
“No problem. Now, go get ready. You have a raging crowd of four hundred people to impress. And hopefully, sell lots of merch,” I say, nodding toward the box full of their new merchandise.
I shoo Callum away with a grin, watching his retreating form. He only looks back once, reddening at the sight of me, and offers me a little wave.
So, as the boys do their thing backstage, getting their equipment set up, I do my thing at their new merch table, setting everything up.
After planning a design and chatting with the printer, we got shirts, pins, and postcards with their band name for a reasonable price. Everything’s coming together for them in the past three weeks since they sat down and got to business. It’s the first time I’ve seen them hunker down and put effort into their future as a band. Sure, they’ve played at a few venues but never invested in themselves.
Scooting the long plastic table next to the stage, I set out their merch. A few people meander over, looking over the shirts, and buy a few before the boys go on stage, explaining they can’t wait to see the show. As two hours tick by, I hear the boys’ hushed conversation behind the curtain protecting them from view. If I leaned back far enough, I’d have a clear shot of them murmuring in each other’s ears and braiding their hair.
“Telling secrets?” I quip, pulling a piece of the curtain back to reveal the boys standing in a circle. I lean my elbows on the stage that comes up to my chest and raise a brow.
“You’re nosy,” Asher deadpans, grabbing the curtain from my hand. “Back to your table, Little Brat.” I snort when he pulls the curtain closed, blocking my view of them.
“Secrets don’t make friends!” I shout, taking a few steps back to my table and plopping down on the lawn chair I thankfully remembered to pack.
My eyes roam the ever-growing crowd, mesmerized by the mass of people forming around our small area. Every year we invite popular bands to this stage, and every year they draw sizeable crowds. But nothing like this. This crowd is massive, swaying together in anticipation.
As my eyes look over the rest of the crowd, I groan at the sight of my high school enemies. Fuck. A few girls around Tessa and Sara stare in my direction with narrowed eyes before leaning in to whisper to one another. God, it’s like we’re back in high school. Hello, bitches—we’re adults now.
Each and every one of those girls was a dick to everyone else, especially me. Their fucking plaything for two years. And now, it seems I’m their target—once again. Yippee. Little do they know; I won’t roll over and be a good puppy anymore. I have more bite than bark. The sooner they realize that the better. Because if they keep coming after me, I’m going to rip their annoying faces off.
The curtain behind me draws again, revealing a smiling Rad, glowing with pre-concert jitters. I swear he’s the damn sun beaming down, and I’m the little planet, soaking it in. Crooking a finger, he pulls me toward the stage with one finger flick. I raise a brow, leaning against the wooden structure, staring into the abyss of his dark eyes that twinkle in the dwindling sunlight.
“Pretty Girl. I’ve got a new shirt for you,” Rad says, trying and failing to hold back his grin while holding up a dark shirt that says: Property of Whispered Words.
I blink rapidly, taking in the meaning of the words scrawled across the black shirt waving in the warm breeze. Once it settles in, I narrow my eyes at the possessive fools standing above me on stage.
“Really? You want me to wear a shirt like that?” I raise a brow when Rad looks at the crowd mixed with women and men. Without hesitation, he nods with enthusiasm—or maybe it’s possession hiding behind his intentions.
“Uh, huh. Yup! Now, put it on,” Rad demands, holding it in front of my face with expectation. “Put it on, beautiful! I want to see our band name stamped over your pretty titties for the entire world.”
“It’s to keep the other vultures away,” Asher says with a noncommittal shrug. “They’ll know who you belong to.”
“Wear it to work, too,” Kieran adds, placing his guitar strap over his shoulders and settling it across his body. His fingers tweak the strings a few times, tuning it by ear.
“Then everyone will know not to talk to you,” Rad adds, freeing his grin.
“No talking to other boys,” Kieran barks with possession, curling his lip back, and eyeing all the people wandering the streets with drinks in their hands. Slowly, his eyes move over the crowd.
I blink. “Excuse me? Did I hear what I think I heard?” I huff, putting my hands on my hips. There’s no way in hell they can tell me who I can and cannot talk to. No fucking way.
“He’s right, Pretty Girl—no more boys. There are four of us. How many more dicks do you need? None. That’s the answer,” Rad says, shaking his head. “Don’t let them look at you. Here, put this damn thing on.” Rad grunts, forcing the Whispered Words shirt over my head, no matter how hard I struggle against him. Kieran chips in, jumping down from the stage after setting his guitar down, forcing my arms through the sleeves, and chuckles when I curse at them, threatening their lives.
“What the fuck, Rad?” I hiss, pushing him away as he cackles, falling onto his ass. Placing his hands on his knees, he grins more, eyeing the words across my tits.
“Perfect. Property of… It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, K?” Pride puffs Rad’s chest out, and he grins with satisfaction.
Kieran tilts his head when I cross my arms, giving him my meanest scowl. “Yup. Property of Whispered Words. Find a marker, and we’ll print our names on her tits. Then no one will talk to her,” he grunts, looking out at the crowd again from behind me.
