Page 92 of Fractured Rhythm

“Are you high, Jax?” Josh asked.

“Coming up with variations of calm your tits, CH,” Jax said with a smirk. “I got it. Hakuna your tatas.”

We all laughed while Josh shook his head.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Josh said.

Jax slung his arm over Josh’s shoulders. “I believe the word you are looking for is amazing. Entertaining. A goddamn gem.”

“Get your ass on stage,” Josh grumbled, shoving the singer away from him.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Jax shouted, grinning like a maniac as he turned to walk toward the stage.

“He’s crazy, but he’s family,” Cassie said, patting Josh on the shoulder when we walked by.

“Yeah, family you warn your friends about,” Josh said with a sardonic smile. “Good luck out there, guys, and Charlie.”

“I’m just one of the guys,” she said from behind us.

Josh muttered something I didn’t catch, and I quirked a brow at my manager, to which he shrugged and grabbed his ringing phone from his pocket.

“You going up front or staying in the wings?” I asked Cassie. “I can have Bud and one of the other guys stay with you so it doesn’t get too crazy.”

Part of me wanted to look out from the stage and see her dancing in the front, but with the blazing lights I never could see past my own feet when we were playing in venues that held more than one thousand people. I loved playing intimate shows like at Connors, but there was a rush here that you couldn’t find at the smaller clubs.

“Probably hang out in the wings. I have no desire to get trampled,” she said.

“Our fans aren’t that bad—usually.” There had been a few shows in Europe that had gotten out of hand about five years ago. I never wanted to see that again.

“I like watching you from the side of the stage. You know, in case you want to duck off and kiss me every so often when you feel the need,” she said with an innocent smile.

I groaned. “You cannot say shit like that to me before I have to go out there, when I don’t have the chance to defile you in our dressing room.”

She laughed, but her cheeks flushed. Glad to know I wasn’t the only one thinking about that couch in the dressing room. The door had a lock on it, too.

Shit. My cock strained against my tight pants. At least I could block it with my guitar until I got some control.

She brushed her hand over my ass, and my stomach tightened.

“I will seriously bend you over an amp if you keep that shit up, Cas.”

“Promise?” she teased, and I groaned again.

“Is this the part where you tell me that you get just as turned on when I play on stage as I do?”

“Yep,” she said nonchalantly. “Now, go have a great show and I’ll be right here,” she said, pushing me toward the guys.

The next few hours were going to be exquisite torture, and I couldn’t wait.

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