Page 370 of Rock Me All Night
"Yes, and you've told me twenty times that he won't have a girl for long. You don't make it this long in my line of work without patience." Hazel smiles. "You'll always be my favorite Sinful Serenade drummer."
Tom mimes being stabbed in the gut.
Hazel chuckles. "Get back to work, sweetheart."
"Don't tell me you also ask Pete to model for your nudes," he says.
"Has he finally agreed?" Hazel teases.
"I'll put in a good word for you." He winks on his way back to the band.
Once Tom is out of earshot, Hazel turns to me. "He's very handsome."
There's no sense in denying that point. I nod.
"But you can't sleep with the talent. That kind of thing isn't done anymore."
"I'm not."
"You're thinking about it."
I must be blushing, because she nods, affirming her suspicions.
"Look all you want," she says. "But keep it in your pants."
* * *
There are almostfour hours between the sound check and the opening band. I spend every minute of them learning from Hazel. She takes me through hundreds of concert tour photographs. The pictures she takes are great. Full of life and energy and passion. They're crisp, in focus, not at all staged.
I get lost in her directions. Once we get going, she'll take one side of the stage. Depending on the night, I'll take the press box, the venue's area for photographers, or the other side of the stage. Today, I'm going to act as her shadow. All I have to do is follow commands.
We make our way to the press area in the middle of the opening band's set. Our view is a little too angled, but otherwise it's perfect. I notice nothing about the band. I watch her work. The way she waits for the perfect moment then lines up a shot in the blink of an eye. Every few minutes, she asks for a different lens. A deflector. A coffee. A water. Something.
I'm so lost in her instructions, that I barely notice Sinful Serenade come on.
She chuckles and points to the stage. "Your muse."
Tom is standing behind his drum kit, teasing the audience by pulling his shirt up his stomach. One inch. Then two. Three. Four. Then it's over his chest, his head. A heap on the ground.
Women scream. At least five hundred. Maybe a thousand.
Hazel motions to my camera. "Take a few of him."
I watch Tom through my camera as the guys start the song. In an instant, he's lost in the music. His arms and wrists are strong and precise as bangs his sticks against the drums, the cymbals. His foot taps out a beat on the bass drum. He moves so fast he's a blur on my screen. Sweat drips down his neck and torso. His hair sticks to his skin.
God, he's fucking sexy.
As a subject.
I'm only doing my job here.
* * *
After a thirty minutepost-game with Hazel, I flash my backstage pass to the security guard and go in search of the band. My text messages announce that Drew and Miles are already on their way to the airport to send off their girlfriends.
Leaving me as the lone woman in a group of depraved men. If Mom knew, she'd be livid. I'm tempted to call her just to rub it in.
I bump into someone. One of the guys from the opening band. I forget his name. He's ridiculously tall and broad. He looks down at me with interest.