“If you bring a marker anywhere near this, I’ll bite off your fingers,” I growl, poking Kieran in his chest. “Don’t you have shit to do?” I point toward the stage, shooing them again with my hands.
“Be a good girl,” Kieran whispers in my ear and kisses my cheek, letting the warmth of his lips linger for longer than necessary.
“Always am,” I murmur through a chill spreading down my body, creating goosebumps. I swear, when his lips touch my skin, my resolve drains down the toilet.
“We’ll see,” he says, swiping his thumb lovingly across my cheek. Affection lights up his eyes, and a soft smile pulls at his lips.
“Let’s go, Lover Boy!” Asher barks, waving his hand.
Kieran nods, hopping back onto the stage and grabbing his gear. Together they stand like a wall, taking deep, soothing breaths.
“Whispered Words! Whispered Words!” The crowd chants over and over with excitement, holding their brightly lit phones in the air like lighters.
“You hear that, boys?” I shout over the crowd, leaning my elbows on the tall stage. “They’re calling for you!”
I grin when the curtain swings open, and they wave to the crowd with bright smiles—swaggering further on stage, oozing confidence from every inch. They captivate the crowd, drawing them in with their grins and waves.
“Kiss for luck, Pretty Girl?” Rad says, flopping to his belly on stage. Leaning close, he takes my mouth with his, dirtily shoving his tongue in and out. I moan when his hands roam through my hair, pulling me closer.
At this point, he could pull me on stage and fuck me in front of the crowd right now, and I’d say yes, please. It’d definitely show those bitches who they belonged to. The thrill of their eyes on me sends shivers up my spine, and my pussy clenches, ready to take it further. That is, until a certain asshole lightly kicks Rad in the ribs and clears his throat.
“Come on, bro. You’re humping the damn stage. Save it for later,” Asher grumbles with a shake of his head.
“After this, I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to take it,” Rad pants, raising his brow until I nod. “Good girl.” I shiver when he says those words and watch in awe when he wanders away, setting himself behind his drums set with a relaxed grin.
Asher watches me from his side of the stage, staring with interest at my heaving chest and flushed face.
“Are you ready for the carnival after this, Little Brat?” he asks, looking off in the distance at the enormous Ferris wheel lighting up the now darkened sky with its red, blues, and yellows.
“The carnival?” I gaze over at the carnival rides in full swing.
Asher smirks, tilting his head at me. “Oh, yes. The carnival. We’ll let loose after this. Besides, I have plans for you,” he rasps, eyeing me up and down.
“Plans? Wait! What plans?” I blanch, hoping he has time to elaborate or fucking tell me something. Instead, he grins, moving a few feet forward, giving me his back. Strumming a loud tune over the speakers as he tunes his guitar, drowning out my shouts.
The crowd cheers when Kieran smiles at them from the microphone and then, turning, winks at me like a cocky bastard.
“Hello, Central City!” Kieran’s raspy voice bellows through the speakers, echoing through what seems like the entire town.
The crowd reacts immediately, jumping in place and cheering as loud as they can. A smile forms on my lips when he grins at the sea of people looking up at him like he’s a God. Shit. I’m probably looking at him the same way.
“We love you, Kieran!” Tessa and Sara shout, holding up a poster with all their names and hearts surrounding them.
I roll my eyes as they jump up and down, jiggling their tits in an effort to get Kieran’s attention and call his name with a girly shriek. Thank God they’re keeping those puppies under wraps. They could poke someone’s eyes out.
A weird pinch of jealousy roars through me when he looks at them. Fucking looks at them and grins when he reads the poster, giving them the thumbs up. That’s my thumb. Keep it to yourself, assface. Narrowing my eyes, I glue my gaze to his and thankfully; the assface doesn’t drop his eyes to their pointy tits, still freeballing in the night air.
“Put away your goddamn titties!” I shout, cupping my hands over my lips to amplify my voice.
Ignoring my demand, they continue to swoon and scream more, inciting weird feelings brewing in the depths of my green monster. I want to rip their hair out and knock their perfect teeth in with one punch and laugh as they scatter on the ground. My fists curl, envisioning tying them to a pole deep in the woods, slathering them in honey, and watching as bears rip them to shreds as they beg for their lives. Try clutching your pearls with no fingers, toes, or body. Fuck.
Jesus. Deep breaths, River. You damn psycho. Stop plotting their deaths and focus on the music, for shit’s sake. Music is what you live and breathe. Not violence against two stuck-up Lakeview girls who don’t have a chance with the boys rocking out on stage.
My mouth pops open, watching Kieran work the tiny stage with grace and familiarity. Walking back and forth with a goofy grin, he lays down the first note, inciting the crowd more. They yell and scream, the louder the music gets until all the boys join in and open with their first song. I watch them with matched possession. The thought of other girls touching them makes me stabby. I grip my knife, toying with the handle in my shorts pocket, running my thumb over the words printed across it—River Blue. Touch them and die might be my new mantra.
I rub my temple. What the hell am I thinking?
