Skylar
I survey the seemingly endless queue of eager fans waiting backstage for their meet and greet. I swear the line seems to get bigger with every show. Especially the ratio of females to males.
“I love you, Phoenix!” a cute brunette squeals.
“I love you more,” the blonde behind her fires back.
“Not true,” the first girl argues.
Anticipating a catfight, security inches forward, but Phoenix winks at the girls, diffusing the situation…for now at least.
A pretty redhead waves coyly at Josh. “Can’t wait to see you later.”
He grins. “You bet, beautiful.”
“God, Memphis is so hot,” some busty girl with curves to die for exclaims. Her equally pretty friend—and the women within earshot—enthusiastically agree.
I fight the urge to give them the stink eye.
He’s mine, ladies. Albeit temporarily.
A scantily clad blonde with blue highlights gestures to herself and her friend. “Hang out with us tonight, Phoenix.”
“We’ll do anything you want,” her bestie adds.
“I love you so much, Phoenix,” the brunette from earlier screeches.
“You’re so sexy, Storm,” a male voice shouts.
That gets a chuckle out of the guys.
“I want those talented fingers on me tonight, Memphis,” a gorgeous strawberry-blonde calls out.
Those fingers are undeniably talented. Too bad for her they’ll be on me tonight.
On me. In me.
A shiver of anticipation zips through my body.
One that turns into a full-on swell of desire when Memphis holds my gaze for several seconds, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk.
My attention is soon diverted by the attractive woman standing in front of Phoenix. The gigantic boobs she’s pointing to sit round and perky on her chest. If she so much as sneezes, those puppies are going to pop right out of her plunging tank top. “Can you guys sign these?”
“Fuck yeah we can,” Storm says.
A second later she whips off her shirt and shoves her tits in Phoenix’s face.
After Phoenix takes his sweet time signing his name with the Sharpie, she moves on to Storm.
She beams as he drags the felt tip across her skin. “Thank you.”
Storm winks. “No, thank you.”
I would have bet serious money that Storm was her favorite, but the moment she steps in front of Memphis, the girl goes from cheerful and friendly fan to an ecstatic, hyperactive puppy.
“Oh, my god. You’re seriously the best guitarist in the world.” Clapping her hands, she jumps up and down with vigor, much to the delight of every straight male in the near vicinity. “You’re my favorite musician ever. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re so freaking hot.”
“Thanks,” Memphis replies, taking the marker from her.
“I’d love to see you after the show,” she continues as he quickly scribbles his signature.
Josh elbows him. “Here’s your chance to finally get your dick wet, Memph.”
Memphis’s eyes flick to me briefly before giving Josh a shit-eating grin. “Yeah.”
The girl bats her eyelashes. “Should I wait for you after?”
“Only if you’re cool with being left disappointed and unsatisfied.” Josh makes grabby hands. “Now come to papa. It’s my turn to sign those.”
She looks at Memphis expectantly, but he makes no move to refute Josh’s claims or take her up on her invite.
Sulking, she moves down the line to Josh. He palms her boob as he signs his name, being far more hands-on than necessary.
He juts his chin at me. “Get a load of these, babe. Next time we’re going this big.”
I inwardly cringe because I’ve repeatedly told him that I’m perfectly content with the current size of my implants and have no desire to go bigger.
Josh turns to the security guard next to him. “Make sure this one gets in backstage after the show.”
She gestures to the girl beside her. “What about my friend?”
He gives them both a suggestive look. “The more the merrier.”
Pointing to his watch, Chandler steps in.
“Thank you, ladies. But these guys have a show to do.” Turning to the table, he grunts, “What part of twenty seconds per fan do you people not understand? You say hello. You sign your name. Then you smile for a goddamn picture and send them on their merry fucking way. That’s it.
” He gestures to security. “Shut it down. The show starts in less than five minutes.”
The sounds of disgruntled fans fill the backstage area. The guys exchange a glance before Phoenix steps forward. “Hold on to your passes. We’ll be sure to get to you all after the show.”
And just like that, everyone is happy again.
The guys do their pre-show huddle and head for the stage. As Memphis passes me, he discreetly places a keycard into my hand and whispers, “My room. Midnight.”
Stifling a yawn, I meander down the hall. Fortunately, the girls Josh invited to stay after the show are keeping him entertained for the night in Phoenix’s suite.
I’m approaching Memphis’s room when I hear the unmistakable sound of an acoustic guitar. I know Memphis has a fondness for electric, but I love hearing him play the raw, stripped-down versions of songs.
