Page 21 of Reverb
Best people in the world.
The largest security headache for David so far was the whole VIP encounter process. Great for the fans—an intimate question-and-answer session, and then individual photos with the band. Some of the fans even got to watch the band perform from the side of the stage. Awesome packages. Great experiences. Good revenue for the band.
But what a pain in the ass to coordinate.Intimatemeant fans got to stand with the band, be right there. All it took was one person to cause an issue.
“We’re pretty careful about how the fans interact,” Adrian had said when David had sat down with him and Marcella before the tour.
She’d nodded. “We’ve never had any issues at the encounters. The fans love them, and it’s one of the biggest draws next to the signings afterward.”
But it was gonna be a fucking nightmare to keep the band and Mish safe. That set David’s teeth on edge. Yes, the encounters cost a pretty penny—he’d looked up the prices online—but that wasn’t a deterrent to an obsessive fuckwad like the guy who kept sending emails to Mish.
There’d been one before the tour that contained a photo of that bar he and Mish had talked in and a comment that ladies didn’t drink beer. That had set every bit of David on edge.
It had unsettled Mish, too. “I guess it’s good you followed me home.”
Yes, and no. Why hadn’t he seen the fucker? It rankled and worried him. Exposure meant less protection, but Twisted Wishes was known for interacting with fans. Guy didn’t feel like a fan, though. That soothed and bothered David.
The morning of the first concert, Adrian had texted him from the band’s bus, and they’d met outside to go for a run together—Adrian was apparently a gym rat with a fairly extensive training schedule, and runs were part of that. After they’d circled the parking lot enough times to exhaust them both, they’d sat at a picnic table away from the buses, and Adrian had slid his tablet over to David. “This came in this morning.”
Another email. Short and to the point.
Only whores wear skirts that short. A girl like you should know better.
These emails were getting more and more personal, as if this guy thought he knew Mish. A boiling, rolling wave of disgust swept through David, and he shoved the tablet back at Adrian.
Adrian flipped the cover over to turn the damn thing off. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”
No, hedidn’t. Not the way David did, and undoubtedly not the way Mish did. Fuck, he still remembered some of the shit that had been said to him about the way he’d dressed. Looked. Cut his hair.
David took a deep breath and took in the huge, empty parking lot. “Different IP address again?”
“Of course.” Adrian sounded as disgusted. “Easy to open a burner email account. Use a proxy server. Whatever.”
They were never going to find the asshole electronically. David doubted the jerk was ready to show his face, even with the ample opportunity this concert provided. If he wasn’t a fan, what was the connection?
“Mish is right. This is unfair.” He spoke more to himself than Adrian.
Still, Adrian nodded. “It is.” With that, he rose from the table and picked up his tablet. “I gotta go schedule some posts and tweets, and prod Dominic out of his pre-coffee stupor. You gonna tell Mish?”
“I’m gonna ask Mish if she wants to know.” David wasn’t about to throw this at her now, right before the opening concert on their biggest tour.
Adrian smiled, though it was somber. “You’re a good man, David.”
David watched as Adrian headed into the band bus to wake his lover. Those kinds of compliments, the gendered ones—he’d never quite gotten used to them, even as much as hearing them helped.
He liked Adrian. Enjoyed all of the people that made up Twisted Wishes. He might not play in the band, but it didn’t take long to realize Adrian was a big part of it, too.
He should go talk to Mish, but between the run and the sudden burst of anger, he needed a moment to sit in the early morning sun and cool breeze, listen to the birds chatter, and justexist. He cherished the tiny moments of peace whenever he could find them—whether in the hustle of New York, in the horror that had been deployment, or right now, in a parking lot at an amphitheater outside of Atlantic City.
A shuffle of gravel drew his attention back over to the tour buses. Mish had stepped out into the morning, and his breath caught in his throat. The sun burnished her hair to shining copper, and she wore a white tank top and denim shorts that rode low on her hips. She had two mugs of coffee, one in each hand.
She really was a goddess. A queen. Awe, respect, and desire all tangled in David, leaving him shifting on the picnic table bench. With arms and legs toned and muscular, she could kick most people’s asses. He wanted to do everything in his power to protect her anyway. Was that right or wrong? He didn’t know.
She handed him one of the coffees in an official Twisted Wishes mug. Steam curled off the top, and he imagined that might be the way heat curled off his body. Maybe she knew how much she’d affected him, because once he’d taken the mug, she tucked some stray curls behind her ear—a gesture he now recognized as a nervous tic—and there was a hint of color high on her cheeks. Or maybe that was just the way the sun touched her face.
Didn’t matter. David looked down into his coffee. “Thanks.”
“Adrian said you were out here.” She took a seat across the table from him. “Maybe coffee isn’t the best thing after a run, but...”
