by Cat Mason
Bristol rips her mouth from Tage’s. Brushing the long blonde hair out of his eyes, she cups his face with both hands, studying him. “You flew almost seven hundred miles for a concert?”
“No.” Settling her on his feet, he yanks a small black velvet box from his jacket pocket and drops to one knee. My heart stops.
“Tage, what are you...” Her words trail off.
“Bristol.” Taking her hand in his empty one, he looks up at her, nervous as hell smile on his face. “I’ve been carrying this damn thing around for two weeks, waitin’ for that perfect moment. When nothing I tried to plan sounded good enough, I sat back and waited for it to come to me. It never did.” Popping open the box with one hand, using his raised knee, he holds it up for her. “Then I realized it’s only a perfect moment if you say yes.”
“Damn, that’s smooth as hell,” E chuckles. “Especially for him.”
“Shut up,” I hiss, kicking at his shin with the toe of my boot.
“Bristol Lachlan,” Tage says, taking a deep breath. “I love the way you ramble when you’re nervous. How there’s no guarantee what will come out of your mouth when you’ve been drinking. I love your soft and sweet. Your wild and crazy. I’m completely head over fucking ass in love with every single piece of you.” He smirks, brows waggling suggestively. “Especially the ones in neon green lace.” She chokes out a laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Marry me? There’s nothin’ I want more than you for the rest of my life.”
“Did you just propose to me in a hotel lobby, Tage Crosby?” she breathes, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Yeah, baby,” he chuckles nervously. “You got an answer for me?”
“You’re wicked crazy.” Tackling him to the ground, she kisses him hard and quick on the lips. “God, I’m gonna marry you so hard.”
People around us begin clapping and cheering. Of course, pictures are being snapped and videos being taken by guests with their phones. Not that Bristol or Tage could give a shit. They are completely swallowed up by the moment. It’s hard not to be.
You can’t help but feel the love in the room. There is an excitement. Happiness.
“Wow,” I breathe, tears stinging my eyes. Tanner’s arms come around me, pulling my back to his chest. “If it were anyone other than them, I’d swear it was too soon.”
“Babe, I’d marry you tomorrow.” Leaning down, he presses a kiss to my temple. “Sometimes you just know.”
My heart skips a beat. Or five. I have to lock my knees when they wobble unsteadily at his words. My head and stomach decide it is the perfect time to suddenly spinning in opposing directions. Okay. Oh boy. Okay. Son of a shit. He didn’t mean that literally. Right? It isn’t like Tanner is carrying a ring around like Tage has been, just waiting for that perfect moment to take a knee. Is he? That would mean skipping over some serious steps in our relationship.
Not that we’ve been very good about hitting them in order anyway.
“All right, that is more than enough.” Vicki clears her throat loudly. “The show is over. We have a car waiting.”
“She’s right, baby,” Tage chuckles against her lips. “Go. I’ll see you there.”
“You’re coming today?” she asks, pulling back slightly.
He nods. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Okay.” Bristol manages to untangle herself from Tage as they stand. She lets out a squeal when he slips the gorgeous rose gold diamond ring on her finger. Vicki’s eyes shoot to her, narrowing in silent warning. Bristol holds up her hand in clear defiance, the ring sparkling in the light. “Isn’t it beautiful, Vicki?” she beams, lowering all but her middle finger. “Thanks for being here to make this moment extra special.”
“Time to go.” Vicki forces a smile. “We will speak about this later.”
Barely managing to tell E and Tage we will see them later, we are carted off to the black limo waiting outside like a bunch of kids headed out on a school field trip. “Do we have assigned seats on the bus, Miss Bradwell?” Tanner asks climbing in. Flopping down on the seat, he bounces like a total jackass, smacking his hands on this thighs. “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” Settling, he reaches for my hand, tugging me inside. “Come here, baby. I’ll share my cookies and juice box at snack time.”
“You’re an ass,” I snort, sliding in next to him. Looking up at his face, I trace his cheek with my fingertips, thumb brushing over one of those perfect fucking dimples when I earn a warm smile. “God, I like you.”
