22 #2
"Paisley? Cool name." Biting her lip, Rhett looked at Lilith's shirt again. "You're sure this is okay? It's just that I...Sara, if I tell you something, can it stay just between us for now?"
"Sure." Face alight with curiosity, Sara sat in one of the two swivel chairs opposite the couch and crossed her legs. "What is it?"
"I've never been to a concert before," Rhett admitted with a sheepish grimace.
Curiosity turned to mild surprise as Sara blinked. "No shit? How come?"
Embarrassed, Rhett shrugged one shoulder. "I got married and had a baby when I was still pretty young, and we never could afford to do stuff like that."
Sara nodded. "I can dig that. But hey, if you're gonna get your concert cherry popped, Illicit's the way to do it. Especially since you're with the lead singer, right?"
"That's another thing. I don't want to embarrass Rhys."
"You won't, I promise. He wouldn't have brought you here if he didn't want you.
Remember, girl, he doesn't do this, so he evidently thinks you're special, not embarrassing.
Now." Sara slapped her thighs and stood.
"Put on that gorgeous top, and let's get moving.
We have to go by Ross's bus so I can leave my purse and change, and if we wait too much longer they're gonna send out a hunting party or something. "
Reminded of the ticking clock, Rhett made fast work changing shirts.
After grabbing her cell phone and a tube of lip gloss out of her purse, she followed Sara to the first bus.
Sara changed her plain white T-shirt for a stunning black number with sequins down the arms and slipped her cell phone in her back pocket.
As they were about to leave, she whirled back to her purse.
"Shit, can't forget these." Out came the laminated pass again, along with a second one which she handed to Rhett. "Put this on. Do not lose it."
Excitement mounting, Rhett examined it closely.
It was about the size of an index card, with the shorter side on top where a long black lanyard was attached.
The picture on it depicted a background of red and orange flames from which an angry-looking black car emerged, its headlights on high.
Reclining on the hood was a voluptuous young woman with pouty lips and long blonde hair, her ample breasts spilling out of her low-cut shirt, and her denim shorts so abbreviated that they looked more like panties.
The word ILLICIT was printed on the flames in the distinctive font the band used.
Below the car in lighter type was printed EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT - STAGE ACCESS - ACCESS ALL AREAS.
A bar of white stretched along the bottom of the pass, and on this someone had written in what looked like red Sharpie, "BOS, 1, R.C.
" At the very corner was a small picture of Rhett herself, one Rhys had instructed her to email him.
"My first backstage pass," Rhett said as she slipped the lanyard over her head.
"Backstage pass, my ass." Sara dimpled. "That right there is the key to the kingdom, sweetie. See that 'access all areas' and that picture of you? That means you can go wherever you damn well please."
"Okay, this is blowing my mind a little. What's this at the bottom?"
Sara pulled her hair from under the lanyard of her own pass. "Well, B-O-S is for Boston, and R.C. is Rhys, obviously. The number one means that you're allowed to be with Rhys no matter what. Like, if he was to get pissy and decide he didn't want to talk to anyone, it wouldn't pertain to you."
They left the bus and hurried toward the building. "Does he get pissy a lot?"
"No, it's rare if any of them do." Sara gave her a wry smile "They've been at this so long they just mostly let everything roll off them. It'd have to be something really major to fire any of them up like that."
Rhett couldn't stop looking at her pass as they entered through the backstage door. If it made her look like a teenaged fangirl, so be it. She sure as hell felt like one at the moment.
"This is one mean looking car," she said. Not a Tucker, and definitely not a '59 Edsel like Ross had threatened.
"Awesome, isn't it? Ross told me it's a Lamborghini...uh...Vented Door, or something like that."
A guy passing by with an armful of cables snorted out a laugh. "Aventador, honey, not Vented Door."
"Whatever." Sara waved a languid hand as she rounded a corner, Rhett hot on her heels. Halfway down the cinderblock hallway, Sara paused at a door. From behind it came the sounds of an epic car race complete with snarling motors, squealing tires, and men cheering and groaning.
"Fuck," Sara muttered. "Ross just has to drag that damn gaming system everywhere." She opened the door and pulled Rhett in after her.
The five members of Illicit stared with rapt absorption at a 52-inch flat screen television set.