Although I can’t make out the one he’s currently playing.
It’s different. There’s something authentic and vulnerable about it.
Growing curious, I swipe my keycard and open the door.
I find a shirtless Memphis sitting on the edge of his bed, those long fingers gliding over the strings of his oldest guitar.
We lock eyes for several beats as he continues strumming. Not wanting to ruin his solo jam session, I toe off my shoes and make myself comfortable on his bed so I can listen to him play.
The woody bass timbre is warm and soothing. Entrancing.
I’m closing my eyes when he stumbles over a few chords…which isn’t like him at all. Once Memphis learns a song it’s permanently ingrained in both his memory and fingertips, and he tends to play it flawlessly from that day on.
Brows knit together in deep concentration, he promptly repositions his fingers and starts again.
That’s when I realize the reason I don’t recognize the song is because Memphis is in the process of creating it.
That—along with the tiny cracks and imperfections—only makes me love it even more. There’s something so pure and real about music that hasn’t been manufactured and mass-produced.
I rest my cheek on my hands as Memphis finds his groove.
The melody is both simple and complex…somber and dark. Like a cloudy, gray overcast right before it storms. However, if you listen closely enough, there’s determination and hope buried underneath the ache.
Something about it makes me feel emotional and exposed, but also…safe.
Protected.
Utterly transfixed, I watch him as he continues.
It’s raw, beautiful…and a little broken. Just like he is.
“Is this one of the songs you gave Phoenix?” I whisper after he stops playing.
Studying the strings, he gives his head a shake. “No. This one is personal. Private.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t bite out the last word. It comes out hushed. Tender.
“What’s it called?”
His lips twitch ever so slightly. “It’s a secret.”
“Well, I happen to love secrets.”
Those dark eyes find mine. His gaze is methodical…calculating. Like he can’t decide if I’m the prey or the predator in this scenario. “Is that so?”
Setting his guitar aside, he sizes me up, as if he’s determining whether or not I passed some imaginary test I wasn’t even aware of.
An implicit, palpable charge fills the air as he makes his way across the bed to me. It’s akin to that eerie, fleeting moment of tranquility you experience when the eye of a hurricane touches land. You can’t help but brace yourself because you know what’s coming.
The calloused pad of his thumb skims my cheekbone. “What’s your favorite secret?”
I give him the truth. “You.”
When he kisses me, it’s soft and searching. Not the frenzied kind that makes you forget everything in the heat of the moment, but the kind that lingers in your memory. Long after the scars have faded.
My hand finds the back of his neck, pulling him closer as I melt against him.
His mouth drops to my neck, stopping briefly to wrench my shirt over my head.
The softness from before is replaced with pure hunger as his lips and hands roam over my body, touching me everywhere—my neck, my thighs, my waist, my ass—everywhere except where I’m aching for his attention. His validation.
It’s both a delicious punishment and a cruel reward.
An audible hiss leaves me as he ventures lower, skimming the tops of my breasts.
That’s it. That’s…
I groan in frustration when he diverts to my neck again. I can’t take it anymore.
“Why don’t you ever touch them?”
With a heavy sigh, Memphis rolls off me. “I’m not fucking doing this.”
Equally frustrated, I bolt up. “You used to be the most honest person I knew.”
“Things change.”
I reach for my shirt. “So do people.”
He snatches it. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not having sex with someone who can’t be honest with me.”
His laugh is sharp and humorless. “The goddamn irony. You fuck me, then crawl into bed with the biggest liar alive.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “He’s an addict, Memphis.”
“He’s a manipulator, Sky.”
That may be true. However, there’s still one indisputable fact I can’t deny.
He killed my monster.
After seizing my shirt back, I head for the door.
My hand is on the doorknob when I hear it.
“I don’t want to touch them because they’re not yours. They’re his.”
That does it.
“Talk about irony.” My laugh is devoid of any humor. “And men say women are hard to please.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Furious, I spin around to face him. “They weren’t good enough for him back then and they’re not good enough for you now.”
“I never said—”
“I get that your little pissing contest with Josh is more important than what I think or how I feel, but I wanted them, Memphis.” My eyes sting with tears.
“God, I am so tired of people making me feel like I’m not enough.
I know I’m not perfect. Trust me. Every time I look in the mirror all I see are my flaws staring back at me.
Like I’m one big walking, talking, breathing defect.
” I straighten my spine. “Screw you for making me feel guilty for finally fixing something—”