Page 35 of Bonding the Band

Torture. That’s what this fucking was. Panic and euphoria roared through me like a train, and it took everything I had to finish out the show. I wasn’t 100% certain what was going on, but Arlo had disappeared, and not too long after, pleasure had flooded the bond. At least I knew what that was now. It was a far cry from all of the suffering it had been delivering the last few months. I was covered in goose bumps, and my cock was trying its best to break out of my leather pants.

Gary blocked all of us when we bolted offstage after the last song. “Where the hell are you going? You have the VIP meeting.”

“We have to skip,” Beckett insisted.

“Tell them we’ll refund, reschedule,” added Phin. “Move.”

The two of them slipped by, but I wasn’t so lucky. Gary grabbed me by the scruff of my neck. “You have the VIP meetup. You’re not skipping again.”

Seriously? Ifelther. She was so close, and Gary wanted me to go get fawned over? Granted, I usually loved getting fawned over, but right now, all I wanted was to find Arlo. Findher.

“I can’t,” I said, trying to wriggle away.

“Like hell, you can’t. At least one of you is going to do this. What the fuck is going on? The press wants to know why Arlo left the stage.”

Shit. He wouldn’t react well to the truth. “Bad shrimp?”

Gary narrowed his eyes. “When did you have shrimp?”

“Uh…lunch?”

I could already tell he didn’t believe me, but it was as good an excuse as any to have the entire band fuck off.

He shoved me around the corner and in front of a reporter, and I did my best to school my features so I didn’t look high or panicked, though I was definitely both.

“Apollo,” the reporter greeted. “Arlo Cook left the stage rather abruptly in the middle of the concert, and fans are concerned. Would you care to comment?”

Fucking hell. Beckett was so much better at these. “Uh, yeah, bit of food poisoning, unfortunately. Not that the place we ordered from did anything wrong. Totally our fault.”

“Your fault how?”

Comeon. I dragged my stray thoughts together, trying to construct a convincing lie. “Arlo’s a chatterbox, the tour bus got hot, and we got distracted.” Yeah, that was good. People would believe that, right? “Must’ve been past the safe limit by the time we got around to eating.”

“Is that why Beckett Campbell and Phineas Hall ran out a few moments ago?”

Oh, yeah. “Yep. They didn’t eat as much as Arlo, but it caught up to them.”

“And you’re well?”

“So far, so good,” I replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Will any of the band require medical attention?”

“If they do, we’ve got an excellent medical team on staff,” Gary added for me as he sidled up. “Our performers are very welltaken care of. No need for the fans to worry. I’m sure Arlo will be feeling fit as a fiddle and back onstage for the next show.”

After a bit more chatter, I was finally free. Well, free from the reporter, anyway, because Gary was not going to let me off the hook.

“Get to the fucking VIP room. Now. I’ll go after the others, and I expect you to be there when I return.”

“No!” I grabbed his arm. “They’re actually sick. They held out as long as they could. Arlo had a double portion; that’s why he bolted early. I’ll go to VIP. Just let them rest.”

Gary sighed deeply. “You boys are the reason I have gray hair.”

I didn’t point out that Gary’d had gray hair since the day we met. “Sorry.”

I allowed him to herd me to where the fans would be waiting in a few moments.

Get it together. If my omega was actually here and Gary found out, he was going to freak the fuck out, maybe even drive her away, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. He didn’t like when we were distracted, and a pregnant omega was about the biggest distraction that could be dropped in our laps right now.

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