Page 72 of For One Night Only

@GlitterbugsUnofficialWAIT FOR ME I HAVE THEORIES

22

Valerie

A week before the concert, Caleb and I are late to our first day of Glitter Bats press because we attempted to share a shower.

I’m powerless to resist him. Especially when water is dripping down his jawline, streaming down that muscled torso, soaking those strong thighs. I was the one on my knees this time, and it was totally fucking worth it. We had to race through getting ready after that, and I’m not even sure this is the right look—I chose a formfitting tank dress and a black denim jacket, and my eyeliner is a bit crooked—but I’d do it again.

These days before the concert feel like borrowed time. We haven’t spoken about the future much, after how he reacted to a potential album, and I’m afraid to bring it up again. What if he doesn’t even want to give us another real chance? So instead of being disappointed, I just pretend I get to keep him for as long as possible.

This morning, it’s hard to believe our time together has an expiration date. He kisses me as we wait for the elevator, and hardly lets go when the doors open and we join a few other guests on the way down.

I forgot howtactilethis man is. He’s constantly touching me, fingers brushing my wrist, a hand on my back, a kiss on my temple when no one is looking. Every time our eyes catch, he smirks.

“Don’t be so cocky. All the fans will think you just got lucky,” I murmur as the elevator descends to the main floor, where the conference room is set up for a VIP coffee hour with the band.

“But I did just get lucky,” he whispers into my ear as the elevator stops at our destination. “And you’ve given me a morning that I now have the pleasure of thinking about all day.”

A wave of desire pulses through my core, and I discreetly press my thighs together before we step out of the elevator. If Caleb doesn’t rail me in this dress tonight, I swear to god…

But there’s a small group of fans waiting outside the conference hall, so I push the dirty thoughts to the back of my mind and plaster on a smile until it comes naturally, while Caleb flashes a huge grin and waves in their direction.

The Glitterbugs really are amazing. If it weren’t for the fans, I may not have a place in this business at all. Sometimes I forget that. So many fans followed me through my (failed) solo album and all the musical collaborations and minor guest roles I did prior to landingEpic Theme Song. In fact, there was a marketing meeting where one very brave intern reminded the room that I had an established fan base so I didn’t need so much “image management.” I hope they’re still working in the industry, because we need more kind souls.

Since those fans will be joining us for a meet and greet later, we don’t stop for selfies, but I make it a point to smile and make eye contact with as many as possible before we slip into the conference room. Keeley, Jane, and even Riker are already waiting, looking a little bored.

“We were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Keeley says.

“Hell, even I’ve been here for fifteen. What gives?” Riker asks.

Jane’s jaw is set, and I can tell even she is holding back a reprimand.

“I needed Caleb’s help with something,” I say, and then I clear my throat. “Band related. I needed help with something band related.”

“Valerie, you are the worst liar in the world,” Keeley sneers.

“Butwe don’t have time for this conversation because our fans are waiting!” Jane says, her voice at a higher pitch than usual. Clearly, we’ve stressed everyone out, and I don’t want to add to it.

“Whatever—let’s do this,” Keeley says.

“Finally!They brought in dark chocolate orange peel scones and lavender muffins andoh my godthe fresh donuts!” Riker says with heart eyes. He got really into baking one summer and briefly considered culinary school before the band took off, and his enthusiasm for pastries clearly hasn’t dimmed over the years.

The hotel’s catering manager confirms we’re ready to go, and security handles the door. We don’t worry about fans, per se, but we’ve been in this industry long enough to know that security is essential when we’re mixing with the public.

It felt strange when we hired them for the first time, but now I’m just used to intimidating people in all-black outfits with radios hanging out whenever we need them. It’s mostly just for crowd control, but there was a time where this one dude begged me for feet pics and wouldn’t leave a signing line without trying to grab my shoe.

I was really grateful I didn’t have to de-escalate that situation on my own. It’s uncomfortable, the way fame makes fans put you on a pedestal one minute, and act like you’re best friends the next. Fortunately, when we open the doors, the group is calm and follows the guidelines. It’s all the usual: no unsolicited touching, no revealing the location of the hotel, but photos are allowed (and, in fact, encouraged).

A videographer comes in and begins to shoot B-roll of the event for the promo video. I’m still unsure of the purpose of the promo video—tickets are sold out—but I do my best to pretend they’re not in the room. It’s hard when you’re used to playing to them on a TV set, but as we split up and mingle with the fans, the camera fades into the background.

There are only fifty fans at this event, so it’s easy to move around and talk to everyone. Even though I feel like I need to be chatting and taking photos the whole time, I make it a point to grab a coffee and a lemon bar so I can take small bites while the conversation flows.

When I run into a few familiar faces, I grin. It’s the college kids we saw at Magic Cupcake. They’ve all dressed up for the occasion, in concert black like proper music students.

“Glad to see Wade made you VIPs,” I say, smiling at the three of them.

They share a look, eyes wide. “You remember us?” Whit asks.

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