Page 101 of 4-Ever

Regan nodded and walked off stage.

“Dee?” Holls turned to him.

“He’s a country singer. Someone Van and I spotted at a local club back home. He’s got a shitload of talent, but he hasn’t been signed to any label yet. He mentioned he was gigging in Florida for the next month so I thought he might want to open one of our concerts.”

“Country?” Faise asked.

“It’s cool to have different opening acts in the upcoming shows. A crossover of sorts. Van and I have been toying with a few songs that would appeal to both our rock base and country fans. A mashup. We don’t have it all worked out yet, it’s just an idea.”

“Could be interesting,” I offered. “This guy Remy’s good?”

“His voice is powerful,” Brodie replied. “Guy could sing without a mic or a guitar no problem.”

“Not to mention, he’s got the look,” Van added. “I mean, stage presence.”

Brodie turned to his husband, and shit, there was practically smoke coming out of our lead singer’s ears.

“What?” Van replied innocently. “It’s true. You saw it too, mon coeur.”

“Oh, so he’s not just a great singer, but he’s hot to boot?” I teased. “Tell us more, Van.”

Van’s face flushed but he shook his head. “Don’t try to get me in trouble, Ro. You know what I mean. And it’s not just me. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Hey, Jesse!” Holls called out. “Let me use your phone.”

Jesse ambled over, passing us his cell. “What’s going on?”

“Brodie invited a country music singer to open for us at the next show. The guy’s here for the intros.”

Jesse gave Brodie the same annoyed look that Regan did.

“What? Van and I were going to tell you,” Brodie snapped. “Eventually. With all the security stuff going on, I just forgot.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and glanced at Van. “I expected more from you.”

Van shrugged. “Sorry, but like my husband said, we’ve been preoccupied. I promise you that it won’t happen again. As soon as we know, you’ll know.”

Jesse nodded. I got it. He was in charge now and of course, he wanted to be in the loop. We were used to doing our own thing or doing it with Van. It was going to take some time for us to get used to working with a new manager.

Holloway googled the singer’s name and me and Faise crowded around him. Several pictures popped up.

“Oh yeah, he’s smoking hot,” Faise announced.

I turned to my boo, not at all happy about that declaration. “You think so?”

“That long hair. The blue eyes. That smile.”

Maybe this was a bad idea. “I don’t like him.”

Faise pinched my arm in retaliation.

“Ow.”

“Be nice,” Faise warned me. “The guy’s probably nervous as hell.”

“I sure am.”

We turned to find the man in question, standing behind us, a guitar case in hand. He was exactly like his picture, tall and broad, with long, chestnut curls and a nervous grin. He was dressed in well-worn jeans, cowboy boots, and a blue plaid shirt that was half buttoned.

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