Page 59 of Broken Bridges

“I won’t.” I play-punched him in the arm. But forgetting Lewis’s kisses would be hard, if not impossible.

Cole jutted his chin at me. “You need to get out of the house more often.”

“I will.” Time to focus on me, right? “After this week, when you guys are away, I’m gonna make time to catch up with Chloe and Duke, have drinks with the girls after work, and go out to dinner with my agent.”

“Awesome.”

I slapped and rubbed his knee. “Are you ready for the launch, promo, and getting back on stage? Ready to deal with the shit that comes with touring?”

“Hell yeah.” Fire ignited in Cole’s eyes. “I can’t wait to hit the road. It’ll be strange without Phil. But I’m not complaining that Slip and I now get more girls to choose from. Having Lewis join us does have some advantages.”

Giggling, I shoved him on the shoulder. “You’re so bad.”

He flicked his short hair off his forehead, and a mischievous smile curled across his lips. “Not always. Just sometimes. Just like you.” He grabbed my hand and half-hugged me. “Now, are you ready to party with us at the launch on Tuesday tonight?”

“I’ll be there.” But I’ll be laying as low as possible.

He squeezed me close. “It’s going to be wicked.”

I had no doubt it would be.

My guys knew how to rock!

Chapter 17

TIA

Backstage at Club Riot, the live music venue for the launch of the guy’s new single, I grabbed a coffee from the catering kitchen and headed toward the foyer. Excitement skipped through the air as the club’s staff and The Flintlocks’ crew rushed around ensuring everything was ready for the press conference and mini show. Ashlem had gone to extremes to create hype for the release, and they’d delivered—teasers had been dropped on social media for weeks, billboards hinted at new music, and the guys had been to a multitude of music events, getting their faces in front of the cameras. Butterflies skipped through my stomach as I scanned the agenda on my cell phone again. The press conference in the venue’s foyer would kick off at seven. The doors would open to ticket-holding fans at eight. The guys would take to the stage at nine, followed by a huge after-party. The single would hit the airwaves at midnight.

As I passed the open door to the dressing room, I stopped. I turned and took a few steps toward the guys to wish them luck one last time.

Everhide had flown in for the occasion. Kyle, Hunter, and Gemma stood talking to Blake, April, and Falcon. All had cell phones in hand, no doubt going over last-minute checklists. Kara fussed over Flint’s transmitter holder on the back of his belt. Penny, the guys’ makeup artist, stood behind Slip’s chair, straightening and styling his long hair. Cole lazed on the sofa, twirling his drumsticks, while Hayden tied his boots. Cole, you lazy bastard. Lexi darted around the room, taking photos. But Lewis, still not dressed for the show, paced the floor, fidgeting with his rings. He’d been nervous at sound check earlier; now, sheer terror skipped in his eyes. He mouthed ‘hi’ but didn’t break his stride.

Blake tucked his cell phone into his jacket pocket and dipped his chin at the guys. “Everything is ready.” Circling his finger through the air, he pointed at Everhide and The Flintlocks’ team. “We’ll go out front and mingle with everyone. Falcon will get you when it’s time for the press conference. Good luck. Have fun. We’re gonna kick ass tonight.”

“Hello.” I waved. I wasn’t sure whether anyone other than Lewis had noticed me enter the room. “I came to wish you luck too.”

“Thanks, Tee.” Cole jumped up to hug me, followed by Flint, Slip, and a stressed-out Lewis.

Slip glided over to the table and poured shots of vodka. “You here for one last drink, Tee?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

As Blake, April and Falcon left the room, the guys and Everhide congregated around Slip for a drink. Before Lewis joined them, I caught his arm. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna vomit.”

Nodding, he winced and rubbed the center of his chest. “Highly possible. I haven’t played a gig this big in a long time.” His breaths were short and jagged. “I’m not sure I can do this. I’m worried I’ll mess up. I’ll forget the notes. Forget the lyrics. Fall over.”

Oh, crap. He wasn’t just nervous; he had stage fright. Lewis needed to calm down or he’d pass out before he made it to the press junket. One thing I’d learned during my stunt training was how to visualize and focus. It helped execute every scene, see the outcomes, keep moving, and be prepared to adjust if things went wrong. Hmph. I needed to apply that training to everyday life. I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve got this. I’ve seen you play. You’re incredible. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He shook his head. “I’m not feeling it at the moment.”

“You will. What’s the one thing you want to achieve tonight?” Instant fame? Sponsorship deals? Men throwing their boxer briefs at you?

Furrows etched his brow. “Um...just to play well.”

There was another reason why I liked him. He wasn’t doing this for fame—just for his love of music. “And you will.” I squeezed the side of his arm. “It won’t matter if you miss a note. No one expects perfection. If you fuck up, close your eyes, take a breath, listen to the beat, and let the music guide you back to playing.”

“It’s not just that.” He grabbed my hand and lowered it, but he didn’t let go. The little tremble in his fingers matched the flutters in my stomach. “There’ll be more people here tonight than I’ve played in front of in the past year.”

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