Page 2 of Oops Baby for the Rockstar
Now I hurry across the giant parking lot, veering around potholes and the biggest puddles of water. It still isn’t raining hard, only spitting cold drops, but somehow puddles have sprung up while I was primping and preening. As the wind blows against my bare arms, I shiver and tug at the hem of my red t-shirt dress. Even belted around the waist, the wind keeps lifting the skirt and chilling meeverywhere.
This dress hadn’t seemed all that reckless in the thrift store when I bought it, but now my cheeks burn with how exposed I feel. Bare legs and plain blue cotton panties underneath a skirt that keeps lifting.
Too late to turn back now.
The sky is dark overhead, with clouds covering all the stars. Doesn’t matter. The lights from the stadium up ahead are dazzling, and the music is loud enough to rattle my teeth. This song is hard and fast and urgent, the kind of song you go for an antsy run to, the kind that makes your heart beat faster trying to keep up.
It’s easy to slip inside the venue. I had all these excuses lined up and ready on my tongue, all these plans for how I was gonna sweet talk my way inside without a proper ticket, but I don’t even need them. The main entrance is guarded, sure, with two security guards smoking cigarettes and looking bored, but as I dart across the parking lot, I spot the back loading bay we’ve been using all morning.
It’s shadowed, out of sight, with an extra door that leads inside. All morning, that door was kept unlocked to help us unload gear faster. What are the chances it’s still unlocked?
Pretty damn high, I think to myself as the door swings open easily under my palm. It creaks on its hinges, but the sound is swallowed up by the noise from the band.
With one last guilty glance over my shoulder, I slip inside.
* * *
“This is Zeke,” a stern woman in a black blazer over ripped jeans says, nodding as I shake the band member’s hand. He gives me a lopsided smile, but his eyes are already drifting over my shoulder to the other guests with VIP passes. “This is Danny, and this is Rocco.”
Handshake, handshake. It’s surreal seeing the members of Wishbone up close and in the flesh, especially after seeing their pictures on all the sides of the trucks. Like meeting a character from a TV show in real life. But they really are flesh and blood, with warm, callused hands that shake mine. Rocco, the drummer, even gives my hand a cheeky squeeze, winking when I meet his eye.
“And this is Jett.”
The air empties out from my lungs as the lead singer steps forward. He’s as handsome in person as he is on that poster—more so, even, because he’s a bit rougher around the edges.Less photoshop-smooth. His black hair is rumpled, sticking up from where he’s been shoving his hands through it on stage, and his guy-liner has smudged. Somehow, it only makes him look hotter.
“H-hi.” My voice trembles as I shake Jett’s hand. It’s so much bigger than mine, enveloping my fingers, but my jittery insides settle as soon as his skin touches mine. An alien sensation sweeps through my chest, something I’ve never, ever felt before in all my twenty one years of life.
I feel…safe.
My heart pounds even harder, but slows down to a steady beat.
“Do you want to take a photo?” the woman asks, her tone brisk. The little badge on her lapel saysArtist Liaison.“Your pass allows for three group or individual photos, all without bodily contact and all requiring my prior approval before you disseminate them on your channels.”
Before I what them on mywhat?
“No photos.” I shake my head, still dazed by the fact that Jett Santana is holding my hand, pumping it slowly in the world’s longest handshake. Does he know we’re still touching? Is he on autopilot, his mind elsewhere, or did he get that same settled feeling when our hands joined? “I forgot my phone.”
Technically not a lie, though even if I did remember my phone, that ancient Nokia brick doesn’t have a camera. And I’m not on anychannels.I’m a broke-ass runaway who lives on a cubby bed and unloads trucks of sound equipment for a living, what about that is glamorous enough to put online?
Besides, I grew up with zero privacy. Now that I’ve finally left that trailer, as far as I’m concerned, my life is no one else’s damn business.
“Alright.” The woman gives a tight smile, and gestures for the band members to move along to the next VIP guest in line.“Enjoy the after party in the green room. The band will join everyone there shortly.”
“O-okay. Thank you.”
Zeke, Danny, Rocco and the Artist Liaison woman all move along to the next guests in line: a middle aged guy and his sulky teenage daughter. The dad gives a great, booming laugh at something Zeke said, and the daughter cringes and rolls her eyes.
Doesn’t she know how lucky she is to have a parent like that? A father who cares?
“See, not everyone is thrilled to meet us.” Jett finally drops my hand, his dark eyes sparkling with humor. I’ve always thought his eyes were black or really, really dark brown, but up close I can see they’re slate gray. The color of a thundercloud.
I wet my lips, still star-struck bytheJett Santana. “Well, I am.”
It’s true, too. Would I ever spend money on something like this? Nope. Not after a childhood of scrimping for every cent. But am I loving every awkward second? You bet. These guys are legends, and they’re somehow even more impressive up close.
Jett smiles. “Maybe I’ll see you in the green room, uh…?”
“Tamsin.”
