by Eden Finley
He missed his band—the whole reason he put himself through the awkwardness of a horrible blind date. He’s gonna hate me when he wakes up, and that’s the last thing I want.
I don’t know if it’s Marty or the fact I only realised last night how truly lonely I’ve been lately, but I do know I want to see him again. That’s not gonna happen when he’ll blame me for screwing up his chance to see Radioactive live.
My stomach churns knowing he’ll wake up soon and realise what happened.
Pushing myself out of bed, I find my phone in my discarded pants. I have a gazillion missed calls from Amanda.
With a sigh, I pull out a pair of fresh sweats and head for my kitchen. Coffee is needed before dealing with work.
Once I’m settled at the dining table with a cup of adulting elixir, I hit the Dial button on Amanda’s number.
“Where have you been?” she screeches. “I’ve been trying to call all morning.”
“All morning? It’s seven a.m. on my forced days off that you only have yourself to thank for.” Okay, so coffee isn’t helping me act human just yet.
“We need you to do damage control, because—”
“Because you fucked up and a whole heap of shit went wrong. I know. I was there last night, watching.”
“And you didn’t do anything?” she screeches again. “Why not?”
The smile that spreads across my face is involuntary. “You wanted to handle it yourself, and you got your wish.”
“You do realise this looks bad on both of us?”
I shrug, even though I know she can’t see me. “I met someone who made me realise there’s more to life than work.”
The line goes completely silent.
“Are you still there?” I ask.
“Who are you and what have you done with the real Luce?”
“Funny.”
“We need your help.”
The urge to say yes and take back my baby is almost overpowering, but then I think of Marty lying naked in my bed and the conversations we had last night about music and the way I miss having that connection to it.
“Nope. Mandatory days off.”
“Luce,” she whines.
“Maybe you should’ve thought of this before you went to our bosses and got them to take me off the festival.”
She’s been gunning for my job ever since I was given it. This was her perfect chance.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “I’ll help you do damage control with all the bands when I get back to work in two days if you give me the number we have on file for Radioactive’s tour manager.”
There’s a small pause. “Radioactive?” She has no idea who they are.
“They’re an American band who played stage three last night around three a.m.”
She sends through the details, and I get to work on making something else right before I fix work problems.
Look who’s learning shit about prioritising.
My heart thumps loudly against my rib cage as I stand at the foot of my bed, watching Marty sleep. Then I think about how creepy it would be to wake up to that, so I place my peace offering cup of coffee on the bedside table and climb into bed with him.
“Marty?” I whisper and pull him close.
He keeps sleeping. Guess he’s a heavy sleeper.
“Marty,” I say a little louder.
He throws his arm around me and then a leg, clinging to me like my very own koala. “I don’t wanna get up,” he mumbles. But then, as if he realises the same thing I did when I first woke, his eyes widen. He sits up and looks around the bright room, and his shoulders slump.
“I’m so sorry,” I say and sit up next to him.
I’m expecting him to reject my embrace as I wrap my arms around him, but he welcomes my touch. Thank God.
“We fell asleep,” he says.
“Wow, you really are smart, huh?”
He doesn’t respond, and I realise now’s not a time for jokes.
“I’m so, so, so, so sorry,” I say again. “You can yell at me, or—”
“Wait.” He turns in my arms. “You think I’m mad at you? I’m mad at myself. Not for coming back here or doing … what we did. I don’t regret that at all. Just, I wish I hadn’t fallen asleep.”
Relief washes over me, and I lean in and kiss Marty’s temple. “I have a plan to make it up to you.”
“How?”
“So, uh, first of all, I need to confess something.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Coffee first?” I hand him the mug from the bedside table.
“Thank you.” After Marty takes a few sips, I continue.
“You know how I gave you shit for not going to the Heart2Heart benefit for the right reasons?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Yeaaaah.”
I raise my hand. “Guilty.”
“What do you mean?”
“I work for Joystar Records. I organised the entire festival, and at the last minute—”
“You’re the reason Radioactive had a shit stage time?”
I laugh that the first thing he thinks of is the band, not that I’m a liar. “Guilty again. In my defence, you were right about me not hearing any of those bands play before. I worked on stats—sales, online presence, and followers. If I’d heard them …” Last night would’ve been organised way differently.
Marty’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand. Why did you need to win tickets if you were running the whole thing?”
“My second-in-command stabbed me in the back and took over on launch day. That’s the real reason I had to stay away from security. I didn’t want Amanda to know I was checking up on her.”
“You … and …” The adorable little scrunch in his brow doesn’t waver. “But …”
“Spending the night with you made me realise how obsessed I can be about work. I ended up forgetting all about it when I listened to you talk about Radioactive and how much you love them. Which is why I feel like a total shit for making you miss out on seeing them perform.”
Marty cracks a small, but fake, smile to placate me. “It’s okay. They’ll be back another time.” His tone betrays his words, because we both know a small international band like Radioactive won’t be coming back unless they make it huge.
I lean in. “You gave me something last night. You reminded me why I got into this business to begin with. I want to discover new bands and help guys like Jay from Radioactive make it big. The way their music speaks to you … I want to give that to people. It was my original plan until I got stuck climbing the corporate ladder. I haven’t felt your type of passion for my job in years. Years. I’ve been wasting my life.”
