14. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Trick
Idon’t know how the guys always manage to leave me behind after every show, but, as usual, I’m the last one left with our fans backstage, while they’ve all disappeared to our dressing room to unwind.
I sink back against the wall and the bar’s counter, crossing my arms, and trying in vain not to pick at my newest tattoo while the trio of loud, drunk women who’ve cornered me at the side of the now closed bar are keeping a loud and confusing conversation going around in circles between them while they act as if I’m a part of their group.
None of them have made a pass at me, thankfully, but I can’t find a polite way to leave when I can’t get a word in edgeways. There’s no way to squeeze past and slink off into the dark corridor that leads backstage, and the bar’s counter is too high to make skirting around them that way an option.
Desperation sinks in slowly. A glimpse of my watch tells me I haven’t spoken in close to an hour, and I think I’ve just unlocked a new fear.
What if my pack mates left without me?
Riley’s always joking that I need to get laid. He’s threatened to leave me somewhere before, on the unlikely premise that I might enjoy an hour or two alone with one of our groupies.
A chill comes over me as I try to shrug that thought off.
Xane would never leave me behind.
Riley might, but I know he’d come back if he did.
He might be an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole.
A few more minutes tick by, and the slow-burning sense of dread isn’t going anywhere.
I clear my throat, ready to try and shout over the drunk women.
It feels rude, but I’m ready to scrape the blistered skin off my new tattoo.
There’s only so much a guy can take.
And that’s when Riley appears at my left side, dressed as usual after the main event in nothing but his boxer shorts. I let out a relieved sigh as the women start to swoon over his inked-up wrestler’s body.
Thank God, I can get out of here!
Riley releases me from my torturous trap by putting an arm around one of the girls and moving her out of my path. She lets him, of course, because he’s Riley Rush, drummer for the biggest rock band in the world.
Xane would get the same reaction. They have the same level of appeal when it comes to our fans. They’re the reason our tours sell out in every town we come to.
They’re both built like tanks, and they have that Alpha shine about them, the lustre that oozes confidence in every situation, no matter what.
They’re what people used to call True Alphas.
Basically, they’re descended from long family lines of purely Alpha and Omega blood.
It’s not how most people talk about designations these days, but when someone’s bloodline is so obvious I can’t not see it.
My own heritage is muddier.
I’m an Alpha on paper, sure, but if I was like Riley or Xane, I wouldn’t have just spent the last couple of hours trapped out of politeness.
I’m ready to make a hasty exit to the dressing room, but Riley gives me a task before I can dart off. So now I need to grab the venue manager to book a limo for the drunk trio.
A quick glance around shows me Greg is only a few feet away.
I make a beeline before he can get to where he’s going, which seems to be the sound engineer, who’s testing some equipment near the stage.
Greg stops when I call his name, and he raises an eyebrow when I give him Riley’s request.
“You mean a cab, right?” he asks.
I shake my head. “When Riley asks for a limo, he means a limo. You can use our card for the cost.”
He smiles when I add the card part. He’ll probably add on extra charges alongside everything else, but I’m not going to worry about it.
I’m also not about to question the guy who just saved me from what was probably about to become another awkward hour of horrified silence trapped with those excruciatingly loud, obnoxious women.
“Okay, I’m on it,” Greg says, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Gimme a minute.”
He walks away as he puts the phone to his ear.
I look around, prepared to slowly follow him if anyone else looks ready to try and talk to me.
I’d rather seem a little creepy than be creeped on.
Thankfully, the majority of our backstage pass holders have already cleared out.
A couple of small clusters of teenagers are hanging out with our start up act, and besides the backstage staff who are enjoying a drink or two nearby, there’s no one else left back here to worry about.
I relax a little bit, and Greg walks back over to me, hanging up his phone.
“It’s booked. Be here in about ten minutes.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I nod as I leave to go tell Riley the limo is booked.
He makes me watch the girls for a minute while he clearly threatens the bar tender over how drunk he let them get, and then he turns back and hands me two bottles of Kian’s latest favorite artisan beer.
Finally, I’m headed for the dressing room.