Page 10 of A Little Broken

“Yessss!” The crowd goes wild, and I bask in the sound.

“Tate?” I prod, staring down at her like a king on his throne. “You gonna leave us hangin’?”

She doesn’t look scared. Actually, she looks the opposite. Her teeth dig into the inside of her cheek as she bites back her smile when Herb appears beside her. It doesn’t hurt that he knew who he was looking for from their little run-in earlier tonight.

Catching on, Tuke starts the first few notes of the famous birthday song on his bass, and I join in. Two notes later, Judge gives us a solid beat from the kick drum, and I start singing the lyrics. “Ha-ppy birth-day to you…”

With a jerky shake of her head, Tate grabs her best friend, walking up the stairs and onto the stage with her head held high while Baby scurries to keep up on her short legs. It’s adorable, if not a little pathetic. The girl sticks out like a sore thumb. Or maybe it only feels that way when she’s next to Tate. Yeah,Birthday Girl sure as shit knows how to steal the show. That much, I know.

By the time I finish the last few notes ofHappy Birthday, Dodger is harmonizing from the center of the stage, and the crowd has their cell phone lights swaying back and forth. Tray in hand, Danny follows behind the girls. Eight shots with clear liquid sit lined up in two rows. Danny offers one for me to take. After I do, he shifts the tray to the girls. Baby waves it off before Tate grabs one of the small glasses. Then, Danny moves to the rest of the band.

“Twenty-one, huh?” I ask away from the mic.

Standing in front of me, she rocks back on her heels and keeps the shot glass pinched between her fingers. “Mm-hmm.”

“So, is this your first shot?”

She clinks the edge of the glass against mine then brings the edge to her lips. “First legal one, sure.”

Holding my attention hostage, she tosses the clear liquid back, and I do the same. As it slides down my throat, a trail of heat coats my esophagus, but I’m too distracted by the tip of Birthday Girl’s tongue sliding across her bottom lip to care.

I’ve played this game a time or two. Pretty sure it comes with the territory when you're a rockstar. But never—and I mean never—have I had to fight the urge to grab someone and kiss them more than in this moment. Sweat beads along my brow and drips down my temple, the heat from the stage lights fucking scorching. Or maybe it’s the look in her gaze leaving me burning as the world disappears around us.

“Happy birthday, Birthday Girl,” I murmur.

“You know, Cooper’s gonna be furious if you keep trying to take Doomsday’s spot as my favorite band.”

“Yeah, I think he’ll live.” I dip forward, my mouth hovering right above her ear, and whisper, “Liar.”

Her mouth lifts into a smile, and since I’m so close, it causes my lips to brush against her cheek. The innocent touch shoots straight to my cock, acting like an inferno just like earlier when she slipped past me into the building. Instead of pulling away, I let my mouth skate across the edge of her jaw. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Thumbing the edge of my guitar strap, she counters, “And what do I have to thank you for?”

“For letting you in the side door.”

“It’s cute you think I wouldn’t have found another way if you hadn’t answered.”

“Cute, huh?” I return.

“We done fucking around?” Dodger calls. “I think our fans are ready for us to finish the set.”

“Well, he’s right about one thing,” Tate murmurs. “You shouldn’t keep your fans waiting.” Her hand drops from my guitar strap. “Thanks for the shot.”

Grabbing Tatum’s wrist, I warn, “Don’t disappear.”

“And where would I go?”

“Not sure even you know the answer to that.” I step even closer, dropping my voice low. “I know a runner when I see one.”

“I thought you said you like the chase?” she volleys back.

The stage lights make her eyes fuckin’ sparkle, but before I have a chance to answer, Dodger bellows into the mic the first lyrics of the next song in the set, and I let her go. Eyes gleaming with a challenge, Tate walks backward toward the edge of the stage. With every step, her gaze never leaves mine.

“Herb!” Dodger calls while Judge and Tuke carry the song all by themselves. “Guide these ladies backstage, yeah?”

Like smoke, Tate’s amusement vanishes, and she glares at my bandmate.

“And make sure they stay there,” he adds. “We gotta celebrate, yeah?”

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