She was no longer afraid that someone would stop her eating. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him palm a chicken wing. She hadn’t seen them, so she slid around his back to reach that side of the table. She managed one before the sheer amount of food started swelling her belly.
“Urgh. I can’t…” She stepped back from the table. What had she done? Her stomach started rolling inside. Oh no. There was no way she was going to waste the food she’d eaten.
“Go sit down.” Will nodded at the sofa against the far wall. “See? I knew you were punching above your weight, sweetheart. Not counting the banana, of course.”
She smiled inside, but her mouth wouldn’t let her make the actual movement. She sat gingerly on the sofa and slowly leaned back, hoping her stomach would appreciate the stillness. One deep breath. Two. Okay. That was better. Ahhhh.
Anya closed her eyes as a sleepiness invaded her body. She knew she shouldn’t relax, but the rest of her was too tired and full to care. The sofa shifted under her as Will sat down a respectable distance from her.
“How d’you feel?” he asked in a low voice.
“Like the Hulk is sitting on my belly and singing me a lullaby,” Anya whispered back, eyes still closed. His proximity was making her more awake, though, and she wondered if she had the energy to get up again. He smelled so good up close. All clean and soapy. Like when she sat in the laundromat, and when no one was looking buried her face in her warm clothes. Clean and comforting.
He snorted a laugh in reply. “So how is this going to work?” he asked after a long moment.
“What? How does what work?” she asked, eyes popping open and wondering where the conversation was headed.
“The interview thing. Are you going to write one big article, or smaller ones, or…just what are you planning?”
Good question. “I’m not 100 percent sure. I mean, this was kind of a last minute fill-in for a regular writer whose kid got sick. Well, to be honest, I’m more of a fill-in for a fill-in, since the other two available writers had kids on summer break and couldn’t take two weeks off. I only heard yesterday that I’d be doing this.”
“So you don’t have any kids home for the summer?” he asked with an audible smile.
“I’m only…” Shit, how old was she? She’d allowed the magazine to assume she’d been in her twenties, told Natasha she was nineteen, but it sounded like LJ insisted everyone was in their late twenties. “I’m too young to have children,” she settled on.
“So is everything we say on the record?” he asked.
She hauled herself upright and looked at him. “I guess? Unless you tell me it’s not?” God, she wished she sounded more confident. “My plan is to write nightly blog posts for WowSounds and maybe ask the readers for questions for you. Would that be okay?”
“Sure. Will I get to see what you write before you send it in?” He sounded anxious and that made her feel a whole lot more confident.
“I don’t think so. Especially since I plan on blowing the lid off your deepest secret.”
…
Holy mother of shit. He sprung up.
“What secret?” he demanded.
How could she possibly know?
And then, in that second, he took in her puzzled face and realized she meant that she was going to look for his deepest secret. Not that that was any better.
She folded her arms. “Just how many secrets do you have?”
Shit. Now who was the amateur?
“Oh. Okay.” He searched his pathetic brain for an excuse. “I thought you’d figured out that I’m a competitive eater and was going to tell the world what I looked like with food hanging out of my mouth.” He sat back down and kept on deflecting, deflecting, deflecting.
He laid his arm across the back of the sofa and turned in toward her. ‘What’s this?” He skimmed his finger down her cheek and swiped off a smudge. He leaned in and licked his finger, keeping his eyes on hers, remembering that Trevin had told him to charm Anya. “Hmmm, nice. Guacamole. I didn’t even see it on the buffet.” He pretended to tip his hat to her. She smiled at him, at first tentatively, and then full on. It pretty much knocked his socks off. His heart raced, and he wondered if he dared kiss her.
I have no business wanting her this bad.
But he did want her. So much that it felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get to touch her.
Blood started pounding in his head with the realization that he was alone with her. He leaned in just the tiniest bit—
And then remembered that she could be conning him, too. She was a freaking reporter.
Blinking, he looked at the buffet and said, “You want to go for a second round, or do you want to take a walk?”
She was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Walk.”
He jumped up. “You’re such a lightweight.” He grinned and helped her up. She took it, and the warmth of her hand in his took his mind right back to wanting to kiss her. He was turning into a fucking girl, for God’s sake.
She dropped his hand, and they made their way outside.
“So there seems to be some friction between the members of the band,” she said matter-of-factly.
He glanced at her, but her eyes were roving around the backstage area. “You sit on a bus with four other people for weeks on end and tell me if you ever snipe at someone. It’s just bickering. We all get on fine.”
“Really? Fine?” she asked mildly.
“Actually, all the guys…well, they seem to be settling down. One by one, they bit the dust.”
“What do you mean ‘bit the dust’?”
“Found true love. Or something like it, anyway.” He looked at her again, wondering what she was thinking, and then realized what he’d said. “But you totally can’t put that in your article. It’s off the record. People know, obviously, but we try to keep it totally low-key when we’re out and about, and having photos taken, or giving interviews. LJ doesn’t want fans being turned off by the fact that some of the guys have girlfriends.”
“Doesn’t that mean the boys can have their cake and eat it, too? I mean, if they have secret girlfriends?”
