Maybe

by Amber L. Johnson

  “So he says,” I whisper, wide-eyed because it all sounds so crazy.

  “Then I don’t give a single fuck about you two sleeping together. Look around, Emily. We’re here. It’s happening.” Her arms widen in the air, and she turns a little in both directions. “He’s writing. He’s up on stage and taking us along with him for the ride. If he has to sleep on you for the rest of his life, I don’t care. Since that’s out of the way, can we go inside now? I want to see my husband melt faces.”

  I’m uneasy and filled with butterflies while we push our way through the back door. When we reach the green room, I realize that I’m not the only anxious one. This isn’t Madison Square Garden, but the other three are pacing, and Tyler is standing in the back corner with his head down and eyes scrunched up tight.

  My chest aches watching him attempt to pull himself together, and since everyone around us seems to know what we’ve been trying to hide, I go to his side. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m freaking out.” His eyes don’t open, and his left hand twitches a little while he takes practiced deep breaths.

  “You’ve done this before, right? Just in a smaller venue. Plus, I’m right here. I’ll be hanging out by the curtain, and I’ll make faces or clap just a beat behind to make you smile. Sound good?”

  He finally opens his eyes and faces me, but his hands stay by his sides. Looking down, he smiles. “Could you maybe just turn your ass toward the stage? I can see that from where I’m standing. Because I’m in love with those pants right now.”

  Feigning shock, I take a step back and hold both palms up. “Oh, you’re in love with pants? Well, excuse me. Maybe I can just sit by your feet on all fours?”

  “Yeah. Don’t give me that mental picture before I go on stage. That’s just cruel.”

  I lean up on my toes and bring my lips close to his ear. “Would it be cruel to tell you I’m not wearing a bra right now? Because if it is, then I won’t.”

  He finally touches me, and I can feel his body relax against mine when he pulls my hips against his zipper. “Damn you, Peach. I don’t have time to jack off before the show. Why would you do that to me?”

  “Because you’re not nervous anymore.” My fingers slip beneath his shirt, and I breathe against his neck. “I know you don’t need me, but I’ll be right there just in case.”

  “I never said I didn’t need you, and you’ll be out there with me. Just wait.”

  “Okay. I have to go watch the openers. I’ll see you after?”

  His lips skim my cheek and blood rushes in, making my face burn hot. “Don’t take these pants off before then.”

  I don’t make eye contact with anyone when I leave the room to watch the opener. Behind the curtain, I can see Fabian strumming his guitar, and he looks at ease. His music is slow and melodic, it floats and hovers, wrapping itself around my body and making my eyes close when I start to sway. It’s lovely, and I hope one day he has his own band behind him so he’ll get the chance to be successful in these shark-infested waters. Not that the paid musicians are a raw deal. He just deserves bandmates.

  The crowd is only half capacity, which isn’t unusual for the opening acts. Those at the front are only there to be close to the Badger. They don’t want to fight the crowds and push their way through. They’ve staked their claim but don’t pay much attention to Fabian, and between each song there are only a few claps. When he completes his set, there’s a tepid response, which causes him to get pulled into his manager’s side. The man whom I’ve been briefly introduced to as Liam, hooks his arm over Fabian’s shoulder and pulls his face down to speak lowly into the musician’s ear.

  I’ve seen it before. This is where Fabian gets told everything he did wrong. I hate that shit. When he’s released, the skinny man starts to walk by me, but I tug on his hand before he gets away.

  “You were great. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”

  It’s a ghost of a smile that he shoots my way, and I can feel Liam staring at us.

  “I need to get an interview with you, so whenever you feel up to it or have time, I’d love to pick your brain.”

  “Pick away. I just hang out in the bus all night.”

  I squeeze Fabian’s hand. “Enjoy your moment.”

  His eyes widen when he glances behind me, and he lets my hand go, giving a slight nod before taking off. It only takes me a second to realize Tyler’s standing there. When his palms sweep over my arms, I’m lost in his closeness.