Greer drops to the seat across from us. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph’s coat of many colors. Make it stop.” Groaning, he scrubs a hand over his head, stopping at the back of his neck to squeeze. “You two sick bastards managed to out sap the proposal.”
“Jealousy is ugly, Baker,” Bristol teases, easing into the car. “And contagious.”
“Stop the spread. Be the cure,” I chant, earning me a glare from Vicki when she carefully settles her ass down right beside me. Adjusting her black knee-length skirt, she crosses one leg over the other and focuses on her phone screen once I’ve stopped with my momentary attempt to piss off my brother. Once Craig and Nigel climb inside, taking the far bench seat, the door shuts and we start moving.
The enormous fairground chosen for today has us all staring wide-eyed out of the windows when the limo pulls through the security gates. Trailers are set up along one side of the graveled road, various cars and golf carts parked outside nearly every single one. At the entrance, vendors are set up, selling food, beer, and merch to those in attendance. Several large canopy tents are set up, each a different color, all with a specific band name and time on a sign positioned outside the tied back flaps.
The stage is set far apart from everything else, backdropped in black, gold, and hot pink. Four large grass areas marked off and color coded for seating. Beyond those is an area with benches and chairs, with one last space directly in front of the stage where fans are dancing, moshing, and getting totally over the top while a band plays.
People in the pit are my favorite.
We come to a stop in front of the last trailer in the long row. A sign with AWOL written in big black letters hanging on the closed door. The second the door to the car opens, the four of us scramble out, excited to take it all in. “This is insane!” Bristol turns to look at the huge crowd surrounding the stage. Eyes wide, Greer walks over to join her. At the top, stretching the entire length of the stage, is a black banner ‘Evil Wiener Productions Presents: Shaft Gives Back’ written across it in large gold lettering. Beneath that are the words ‘with special guests: Absent Without Leave’. Throwing out her hands, she glances back at me over her shoulder. “This entire day is fucking off the charts crazy.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Vicki tosses out, strutting toward the door of our trailer. “I am sure you can assume that any future requests will be declined.”
My head swivels on my shoulders to eye the mega bitch thunder cunt until she disappears inside the trailer. I begin to question if any of us have enough cash on us for bail money. “Don’t do it, Quinn. The thrill of the kill will be lost to the sound of the automatic doors on your cell closing. Having this baby in prison is not an option.” I murmur, my voice of reason choking out the part of me that’s beyond ready to tuck my dignity in my back pocket and fuck shit up.
Sure, it may be a bad idea to assault a woman in front of thousands of potential witnesses. That doesn’t mean it won’t be a great fucking time.
I’m also willing to lay money on the fact that smacking the shit out of this bitch would be an added highlight to what looks to be a stellar fuckin’ day.
Plus, if someone gets pictures, it’ll make one hell of a scrapbook page in the baby book...
Tanner chuckles beside me. “Keep homicide off the menu today, babe.” Slipping my hand in his, he gives it a squeeze. “I’m real fond of your pussy. Twenty-five to life’s a long damn time to go without it.”
“Oh, baby.” Glancing his way, I arch my brow. “If that
doesn’t say romance, nothin’ does.”
Flashing that Tanner Hewitt charm, he yanks me into his body. “That do it for ya, baby?” he asks, hand sliding down to rest right above my ass.
“I’m a simple girl, Tanner.” Wrapping my arms around his middle, I stare up at him. “Dirty talk, hot sex, ass slaps, and pizza for breakfast.” Pushing up on my toes, I press my face into his neck, smiling against his skin while breathing him in. “It’s the little things in life that make me happy.”
“Quinn.” My name is a warning. His arm around me tightens like a steal band. Tilting my head, his lips are at my ear, his heated breath rushing over my skin causes me to shiver. “If you kiss my neck, it’s done. You’ll be in the back of that limo and on my cock before we play a single fuckin’ note.”
