Page 95 of Final Serenade

I froze for a second, unsure of what to say or do. This was new. The man I’d been in a relationship with was at work and I didn’t know whether I fit in here, whether I fit into this part of his life.

Frank’s voice carrying over the hum of the dressing room snapped me out of my daze. “Hey, doll,” he said. His gunmetal eyes found mine in the mirror. Our reflections connected.

Yes, you fit in, his gaze said.You have as much right to be here tonight as everyone else.

I crossed the room and reached out to him. His hand snatched mine and he pressed his lips to my knuckles, ignoring the hairbrush and blow dryer being used on his hair.

“Was the traffic bad?” he asked, releasing his grasp.

“Are you seriously asking me this question?” I laughed a little and leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Didn’t you hear? Hall Affinity is playing their first show after a-seven-year break.”

A smile flashed at me from the mirror.

“Where’s Ashton?”

“In the lounge.”

“Did Brooklyn show you where your seats are?”

“I’ll do it in a bit,” she cut in and shoved her iPad at Frank. I caught a glimpse of tonight’s setlist. Fifteen songs. A mix of older material and two new singles, with “Awake” and “Ambivalent” being the encore.

“You can watch from side stage too,” Frank explained. “But I recommend a seat for the full experience.”

Brooklyn dropped two pills in his palm and handed him a bottle of water.

The stylist needed to finish her job and I moved out of the way. The eerie tension hanging inside the dressing room grew stronger. Stress riled Frank’s face and frame. With his leather-clad thighs and a black T-shirt stretched across his taut body, he was a seductive package. Man candy wrapped in layers of expensive stage clothes, boots, and jewelry. A man who’d been sliced open and sewn together more times than he could remember.

His hair was a deliberate sandy mess, soft waves falling down strong shoulders. I’d never seen him wear earrings until tonight. They were small studs, one in each ear and a string of hoops in his left one. Watching him getting ready was like watching an episode of Fixer Upper on HGTV. Not that there was anything wrong with his off-stage persona. But his stage one was something else. Delicious, lickable, fuckable something else.

You need to stop drooling, my inner voice said,at least while his parents are here.Although I wasn’t going to be the only one. Tonight, thousands of women were going to drool over Frank too, some probably would go home and get themselves off after the show. Some might try it during the show. It was rock ’n’ roll, after all. Sex was its faithful companion.

Once the stylist finished her job, Frank asked to be left alone. Billy and Janet ushered everyone out. Brooklyn took advantage of the short break from her boss and took Ashton and me to our seats. It was a box for two with a table, leather chairs, and a clear view of the stage.

I tried to text Levi to see if he wanted to meet up in the lobby, but the messages stopped going through. Reception had gone to shit. The venue was full, every seat taken.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I told Ashton. “Do you want something?”

“Beer?” He grinned.

“Non-alcoholic.” I rolled my eyes.

“Come on,” he whined. “Just one.”

“No, Ashton. That’s not going to happen for another three years.”

“Can you get some nachos then?”

“Sure.”

The lines in the general admission lobby were insanely long, and I decided to get Ashton his food backstage, which was probably a mistake.

There, in the VIP lounge, surrounded by a wall of bodyguards and other celebrities, stood Taylor Rhinehart. The Emmy-nominated red-haired goddess whose full-lipped angelic face was slapped across every billboard on Sunset Boulevard this summer. The floors underneath me began to shift. For a moment, I forgot why I’d come here.

She was refined. Thin, tall. Short leather dress. A string of diamonds glittered around her neck. I had to remind myself to breathe. Confusing emotions rolled from the hollow of my chest to the pit of my stomach.

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” A voice drawled behind me, bringing me back to life. I spun and came face-to-face with Dante. My heart flipped for some unknown reason. While he’d come over to Frank’s often, we hadn’t really spoken about what’d happened between us, because the opportunity had never presented itself. I’d almost let it go. The leak still hadn’t been traced and the band’s PR team had come to the conclusion the incident wasn’t worth their time and effort anymore. The upcoming tour was more important.

I caught the faint smell of alcohol and cherry on Dante’s breath. He was buzzed, lollipop in his mouth, drink in his hand. His outfit consisted of his usual loose silk shirt, tight jeans, boots, a hat, and a truckload of accessories and jewelry. Dante Martinez looked the part of a rock star. He was bad, he was sleazy, and his guitar skills were going to break thousands of hearts in less than an hour.

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