  I won’t admit that I missed Shae’s performance on purpose, but I did. Now I’m backstage with this man, about to watch his dreams come true. We stand in the dark, and he looks over my face, holding my upper arms gently. “They know.”

  “Yeah. I know they know.”

  The building is filling, and I can hear the crowd growing louder. The stage is being set with their instruments, carpets being placed, and mic stands being moved. I know the drill. I can see it without watching, because I’m not looking anywhere but at him.

  “You ready?” I lift my right hand to his cheek, and it raises when he smiles. He pulls back to secure the in-ear monitors and steps away.

  They’re called to place, and all I can do is stand in the wings to watch them take the stage, arms raised in greeting to the screaming fans. Tyler looks to where I’m standing and raises an eyebrow when he pulls something from his pocket and clips it to the mic stand. Even from where I’m watching, I can see it’s one of the photos he took of me, and I melt a little at the sweet gesture before he looks away.

  An introduction. A click of the sticks. One note from Tyler while he cups the mic in his hand, pinching the pick between his thumb and forefinger. The entire place erupts, and his voice is almost drowned out by the crowd singing along. It’s surreal to watch him go from Tyler to Macy in a matter of seconds. He’s all smiles and brooding glances, his movements easy and sexual. His face is shrouded in determination and focus while he plays and sings his songs.

  Songs that are no longer about Addie.

  No, these songs are about me.

  Hollis steps up on my left to watch the performance. The crowd is a deafening chorus, and I close my eyes to stop the tears that are forming there. The hair on my arms is standing on end, and the raw emotional charge of the music rips through me, making me feel full and fragile all at the same time. Tyler’s voice is filled with such desperate longing, love, and even pain, that I have to hold myself together with my arms to stop from breaking down with happiness for him.

  When the last note fades across the crowd, Tyler says good night to a chorus of screams and applause. He takes his guitar off his neck and walks tentatively off stage while they begin to chant for an encore. He glances over his shoulder at Hollis, who gives him a thumbs-up, and he grins a cocky half smile at me before he turns back around and sprints onto the stage.

  The crowd grows even louder, and Tyler smiles out into the darkness beyond the lights, speaking into the microphone, “Bear with us, but we only ran through this a couple of times this afternoon. We’ll see how it goes.” He throws a devastating smile my way and starts the first chords to “Lollipop.”

  I was right. Tyler Macy singing that song on stage, perfected or not, looking at me every once in a while as he plays up to the rest of the band, makes me weak in the knees. When the guitar drops out and it’s only him singing above the bass line and drumbeat, his voice shattering the hearts of young girls everywhere, I finally understand who he is.

  He has to be the devil, because there’s no other explanation for why he would have that kind of musical ability. It’s enough to make my brain physically melt. Along with my knees. My eyes. Those damn pleather pants.

  I’m glued to the spot while they say their final farewell to Arizona, and Tyler rushes off the stage to wrap me in his arms. He’s drenched in sweat, hot from the lights, high on adrenaline. When he sets me down on my feet, I take a step back and clear my throat.

  Frowning and hoping to look thoughtful, I tilt my head. “Can
we go talk? Alone, I mean. I need to speak to you about the concert, and it’s best we do it while the memory is fresh.”

  “Are you kidding right now?” Shawn’s by my side, dripping sweat, pushing his hair from his eyes. “We have to go meet and greet. We have fans now, Em.”

  Cam, as expected, agrees.

  There’s a knowing look in Tyler’s eyes while one side of his mouth lifts and his shoulders straighten. “I don’t like the crowds anyway. You two take care of this.”

  We don’t touch the entire way to the bus. It’s deserted, the driver standing with the others next to Shae’s back bumper. Once inside, I continue to walk to the back room and hear Tyler lock the door behind him. I’m keeping my composure, head up, shoulders straight back. His entire body is blocking the only way out, and he’s leaning a little while he awaits my next move.