Peeking down at the shirt stretching over my tits, I scoff. Fuck. I’m in this constant war with myself, my mind going to battle with itself repeatedly. Letting go of my reservations is more complicated than I ever thought. Visions of Van and what his stupid ass did to me burn bright. A constant reminder of what could happen if this goes to shit. But taking a deep breath, I shake it off. This is now. I’m having fun. I’m falling hard. And in the end, if I get fucked over. It’ll be my fault. For now, I’m along for the ride. I have to keep telling myself that the further they drag me into their wicked web.
The music blares through the speakers again, garnering more attention from the late-night crowd enjoying the festival. Person after person loiters with beers in their hands and smiles on their faces, momentarily stopping to catch the free show. Their heads bob, and their swaying bodies move with the tune echoing through the night air. Every hand shoots in the air for what seems like miles, waving around with pure joy. For one singular moment, we live in musical harmony.
Kieran’s raspy voice blasts through the microphone again and straight through my damn soul, lifting me to a higher plane. Music always calms the storm brewing in my mind and eases my pain. Music erases everything on my plate and sets me free. It sounds silly. But music has always been my escape from the life I’ve lived.
“Ahem, bitch,” a very unpleasant voice says, knocking me out of my reprieve.
Fuck my life. Is this how Tessa greets everyone, or is this just reserved for me? Probably just for me. Seeing as she looks down her nose at me for the millionth time.
I plaster on a fake smile and shove my tits out. Let’s see how much she likes my personalized Whispered Words shirt.
“How can I help you?” My sugary sweet voice gives me cavities. I’d slam her face into this table a few times if it were up to me. Maybe knock some sense into her stupid skull. They don’t want you. I am theirs.
She scans my shirt, narrowing her eyes. “We want some shirts,” she says, pointing to mine. “Something like that.”
I grin more, widening my arms to the shirts folded on the table in front of me. “Sorry, this is an exclusive shirt for their girlfriend.” I freeze, dropping my arms. I probably looked as shocked as her pinched face.
Heat envelops my neck, creeping onto my face. I wholeheartedly blame my damn jealousy for my decisions. That bitch is going to get me into trouble. But damn, the look on Tessa’s face is worth the fallout. Whatever. I’ll roll with it. Yeah, their girlfriend. All four of them belong to me. If they’re going to put their claim on me, then I’ll return the favor. Maybe I can stamp my name on their dicks.
“You’re joking, right?” She throws her head back and laughs in my face. “Like they’d ever choose a piece of Central trash like you. You’ve got to be kidding me.” She slaps Sara on the shoulder in laughter, and her friend joins in, screeching along and ruining the damn music.
I blow out a breath and cross my arms, deciding not to push it. “These are your only options. Not this. This is mine, and so are they.”
Welp. So much for dropping it. It looks like I’m officially about to throw my hat into the ring. Only I’ll win, not them. I’m always up for crushing my competition. I’m competitive like that.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Tessa snarls, pounding a fist on the table. “Not you,” she scoffs, looking me up and down.
Leaning forward, I get right in her face with a bright, knowing grin. She doesn’t know I hang around them every day. Or that they’re my stalkers, watching my every move. They join me at work—both places. Play at my bar and drink my drinks while laughing with me. I said Tessa was my competition before, but the reality is, she’s nothing. I’ve already crossed the finish line and won while she’s in last place, slowly jogging toward the yellow tape. She doesn’t know it yet.
“Does this face look like it’s joking?” I grin cockily, tilting my head. Sometimes antagonizing the girl who made high school hell is fun. “Back off, Tessa. Buy a shirt or don’t. But you’re holding up the line.” I gesture to the four people behind her, sending her scathing looks for taking so much damn time.
“Just two shirts, smalls,” Sara says in a hurry, placating her fuming friend.
I nod and hand them two black shirts with the Whispered Words printed across the chest.
“That’ll be fifty,” I say, putting them into a black bag and setting it on the table.
Sara grumbles about the price, digging through her purse. Tessa snatches the bag with a haughty attitude and growls at me, exposing her teeth. Down, girl. I’ll put you in the pound.
“Let them have their fun with your diseased ass. But they’ll come running back to us, and I can guarantee that,” Tessa hisses, stomping away with her friend in tow.
“Sure,” I mumble sarcastically, helping the other customers with their purchase and the next after that.
The show continues for another thirty minutes without any incidents. When the line for merch lulls, I grab my phone, record their performance, and take several stills for their FlashGram. There’s nothing more intoxicating than a sweaty rock star holding their gear on stage, rocking out to the beautiful music they created.
“This last song goes out to a very special girl,” Kieran says, side-eyeing me from the side of the stage with a knowing grin. “We have a new song for you all! It’s called: The Roaring River.”
When the new tune comes through the speakers, I sputter, choking on my spit, and he growls my name into the microphone. Finally, after a solid minute of choking on my tongue, I catch my breath and record the song’s chorus. Every word makes my cheeks heat, and butterflies blossom in my stomach. When I peer over at Tessa, her lips set into a straight line, and she frowns in my direction.
“I won,” I mouth to her and then flip her off for good measure.
Take that. You mean girl.