“Decisions, decisions,” I reply, not caring that we’re standing out where people can see us, whispering banter back and forth that I know only makes the ache between my legs intensify. An ache I have no ability to soothe at the moment.
I don’t exactly see Vicki giving me ten minutes to drop my pants and be vaginally generous before we kick off the planned events for the day.
“There you are!” Cam pops out from the trailer next to ours, a younger brunette following alongside her. “Seein’ you two takes me back to when Aiden and I first got together. The fight, the fire.” Pressing a hand to her chest, she smiles. “The beauty in finding someone who’s always been yours.” Shaking her head, she laughs softly. “Sorry. I’ve turned into a damned ball of nerves and emotion today. That’s not why I came to bother you guys.”
Tanner releases me, both of us turning to face Cam, with Bristol and Greer heading our way to join the conversation. “Hey.” Bristol’s face lights up. “What’s up?”
“Oh God.” Cam laughs, pointing to Bristol’s shirt. “Now, that really takes me back. Shaft Approved. The guys will get a kick out of that.”
“It seemed like the perfect chance to wear it,” she admits.
“Absolutely.” Cam’s gaze moves over each of us, before stopping on the brunette. “This is Jazz. Since I’m being pulled in fuckteen million directions today, and it probably not being the best idea I work so closely with your bitchy shadow, I wanted to make sure you were put into the hands of someone I know I can trust.”
Jazz can’t be more than twenty. The long chestnut hair framing her face is streaked with a midnight blue that matches her lacy racer tank. She has on a pair of short white cutoffs and the cutest pair of black and silver high top sneakers I’ve ever seen.
Her dark, brown eyes are framed in a silver and black smoky eye. On her lips is a clear gloss, with just a hint of pink tint. She’s cute. She also looks very familiar somehow.
And judging by the struck dumb look on my usually broody ass brother’s face right now, he’s noticed Jazz too.
“Greer,” he blurts, nearly tripping over his tongue and hard on.
“Nice to meet you, Greer.” Looking him over, she takes his hand, lips twitching up into a smirk that has been undeniably inherited from her very famous dad. My legs nearly give out when realization hits. “Jazz Chesterfield.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Flaming Fuck Sticks and Bacon Balls
Tanner
I love getting time with our fans, but meet and greets are complete chaos. More times than I can count we are set up at a table filled with whatever promotional merchandise the label could slap our faces on. Fans come rushing in, all of them screaming at once, making it tough as fuck to give a single one of them the kind of attention they deserve for their support. I have spent all morning dreading this fucking thing for that very reason.
Until we walked into the tent and I realized Camaron Chesterfield runs a hell of a fucking show.
At the far end of the gray climate-controlled tent, a ten-foot-long, rectangular table is draped with black fabric. The table, along with the two metal shelving units behind it are loaded down with the expected promo merch. Tall black speakers are in each corner of the structure, one of our biggest hits, Silently Screaming, is playing. I anticipated that too. What does surprise me, are the other two similarly dressed tables, both covered with various trays of appetizers. Between them is a bar with a bartender ready serve drinks. There are even clustered seating areas marked off with velvet rope to separate it from the area where space has been put aside for a line to be formed.
“Wow,” Bristol gasps, taking the words right out of my mouth. “It’s almost like being at a nightclub.”
“Holy flaming fuck sticks,” Quinn blurts. “This is incredible.”
“That’s what I was going for.” Tucking her clipboard under her arm, Jazz nods. “If a fan is waitin’ to see you, they should at least be having fun, right? I wanted it to be more than a chance for a selfie with a band they love. Fans deserve an experience.”
“What it is, is a waste of money,” Vicki fires back, shaking her head when she storms into the tent. “Money that could be put to better use elsewhere, had my suggestions been taken into consideration.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you from the dozens of meetings we’ve had for this event in the last eight months.” Jazz’s head snaps in Vicki’s direction, her brow arching. “Were those suggestions submitted in writing on your personal EWP letterhead?”