  “How was it? Do you have anything you’d like me to quote?” I’m fighting a smile, but his posture softens as he takes a step closer.

  “You don’t even have a notebook. How are you supposed to take notes?”

  “Photographic memory.”

  He’s only a foot away now. “That’s not how that works.”

  I’m practically shaking when he stops just shy of my toes. “You wrote all those songs about me, and there are people singing your lyrics, Tyler. Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to me for the next eleven concerts?”

  With one step into me, the distance between us is closed, and he’s cradling the back of my neck to angle my chin up so I can see his face. “No. Tell me what it does to you. I want to hear it come from that beautiful mouth of yours. And then I want to taste it.”

  “Maybe you should feel what it does to me.” I grab his left hand, and still keeping eye contact, bring his fingers to the top of my pants. I inhale when they twist the button and drag the zipper down. He angles back to look between us, and the delight on his face makes me laugh. “I’m glad I didn’t know you were wearing these earlier. I would have closed the set early.”

  “I enjoyed the encore, though.”

  “Then you’ll love the follow-up.” He slides the pleather down my hips and bends at the waist to yank them down. On his knees, he slides his hands up my thighs and around to cup my cheeks. His lips press to the sucker emblem on the panties, and he lets out that sexy hum that I’ve come to know so well. Watching, I hold my breath and whimper when he opens his mouth and flattens his tongue against the cotton.

  “How long do we have?” I ask, gripping his hair in my fist.

  “If Shawn has his way? At least an hour. Hollis? Twenty minutes, tops.” He pulls the elastic to the side, slipping his fingers against my warm skin, then farther inward. “You’re so wet. My God.”

  “I know.” It’s such an obvious statement, and I laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. My head rolls a little, and I sigh when the tip of his finger grazes my clit, making my leg twitch.

  “Tyler! Open the door.” Hollis’ voice is just outside the window, and Tyler rests his face against my stomach, a frustrated groan vibrating against my belly button.

  “Hold on!” he shouts, looking around my hip at the dark corridor leading to where she’s shouting.

  “I’ll get it. You need to go hang out in the bathroom for a few minutes.”

  “That’s the exact opposite of how I wanted this to end. I’ve had enough time with my hand over the past year.” His eyes peer up from below, and I frown in pity.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Tyler! Open. The. Door.”

  His eyebrows raise, and he stands to press a palm to his zipper. “I’ll let you get that.” By the time he’s in the bathroom, I have shoved my legs back into my own jeans and the black pants Hollis insisted on are crumpled in a corner.

  “Hey. Sorry about that. How weird, right? It must have locked behind us.”

  She does not look like she believes me at all, and I shrink under her scrutiny when her attention focuses on my jeans. “It should have been an unsaid thing, but how about we respect the communal space and institute a ‘no sex on the bus’ rule? Sound good? Good.”

  Chapter Thirty

  From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

  We’re two weeks in, and Hollis has cock-blocked me at every turn. This is worse than Emily’s no-touch rule.

  We perform. We meet and sign. We get on the bus and sleep through the night, just to get to the next city the following morning.

  I’m exhausted, irritable, and neglected in ways that I shouldn’t be.

  I need a plan to get us off this bus for at least one hour. Until then, I’ll keep a happy face, because I have nothing to be ungrateful for right now.

  —M

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I’m standing in front of a gas station just outside Washington, thankful for the opportunity to get off the bus and stretch my legs. Everyone is inside getting snacks, but I’m expecting a call at any minute from Rynn, so I’m hanging out at the far end of the parking lot. I wonder if the Badger will get big enough one day to require an assistant to run in and get them energy drinks and beef jerky. Which I hate, by the way. The smell is already starting to get to me.

  Tyler is grinning and joking with Jonathan when they emerge through the sliding doors, carrying bags. His attention lands on me, and the smile turns cocky, a knowing look in his eyes. I watch him survey my body language, and he shakes his head while he walks my way.

