Page 1 of Finding Emotion

Chapter 1

Skylar Reece held the last note until her already aching throat began to burn. The screams of her fans made it worth it. She doubted any of them would believe she hugged a toilet before every performance. It wasn’t nerves; she didn’t have those. It was more a ritual her body made her go through that she’d given up on changing.

The chants for more filled her ears. Skylar held a hand out to the nearest guitarist. He’d been on tour with her for a while—hell, they’d probably fucked at least once—and even though he rolled his eyes, he handed her his instrument. Having it in hand wasn’t as good as having her own, but the riff she strummed made the screams return. She was going to get in trouble again, but she didn’t give a shit. The crowd loved the chorus she repeated for them without all the backup music. Sweat dripped down the sides of her face as they sang it with her. She kept it brief, handed the guitar back, and raised her hands to more cheers of her name as she exited the stage.

Skylar always left them wanting more. That was the best ego stroke she could get.

The next band gave her dirty looks for taking more than her allotted time, and she grinned back. They were big at the moment, but their moment wouldn’t last. She was so sure of it, she hadn’t bothered to learn their names… though the shortest guitarist had a look that might be worth a quick fuck before the tour was over.

She didn’t normally link up with so many bands on a tour. Her grunge sound didn’t meld well with others, especially since she’d gone solo a few years before. Thinking about the band she’d left behind was a waste of time, so she distracted herself by seeking out the eye candy she knew would be waiting in the wings.

Damon Lynch was an odd one. His name was the biggest at the moment, so he’d go on last, but there he waited like usual, blending into the background behind the curtain instead of focusing on himself in his dressing room. He was a cutie with his white-blond hair and lithe figure clad in tight, ripped-up jeans, a white tank, and a black leather jacket. Even looking at the getup made her sweat more in her up-the-ass cropped shorts and midriff-showing off-the-shoulder top. The clomp of the clunky, black boots she was known for was drowned out by the new band’s opening strains.

That tight body of Damon’s tempted her, but the pleasant expression he sported wasn’t for her. The fans liked how serious he was about his music, and his boy-next-door attitude seemed to inspire their panty-wetting. It was all a little too goody-goody for her.

No, the scowl his manager wore behind him was more her typical thing, though the expression faded quickly enough as the manager began talking to the rock star, probably to encourage him to focus on his upcoming performance. The manager had more of the hot vibe. His outfits always had a certain style. He would never be caught dead in the comfy jeans Damon often wore when he wasn’t performing.

Skylar turned away and frowned as she tried to recall why Damon Lynch was recently in the news, but she let it go when no details were forthcoming, just something about being a whiner. She apparently hadn’t cared enough to take specific note of what he was complaining about. Probably something sickeningly sweet, like when he’d talked about his dead mother being the inspiration for a lot of his lyrics. A momma’s boy was so not for her, not when she’d despised her own mother and was glad both she and her father were dead. If her sister hadn’t looked so sad at their father’s funeral, Skylar would have spit on both their graves.

Speaking of Jami, she owed her a call. With the tour winding down, she’d be able to get in a real visit. Her sister had finally shed the shell of a life she’d been living and felt like a real person again. Skylar hoped it would stick. She’d wanted nothing to do with the hollow husk her sister had become, not needing a reminder of what their mother had been like. Living for a man, especially the waste-of-space kind of man their father had been, was the worst life choice.

The words, ‘worst kind of choice,’ slid into a beat in her head, and Skylar stomped to her dressing room to jot down the flow that took over her mind.

Damon Lynch hesitated as the fan held out her shirt for him to autograph over her breasts. He hoped the exertion from his performance still had his color up so that his blush wasn’t obvious. Over a dozen years as a rock star, and he still got flustered. He used the marker to sign the taut cloth she held out well away from her breasts.

“Thanks for coming,” he murmured, staring into the fan’s eyes and adding a wink. Her eyes shined, and the question of whether his crazed fan could be her had his nerves skittering. He needed quiet soon.

He gave in to all the picture requests from the backstage pass holders, and each touch made the coil inside him tighten further. Which was ridiculous. He’d added a rule that prevented repeat special pass holders. Each of the girls was someone new who wanted a piece of him, not anyone he’d seen before. His manager, Jimmy Cornell, even compared the newest crowd to prior videos, but no one stood out. No, the crazed fan he’d been dealing with wouldn’t be so obvious.

“C-can I hug you for the pic?” one woman asked, her cheeks flaming as she stared at his taut belly through the shirt. Jimmy had been right about his outfit again, even though it had seemed too tight.

Damon smiled and held out his arms. “Come on over.”

She made that squealing sound that he appreciated and hated at the same time, and clamped onto him. Damon was careful not to touch her in return. Early on, he’d studied pictures of some of the best regarded male stars and noticed one that was never in the gossip columns except in stories about how sweet he was. In the pictures, the actor’s hands were always close enough to appear intimate without touching skin. Damon had taken on some of the same poses, and for the most part he’d escaped the worst of the articles so far.

The woman seemed happy as she drew away, whirling around to grab her friend. “I touched him!”

The friend was dressed in black, with heavy eye makeup and an indulgent half smile as she patted her companion’s head. “Yeah? Good for you.” She looked past Damon, her frown returning. “This was stupid. I should have known Skylar wouldn’t be part of this shit.”

“Oh, you’re a Skylar fan?” Damon asked. He kept his tone neutral. Just because he didn’t understand the appeal of the angry, shouted lyrics didn’t mean it wasn’t music. He’d studied Skylar’s performance the entire tour, just as he did everyone he toured with. Even if her music did nothing for him, he had to admit she had a unique energy, one that drew the eye. And a unique voice, with a constant huskiness to it.

Damon’s friend Malcolm was in love with Skylar’s sister. He was looking forward to meeting the woman who had finally made his buddy fall.

The goth shrugged as she folded her arms. “Skylar is kind of okay.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Stop acting cool. You’d absolutely die if you could see her.”

Damon caught Jimmy’s eye, raising an eyebrow in question. His manager had been gushing over Skylar since they started the tour. It was almost embarrassing how big of a fan he was, and that had made Damon study her even more. Jimmy always tried to keep his cool and didn’t normally fanboy out to that extent.

An excitement lit Jimmy’s eyes even as his hands tightened on his phone. “Let me check,” he mouthed, texting someone.

Questions continued to bombard Damon, and he did his best to address each fan. His eyes returned to the goth girl before he scanned the group. “Have you seen most everyone else you were hoping for?” he asked.

Some blinked at him, as if not expecting him to talk to them directly. Most of their heads bobbed. A couple of girls glanced at the goth girl and agreed that Skylar was the only one they hadn’t seen.

“Someone looking for me?”

The husky voice slid over Damon, and his body’s reaction surprised him. Luckily, the crowd’s attention had shifted from him to Skylar.

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