“You’re welcome? I think?”
I cup his gorgeous face. “I’ve found a way to say thank you properly.”
His eyes light with heat and mischief. “Is it you bending over for me? Because I’m pretty sure you nailed that last night.”
I chuckle. “Because of my co-worker running my event into the ground, I have to do some sucking up to some bands. Guess who we get to go visit in their hotel room in about one hour?”
Marty’s face drops and his expression turns cold-sober. I thought he would be excited, but he looks like he could puke. “Are … are you shitting me right now?”
I shake my head.
“You’re … you’re gonna take me to meet Radioactive? The Radioactive?”
“The Radioactive. Only, I have one condition.”
“Anything,” he blurts.
“When Jay falls at your feet in love with you the second you step into that hotel room, I’m kinda hoping you might tell him you’re dating someone?” My voice cracks like a preteen, and I have to clear my throat.
I might be mistaken, but I swear Marty’s cheeks pinken.
“Well, I did spend a fun night with a pretty awesome guy. I’d love to see him again.”
“Then you better get dressed, baby. Because I’m about to make your biggest dream come true.” When I pull away and get out of bed, he stares up
at me with glassy eyes.
“You’re really not shitting me about this?”
“Deep-seated trust issues?” I ask with a small smile.
“No, I don’t think you understand. This … this really is making my biggest dream come true. If you’re not shitting me, there’s a good chance I’ll propose to you on the spot.”
I laugh. “How about a second date first?”
“Deal.” Marty’s grin lights me up in a way no one else ever has.
For the first time in so long, I have something to look forward to. My mind races with plans and ideas of where I can take my career now. I don’t want to be bogged down in events management when I should be doing something where I can make a difference.
Maybe band management.
Marty’s made me rediscover that side of myself, and I’ll be forever grateful to the guy who showed me my love for music isn’t dead.
“I’m glad I won you,” I say.
Marty’s lips twitch. “Well, I am an awesome prize,” he says dryly.
But little does he know, he’s probably the best prize I’ve ever won.
7
Marty
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I am not standing in front of Radioactive’s hotel room. I can’t be. Someone pinch me.
“Hey, Luce? You’re a dickhead.”
Instead of doing what I want him to though, his brow creases like he can’t tell if I mean it or not. “Umm …”
“I’m trying to get you to pinch me, because this has to be a dream. Did you drug me last night, and now you’re doing God knows what to my passed-out body while I hallucinate all this?”
His stormy eyes shimmer in amusement. “You don’t sound too upset if I actually did that.”
“Dream Jay, real Jay, I don’t care. Although if this is a hallucination, I’m gonna be pissed when I come to.”
“Can I knock yet, or you need a minute?” Luce smirks.
I let out a big breath and mutter to myself. “Okay, Marty, this is it. I won’t ask anything of you again. Just, for once in your life, be fucking cool.” I turn to Luce. “I’m ready.”
“Nice pep talk.”
I ignore the mocking tone and smile. “Thanks.”
Luce’s arm comes around me. “One thing first.”
His mouth descends on mine in a kiss hotter than any of the ones we shared last night. Either that, or my memory is already failing me and dimming the explosiveness that was yesterday. I definitely remember Luce’s mouth being mind-blowingly awesome, but this awesome? I’m not so sure.
He tries to pull back, but I don’t let him, following with my mouth and kissing him harder.
But Luce forces our lips apart and then smiles down at me. “I’d say that should hold you until the Jay mania dies down.”
I still can’t believe I’m going to meet the Jay, and that Luce is making it happen.
“You know, when he falls at my feet and worships the ground I walk on, I could totally ask if he’d be up for joining us.” I’m only kidding … well, half-kidding, and I have to hold in my amusement at Luce’s frown. “Dude, I’m joking. I promise I won’t hit on Jay. Fanboy, sure, but I meant what I said last night, I’m not delusional.”
Luce huffs and pulls me against him tight. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice tickles my ear, and I suppress a shudder. “You joke that it’d be impossible for someone like Jay to fall fast and hard, but you have this charismatic energy that’s impossible not to be drawn to. I know because I witnessed it last night, and now I’m wondering if it’s a really stupid mistake to let you in there.”
“Let me? I don’t know whether to be pissed or turned on right now.”
Luce laughs. “Figure it out and let me know. I like you just as much when you’re argumentative. It will make for an interesting day.”
The door opens and a guy in his forties with a grumpy face stands there staring at Luce and me wrapped around each other.
Luce clears his throat and steps away from me. “Wayne?”
“Thought I heard voices out here,” the guy grumbles. “Coming in or what?”
Pleasant guy.
We follow him into the suite with a small sitting area and a king bed in the one room.
There’s a lump in the middle of the bed—a shirtless lump with shaggy dark hair over his face.
Holy shit, Jay is, like, right there. Asleep. Lying on his stomach and … okay, that kinda looks like drool coming out his mouth, but who cares. He’s Jay.