“Man,” Greer chuckles, snagging what looks like a meatball wrapped in bacon from the tray and tossing it into his mouth. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”
“Glad someone is entertained,” Vicki snarls. “This entire situation is unbelievably unprofessional. Had I known it would be this way, I never would have agreed to this in the first place.”
“Oh, yes. Here we go.” Tossing her clipboard to the table beside her, Jazz dusts off her hands. “I’ve was hopin’ you’d show your ass.”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Vicki’s tone goes stone cold.
“Means it’s best if we steer clear of each other,” Jazz clarifies. “For instance, I’ll make sure everything goes off perfectly from meet and greet to stage exit, while you sit yourself somewhere and stay out of my damn way.”
“Hmph.” Vicki looks her up and down, looking unimpressed. “I highly doubt you are qualified to handle something like this yourself. We have clearly been pawned off to someone less experienced because the event is being poorly managed,” she huffs, waving dismissively with her hand. “You can go. I have no use for you.”
Jazz’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I said go!” Vicki shouts, losing her temper. “Are you deaf or simply too ignorant to understand?”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Vick?” Quinn snaps, shifting beside me.
“Babe,” I murmur, glancing down at her. “Don’t.” Her brows furrow, but she doesn’t push further. “Doesn’t look like Jazz needs back up.”
Nigel and Craig step forward, flanking Vicki, like usual. Although, for the first time since I’ve met the guys, they don’t look all too supportive of her bullshit. Everyone seems to be focused on Jazz, all of us ready to live vicariously through her if she decides to punch Vicki in the throat.
“Listen, lady.” Stepping closer to Vicki, Jazz jabs her shoulder with her middle and index fingers. “You’re not the only person in this tent that speaks bitch fluently, mmkay? If you continue to toss that shit my way, you bet your ass you’ll be getting more than your fair share of it thrown right back at you. I’m a giver.” She shrugs a shoulder. “You don’t know me, or what you’ve managed to get yourself into with those sweet little insults you wrap up in professionalism and a big red bow, but I have no problem educatin’ your ass in how things are gonna work around here. The person in charge is me. My only concerns are the well-being of the members of AWOL, and their fans. You think I’m not qualified to run this show. Well, let me tell you somethin’, babe; I grew up living and breathing the music industry. Everything about this life is engrained in my DNA. No one held my hand or stroked my goddamn ego. Instead
, my ass was thrown into the deep end, without floaties, when I was a kid. You can trust when I say I’ve got more experience in my thumb than you have in all five foot six inches of your snooty ass.”
“How dare you talk to me that way!” Vicki shouts, throwing up her hands.
Greer immediately steps between them, using his arm to push Vicki back. “Bring your ass down, woman. You’re outta line.”
“I will have your job before I leave Nashville,” Vicki continues, slapping at Greer’s forearm. “One phone call is all it takes.”
“Who are you calling?” Jazz asks, sarcastically. Rolling her eyes, she laughs. “My Aunt Cam? Or... Maybe you’re planning to dial up my dad to tell him how he should fire my ass?”
“That’s enough,” Vicki warns.
“Better yet,” Jazz continues. “I’ll call a meeting.”
“I highly doubt—”
“Let me tell you about those meetings,” Jazz interrupts, completely unfazed by Vicki’s threats. “Since the board is made up of my family, it’ll be held at the dining room table at my Aunt Cam and Uncle Aiden’s house. He’ll probably barbecue. She’ll make a salad and hand out beers to everyone with a big smile on her face. My Aunt Daisy, she’ll make peanut butter chocolate chip cookies for dessert because they’re my favorite. And my dad, he’ll sit at the head of the table, crackin’ jokes while eating whatever’s covered in bacon. They’ll all listen to you rant about your cunty little suggestions and even when you tell them how they should boot my ass from the table, instead of building a killer roster of my own scouted talent to promote within the label.” Placing her hand on Greer’s arm, she winks at Vicki. “And, if you’re lucky, Big Man won’t turn on the sprinklers after he throws you out in the front yard on your ass.”