  “You’re ready to explode.”

  “Shut up.”

  He tilts his head to the side and dips his hand into his bag. “Look. They make these little Blow Pop candies that don’t have sticks now.” Tyler thrusts the package forward and tilts the bag open to deposit the little round candies into my palm. He steps closer and takes one between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re about the size of your nipples . . .”

  I slap his arm and am about to give a fierce comeback when my phone rings. “Get outta here. I have to take a call from Rynn.” When he’s a good five feet away, I answer as cheerfully as possible.

  She doesn’t address me immediately, and I hear her slam something on her desk before there’s the sound of something being broken against the floor. “Blow it out your ass, Victor. Emily, are you there? Why aren’t you talking?”

  “Good morning, boss.”

  If her plastic surgery would allow her to roll her eyes, she would. Hard. But I’m not there to witness the attempt. “Are you getting everything together to do what you’ve been assigned?”

  “Of course.”

  “From what I hear, this band is pretty straight. Are they drinking?”

  “Moderately.”

  “Drugs?”

  “No.” This is a lie. Shawn and Cam have spent the better part of the week in Shae’s bus, and every time I see them now they’re high or drunk. Sometimes both.

  “Do they fuck groupies on the regular?”

  “Not all of them.” This is not a lie. Shawn is only sleeping with Shae. I think. I haven’t seen Cam in action, so I have no firsthand knowledge.

  “One of these guys will fall from grace on tour. Which one do you have money on?”

  I hate the thought of saying it out loud, but I know the answer immediately. “Shawn. The drummer.”

  Her chair creaks, and I can picture her leaning forward, red-tipped nails pressed to her mouth, and gray cloudy skies outside her huge window. “Then he’s the one you watch. Follow the story, Emily.”

  “Okay.” I am such a traitor. But she’s promised that this will get me where I want to be within the company, and my career is the most important thing in my life. Right now.

  “And don’t have such a stick up your ass. You’re so uptight. How are you supposed to get in with them if you’re sitting on the sidelines? Laura told me you were a teetotaler in Texas.”

  Her words surprise me, and I can’t believe how red my cheeks are under her intense words. “I . . . I just—”

  “You just nothing, you hear me? Y
ou know what I did when I had your job back in the eighties?”

  I shake my head because I don’t know where this is going, but it can’t be good. “No.”

  “Cocaine. I was doing blow with the best of the best. You understand? That’s how I got what I needed for the articles. Get in there. Drink with them. Hell, fuck one of them for all I care. If you need permission, then it’s granted. Just get what we need, Emily. The rise and fall of a band is a cherry article. Give me a big red one.”

  When we disconnect, I have to take a moment to collect myself. My eyes are closed, and I’m fighting nausea because I am spineless. I am a terrible person. A doormat of epic proportions when it comes to so many things.

  I don’t want to do this.

  “Hey, Emily. Did you want to ride over with me to do that interview we talked about?”

  The lilt in his voice has become one of my favorite sounds over the last couple of weeks. “Fabian. Of course. I think this would be the perfect time for that.”

  He jerks his head in the other direction, and I follow, stopping just long enough to let Hollis know where I’m going and to grab a notebook. Tyler has a suspicious look in his eyes, but this isn’t personal. It’s business.

  Fabian’s transportation is smaller, and the studio musicians barely pay attention to me when I walk up the stairs. Liam sits on one of the couches and pretends not to listen to the interview, but his presence alone means I may not get the answers I need.

  So I do my job and interview Fabian on his upbringing in South Africa, his musical influences, what he hopes to achieve. He seems very at ease when he speaks of his home, and he has a wistful look in his eyes while he thinks of answers. I find myself drawn to him, listening to his stories.

  “You seem to really miss it. Do you have a girlfriend back home?”

  “Yeah. Well, I did until I left. It wouldn’t be fair to her, but she was . . . is . . . my world.” His smile falters a bit. “If she’s still there for me when I get back, I’m going to marry her.”