“Eh. That’s not really what happens. Firstly, they seem pretty content for the first time since I’ve known them”—virtually no time at all—“and secondly, it kind of protects the girls, too. We dispose of the hate mail directed at them. Some of it’s pretty nasty.”
“From fans?” she said with her adorable, inscrutable face.
“Only the psycho fans do that. Again, that’s off the record. We don’t officially call those fans psycho. We call them…what were the words that LJ used? Oh yes, ‘committed fans.’”
“Should be committed you mean?” A smile played around her lips.
“Exactly. Sometimes, I’m not going to lie, they’re scary. Like this is every guy’s dream, right? Having virtually every girl want them. Scream for them. But the funny thing is, the more it happens, the more you want to get away. The more you want no one. The more you cling to those in the same situation. I think that’s what happened. They bonded together, and eventually ended up getting sick of one another. So the bickering.”
“That’s…interesting.” She stopped walking and removed her sunglasses. “Are we on the record?”
“Which bit?” His heart started beating faster as his mind filtered through the stuff he’d said. No, he couldn’t think of anything controversial…
“You said ‘they.’ ‘They’ banded together. And ‘you think’ that’s what happened. If they are ‘they’ what are you? And why don’t you know what’s been happening?”
Shit shit shit shit.
“Off the record,” was all he could think of to say.
She remained silent as she looked at him.
“Come on, Lois Lane.” That should take her mind off his slip.
…
WowSounds.com
Tulsa welcomes Seconds to Juliet!
By your reporter-on-the-ground, Anya Anderson
Who has two thumbs and saw S2J rehearse their show’s final number today? This girl. When I got the email asking me to cover for the person who was covering for the person who couldn’t take two weeks in the summer to follow S2J, I confess, I felt like I had a lot of research to do.
But now that I’m here, immersed in rehearsals, security, screaming fans, and, yes, Will Fray, I wonder if not being prepared, and not having assumptions based on previous interviews, is really the better way to play this gig.
Maybe I’ll bring you information that you never thought about before, like…oh, let’s say, who I saw almost come to blows this afternoon, or how amazing that show finale is…and maybe you’ll stick around to help educate me.
So riddle me this: who is Will Fray? Well, this is your opportunity to tell me everything you think I should know about him and to ask any question you have for him. Each night I’ll pick one question from the commenters to pose to the shyest member of S2J. How d’ya like them apples, S2J fans?
Chapter Five
Matt woke early. He didn’t know what the others had been doing the night before, probably a poker game with the roadies, but they had rocked the bus when they came to bed at around three a.m. He figured from past form that they would probably get up just in time to grab coffee and turn up at the morning meeting. Which gave him at least an hour to put the coffee on, have a shower, and do a little Google search on his new shadow before they all got up.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, he just tried to avoid too much interaction with them, because the closer he got to them, the more they might suspect something wasn’t quite right about Will. He had next-to-no idea what his brother had told them about his life, so he had no way to reiterate what he’d already said. So there were no bonding chats, or having a beer and confessional, which the others did often.
From his bunk, he’d heard about who had the secret hookups with fans, who was on anxiety meds his mom had slipped him that had been flushed dramatically by Ryder, who’d claimed he needed to feel the fear and stop being a pussy. He’d learned how Miles had lost his virginity, and that one of them hadn’t yet. When he’d listened to that particular conversation, he’d been sure that they would take the piss and call him out every chance they got. But they didn’t. They’d all been surprisingly gentle.
That night from his bunk, he’d wondered if he could come clean about Will and if they’d be that supportive of him, too. He never took that chance, though. Will and his mom were the most important people in his life, and he wasn’t hanging them out to dry on the off chance that someone wouldn’t spill the beans. Will might have loved these guys, but he barely knew them. And he guessed there was a reason Will’d only told Trevin about the swap.
After putting the coffee on, he booted up his laptop and sneaked his glasses from his bunk. His twin didn’t wear glasses, and so far, Matt had gotten away with contacts. But first thing in the morning, well, he just didn’t like poking at his eyes that early in the day.
The letter that authorized his shadow revealed her name as Anya Anderson. Must remember that. He put the name into Google and sat back.
Fifty thousand hits. All right, then…
He stretched, cracked his knuckles, and clicked on the first WowSounds link: Tulsa welcomes Seconds to Juliet. It was a blog post, short, and kind of funny. She wrote well. There were already tons of comments and he scrolled through them idly before reaching the bottom of the page where there was a link saying “More articles from Anya Anderson.” He clicked.
Two came up: “Where the people on the streets have no name.” and “Alone at last?” Wow. She’d written a really long article last month about the homeless situation in Tulsa and a slightly shorter one about being lonely versus being alone. The longer one was about how politicians tried not to use the word “homeless,” which left the people on the street called transients, or just unspoken of.