The dimples right above his ass crack peek out the top of a blanket, and oh, how I wish the blanket was an inch or two lower.
“I’m Luce Riley.” Luce holds out his hand towards the old guy.
Wayne ignores it and moves to the bed to smack Jay’s ass. “Hey, fuckboy, get up.”
Did he just call him “fuckboy”?
Luce looks just as confused. This is supposed to be Jay’s tour manager, right?
“It’s fuckin’ early,” Jay moans and rolls onto his back. “Because ya know, we went on stage late, the roadies set up our equipment wrong, so our instruments were fucked, we got booed off stage, ain’t got much sleep, and now your sleazy-ass voice is in my ear. Leave me alone.”
I have to hold in squeeing like a groupie. I don’t even care his words are hostile, his Southern accent is too much.
Luce clears his throat.
“Suits from the label are here,” Wayne says.
I scoff at the suit comment because I’m in my clothes from last night, and Luce, while in suit pants and pressed shirt, doesn’t exactly look like a stuffy suit type.
Until I study him closer and realise, actually, yeah he does. He looks like the guy I met last night with the uptight vibe. I wonder if I’m only seeing him in the post-sex, laid-back way because I’ve seen Luce drop his guard. He should drop it more often, because he’s so damn gorgeous. And hot. And distinguished.
I’m too busy staring at him that I miss Jay get out of bed and slip on pants. My eyes catch on the small patch of fuzz above his cock as he pulls them over his hips.
Motherfucker.
Would it be considered rude to ask him to rewind and do that again so I don’t miss the good stuff this time?
The rock god stalks towards us, tight muscles on his thin frame and a delicious V peeking above low-hanging sweatpants.
Yep. This can’t be real.
When I drag my eyes up to his face, I take it back, because fantasy Jay would never scowl like that.
He throws himself on the small couch and looks up at his manager. “Go get Benji. If he’s not in his room, try Freya’s because they think they’re being sneaky about their hook-ups, but they totally suck at hiding it.”
“Why don’t you get off your lazy ass and go get them?” Wayne asks.
“You’re our tour ‘manager,’ so go fuckin’ manage.”
Wayne grumbles something about a spoiled brat as he leaves the room.
Jay glares after him. The Jay I’ve built up in my head is nothing like the real Jay, and that’s something I don’t want to accept. I can’t accept it. This guy has gotten me through so much shit.
So instead of acknowledging the hostility, I play up the dumb guy people seem to assume I am before I talk. I gasp. “The bassist and drummer are doing each other? Oh my God, that’s so adorable. Though, I was kinda hoping Benji played for our team, but this could be even cuter.” I even bounce on the balls of my feet for good measure.
Jay narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you’re from the label?”
Luce smiles but tries to contain it by rubbing a palm over his jaw—clearly seeing through my charade. “I’m from the label. He’s …” He glances at me. “My assistant. Marty.”
I don’t know if he omitted the fact I’m his date for my stupid fanboy dreams or if he did it for professional reasons, but if it’s the former, it only makes me want him more.
Jay nods. “Makes sense. No one important at the label seems to have any love for us.” He looks at Luce. “I be
t you didn’t even know Benji or Freya’s name.”
“That’s true,” Luce admits, and I admire him for telling the truth.
That doesn’t stop me from coming to his defence. “He did know you’re from New York, that you’re gay, and he knows how many followers you have on Twitter.”
“Fifteen point nine thousand,” Luce supplies helpfully.
“Wait …” I say. How is that possible? “That seems really low. Like, my friend has a skateboard-riding pug who has over thirty thousand followers, and that’s only like … three-quarters of the talent Jay has.”
Jay bursts out laughing. “This guy for real?”
I frown because I can’t determine his tone. The laugh seems genuine but his words harsh. “Yes, I assure you I exist.” I gesture to my body.
Jay rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant. But good to know I’m slightly more talented than a dog.” Finally, I get a bit of a playful vibe, but I’m still not sure.
“Dude, have you ever skateboarded? That pug has skills.”
He breaks into a grin. “Talk to me when he plays a guitar.”
“Oh, I’m so all over that.” I take out my phone and start texting my friend to get a photo of his dog with a guitar.
“Are you here to drop the band, then?” Jay asks Luce. “Send us out of the country and then tell us to find our own way home or what?”
Luce takes the seat opposite Jay, while I remain standing to the side.
“The opposite,” Luce says. “First, I’m here to apologise for the fuck-up that was last night. That was on me—”
“No, it wasn’t,” I argue. “It’s on that co-worker who tried pushing you out.”
Luce holds up his hand to stop me. “Thanks for defending me, but I organised the event. It’s on me even if I wasn’t allowed to be there to fix it.”
Jay cocks his brow and glances between me and Luce. “So first the apology. And then?”
“Secondly, I want to talk to you about your management team, because Marty’s right. You should have more followers on Twitter. And Instagram and Facebook and YouTube. You should have more exposure. You guys are so fucking talented, but you’ve been overlooked by the label. They’ve done a lot of things wrong, but probably the worst is assigning you that for a manager.” He gestures to the door where Wayne left. “He shouldn’t be treating you like a rent boy.”