Each of them held a game remote which they twisted this way and that as they "drove" NASCAR stock cars around a track.
Rhys and Ross were perched on the edge of the cushions of a black leather sofa along with Parker McKay, the band's bass player.
Behind them stood rhythm guitarist Drew Cooper and the drummer, David Moore.
As she watched them, Rhett hid a smile behind her hand at the thought that they were giving that game the same serious attention they'd show the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.
Beside her, Sara cleared her throat in an over-exaggerated manner. None of the men stirred.
"Who's winning?"
Without bothering to look over at his wife, Ross replied.
"Who do you think?"
Despite the abundance of sheer male beauty in the room, Rhett only had eyes for Rhys, so she saw the devilish grin light his face at Ross's statement.
"Yeah, this is an American sport," David growled. "How come Rhys always manages to kick our asses?"
"I've lived in America for twenty-five years.
" Rhys twisted his controller which made his car do something that elicited sighs of admiration from the other guys.
"I'm almost a native by now." Finished with whatever mind-blowing race move he just executed, he cut his eyes toward Rhett for a brief second.
Just that tiny look from those dark blue eyes was enough to send Rhett's heart hammering against her ribcage.
In the months since she'd last seen him, his hair had grown longer, flowing halfway down his back in those sun and honey streaked waves.
The front and sides were pulled back which threw his face into breath-taking relief and emphasized his sculpted cheekbones and beautifully molded lips.
Even the faded flannel shirt and seen-better-days jeans he wore couldn't take away from his raw sex appeal.
As Rhett stood there quietly melting into a puddle of goo, he cast another, longer look at her.
All of a sudden, his shoulders relaxed, and a small smile curved his mouth.
With a decisive motion he tilted his game controller hard to the right.
The sound of a major explosion came from the television, along with exclamations of surprise from the band.
"Dude!" Drew appeared scandalized. "You just blew the fuck up against the wall, man."
"You have a tire go low or something?" Ross asked. His demeanor was as serious as if Rhys had just crashed an actual car.
"Must've." Rhys stood and tossed his controller onto the couch. "I'm out."
"Well, get the fuck out of the way," David commanded as he climbed over the back of the couch to take Rhys's vacated seat. "I've got a chance to win this mother now."
Eyes locked onto Rhett's, Rhys walked around the couch and stopped in front of where she leaned against the wall. He glanced at Sara with a smile.
"Thanks for picking her up from the airport."
"Anytime," Sara replied. "But don't you ever fly her in at rush hour again, hear me?"
An apologetic grimace wrinkled his nose. "Sorry about that. I didn't even think about it when I had Kevin book the flight."
"Well, now you know. See you later, Rhett."
As Sara sauntered off toward her husband, Rhys looked back at Rhett, a small smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward and brushed his face through her hair.
"Hi, Beautiful," he breathed.
"Hey, Sexy."
With a sound of amusement, he looked down at himself and shook his head. "Some poor idiot with one of the local college papers bumped into me and spilled his cola all over my clothes. I just threw these on for now."
"It's not the clothes." Rhett ran the tip of her index finger over the carefully cultivated stubble that covered his chin and jaw.
Rhys took her hand in his and placed a gentle bite on her finger before he glanced over his shoulder.
Rhett followed his gaze and was relieved to note that no one was paying them any attention but were still glued to the NASCAR game.
Semi-privacy assured for the moment, Rhys put one hand on the back of her neck and pulled her face to his. While the kiss was soft, there was still enough heat in it to make small beads of perspiration break out along Rhett's hairline under her bangs. An almost inaudible moan came from her throat.
"Don't make those noises, not here," Rhys warned in a low voice. "There's no time for me to take care of them right now, much as I'd like to."
"Fine, I'll try to control myself."
Rhys grinned at the mock exasperation in her voice. "I'm so glad you're here."
Though the words were voiced lightly, Rhett caught the depth of sincerity behind them. She placed a hand on his cheek.
"I'm glad I'm here, too."
A commotion in the doorway next to them broke the moment, and Rhys turned his head to watch four men bustle into the room carrying a plethora of white bags.
"All right," one of the men barked. While not overly muscular, the blond, middle-aged man gave off an aura of strength despite the riot of curls that fell down over his ears. "Shut that shit off and come eat. Since I had to send someone out after this, you're going to eat it while it's hot."