He relaxed back into the booth and looked out of the window onto the parking lot. So this was the kind of article she normally wrote. She must think the band to be a huge waste of time. Oh my God. She must have thought the excess food thing last night obscene. Last night…
His mind flashed back to the darkened room, the food, and wanting so much to kiss her. He pressed down on his pants to stop anything unfortunate happ—
“Bit early to be looking at porn, isn’t it, dude?” Ryder said, coming from the bunk area, scratching his hair with both hands.
Instant shrinkage.
“So funny. Coffee?” Matt nodded toward the machine, snatching off his glasses and stuffing them in his pajama pants pocket.
Ryder grunted and stretched, showing all his tattoos under his wife-beater. The others were stirring in the back, so Matt quickly read the rest of the article but didn’t have time to read the “Alone at last?” one. He bookmarked it and looked for any other mentions of her. There weren’t any. In fact, this Anya Anderson didn’t appear to be anywhere else. No Facebook, no Instagram, no Tumblr. Weird.
He closed the laptop and waited for the onslaught of band members. Luckily it was show day, so no one would shower until later. Jockeying for position in the shower usually brought the worst arguments of the day, so show days were a relief. They showered twice on show days—before makeup and then after the performance. The latter was a much shorter event since they often came offstage soaking wet from the last number.
It was already 9:40 a.m., so there wasn’t much time before the mandatory 10:00 a.m. meeting. Matt slipped out of the booth with his laptop and went back to his bunk. Grabbing a hoodie, he closed the curtain on his personal space and headed back out to the living area of the bus. He topped off his coffee and left, planning to sit on the steps and drink until they were all ready for the meeting.
His place was already taken. Anya.
From behind, he noticed her hair was damp from the shower, and her T-shirt was creased so badly he couldn’t see what was written on the back. “Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” She closed her notebook and stuck her pen down its spiral spine.
He took a sip of coffee and tried to ignore the sweet smell coming from her skin, or maybe her hair. Something edible. Vanilla, maybe. He wanted nothing more than to lean in and see exactly where it was coming from. To lick her neck or something.
God. I am such a perv.
And then he realized that he definitely didn’t smell as fresh and as lovely as she did, and he shuffled away a little on the step. She looked at him and frowned.
“It’s…uh, you smell so good and I realized I probably didn’t…you see it’s show day and we don’t shower… I mean, we shower. Of course we shower. At least twice. But later.”
Kill me now.
She just smiled, which amplified his discomfort by a factor of about fifty. He needed to kiss her or something to get it out of his system. Yeah, right. That only happened in movies. She’d probably slap him.
“So what are we doing today?” she asked, staring out over the parking lot and the now empty barriers. He followed her eyes. A handmade poster was still tied to the metal fence. It said, “Will Fray, have my baby.”
“Yeah.” He ducked his head and tried to channel Will’s more introverted side.
“Is that how it’s usually done? Propositioning you guys via posters? What do you think when girls do that?”
He grinned, unable to help himself from answering. “Well, I always carefully consider every offer, of course, but this one’s persistent. She keeps asking me, but I don’t know, man, I’m not sure I’d look good with swollen ankles, you know?”
He didn’t envy his brother having to deal with this, especially as shy as he really was. Ironically, despite Will having a much better voice than his brother, Matt was more outgoing, so could probably handle the intensity of the fan attention better, yet Matt was too scared of being found out to be able to enjoy any of the adulation.
“Probably not a good look for you,” Anya agreed solemnly. “Are we still going to the homeless shel
ter?”
Yes, yes, yes. This was a perfect way to impress her. “I think so. We’ll find out more at the morning meeting. We think it’s important to highlight local issues in the towns where we perform. It might not do anything, but at least it brings the media to these places, don’t you think?” He knew how pathetically eager for approval he sounded.
“I’m sure they appreciate it,” she replied mildly.
It was almost as if she hadn’t just written a long article on the local homeless population. “I read your article this morning. It was very well written. You must have spent ages with those people to have them open up to you like that.”
She didn’t reply.
“Your blog post last night has already got hundreds of comments, you know,” he said.
That got her attention. “Really?” She seemed surprised.
“You didn’t check this morning?” he asked. Even the band looked up their reviews the morning after the show. Seasoned professionals didn’t, but they still valued the feedback, even though it could sometimes mess with your head.
“It didn’t occur to me.” She frowned. “How many did you say?”
“I don’t know…hundreds.”
She didn’t look happy. Not in the slightest.
…
I’m not happy.
Hundreds? Her heart beat faster at the thought of people at WowSounds actually noticing her. Flying under the radar was her modus operandi. It worked for being on the street, loitering in libraries, sitting with one cup of tea for hours in a café. She didn’t want to get too much attention for doing this job. Enough to get a decent check. Not enough that people paid attention to her.
Was a hundred comments good? Was it too many? Not enough? Would people notice that there were too few comments?
When she got back, she’d have to look at them. Figure out if it was good or bad. Find the next question to ask, that is, if everyone didn’t already know everything about him.
So she had that to worry about now, in addition to the visit to the homeless shelter. What if someone saw her? Recognized her as being homeless herself? She pressed her hand to her chest as if to still the rise of anxiety.
Anya and the Shy Guy (Backstage Pass) Page 4
