by Harper Sloan
“Holy shit,” the guy grunted, jabbing his elbow into the person next to him without looking away.
“What the hell, Dale!” another one exclaims.
“Dude,” Dale, I’m assuming, wheezes. Seriously, he wheezes like an asthmatic person during one of their attacks.
“What’s wrong with him?” One of the girls giggles.
“Probably feeling the effects of drinking his weight in those stupid yard long drinks earlier,” jokes someone I can’t see in the front of their group.
“You’re Wrenlee Davenport,” the wheezer asks, still looking at me like he’s not sure if he really is drunk or I’m standing there.
“I am,” I answer, putting a smile on my face. It’s not this kid’s fault that he’s keeping me from a promised Chance to get fucked.
The others, having realized their friend isn’t drunk but only freaking out because they unknowingly just got in the elevator with me, turn instantly. Chance’s arm gets tighter again, and I put myself in his position. He’s only had to deal with fans from afar during our shows in New York. Even the paparazzi situation at the airport was mild because they know the boundaries … well, for the most part. Having six other people in a small elevator with us and no way to exit if things get a little crazy has to be freaking him out.
“How are you guys today?” I ask them as a whole, trying to keep things friendly and open so he can see there is no need to get alarmed.
“Holy shit! I saw you guys once in Salt Lake. I was there for my eighteenth birthday, and you guys rocked!”
I smile at the girl.
“We like totally tried to get tickets to the show tonight when we found out we would be here at the same time, but they sold out like so quick!”
I wonder if I used the word ‘like’ as nauseatingly much as this girl did when I was her age. My guess is no since I’m pretty sure she is, at the most, four years younger than I am.
“Uh,” one of the other guys pipes up. “Actually Kammie, we did get tickets. We just didn’t tell you because it was supposed to be a birthday surprise, but I mean this is Wrenlee Davenport. Totally a better surprise.”
The girl’s eyes get crazy just when the elevator dings again, this time on the fifteenth floor. Since it isn’t ours, I give them a smile and point at the open door. “Is that you guys?”
A few turn, but the majority of them don’t take their eyes off me. I watch as one of the guys in the front of the group step out slightly to block the door from shutting.
“Is that your new husband? O.M.G!” I hold back my cringe when she literally spells out the letters. “Carrie, do you believe it?”
“Congratulations on your wedding and the baby stuff.”
I look at the girl who just spoke, and she blushes, looking away. I take pity on her since she looks like her heart is about to stop. “Thank you. He’s insanely handsome, right?” I smile, pointing at Chance with a wink.
She makes a sound like a high-pitch wheeze and sags into the boy behind her. He catches her with a roll of his eyes.
I point at one of the girls’ purses with a smile. “If you have anything you want me to sign real quick, I don’t mind, but hubby and I need to get going so we aren’t late for my sound check.”
They all jump into motion at that, pulling open their huge purses and digging for something. I sign everything from an old receipt to an unused pad, giving them all a little attention while I do and making sure they all have something with my signature scribbled on it. Reluctantly, after that, they leave the elevator and start screaming to themselves before the door had even completely closed back.
“Add calling Denver to talk about a secure elevator to get to and from our room to the list of things I need to make sure we have for the next stop,” Chance says, finally relaxing his hold slightly on my body. “They might have been harmless kids, but I will never allow you to be in that position again.”
“Yes, honey.” I don’t even attempt to dissuade him because he’s right; that could have been bad.
We go another couple of floors before he speaks again, and when he does, he knocks so much shock into me that I lose all ability to speak.
“You keep confirming our marriage, and I’m going to make sure we don’t leave Vegas without you calling me hubby next time because it’s true.”
Oh. My. God.
“Take it again from the top,” I say through my mic, my voice echoing around the empty venue. “Something sounded off to me.”
“Left side of the stage isn’t pulling power to the speakers,” Luke calls from behind me, and I turn to see him wipe some sweat off his forehead.
I hate doing sound check when they don’t turn the stage fans on. The house lights always make us so fucking hot, which is why I end up having to take another shower when we finish.
“Working on it,” one of the roadies calls out from the left side of the stage.
“I want to run through ‘Drunk Before Dawn’ one more time to make sure they have everything clear for us, and then that’s it,” I tell the guys, getting nods and grunts from behind me.
Sound checks usually don’t last that long for us, but for whatever reason, this venue always gives us trouble. We’ve already run through a few of our key songs, and everything was fine until the last run through of one of our new songs, “Drunk Before Dawn,” when we lost the whole left side of our stage speakers. It’s annoying when this shit happens, but this is why we do this in the first place. As annoying as sound checks are, I would never go on stage for a show without making sure we’re producing the clearest sound possible.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m rushing into our dressing room and into the shower, leaving my hair dry so the hair and makeup girls don’t have to waste time blowing it dry. We only have about two hours before show time as it is, and I want to enjoy some pre-show downtime.
“I set out something new for you to try for tonight’s show, Wrenny,” Dyllan calls into the bathroom.
“Got it!”
I quickly rinse, enjoy one more blast of the hot water on the base of my neck, and then shut off the water and rip open the curtain, promptly screaming. “Jesus Christ, Chance! You’re going to give me a heart attack.” I take the towel he offers, and roll my eyes when he licks his lips, not even bothering to hide his appreciation of my naked body.
“Dix is here,” he says, talking to my chest instead of me.
“Are you kidding?”
“Wish I could say I was. Your brother looked like he was two seconds away from losing his shit, but I reminded him that we have until the end of the tour before he can do that since Dix is technically within his rights to be here.”
I hiss, dragging the towel over my body to dry off quickly, wanting to get out there before Wes really did lose his shit.
“Let me guess? Brighthouse sent him in as a representative?”
“Yeah. You fired him as your manager, but since he was the booking agent on file for the tour, he’s here for the rest of your shows to, and I quote, ‘keep an eye on you.’”
“I can’t wait until this tour is over.”
“I know, but until it is, keep your distance from him. I don’t like his attitude, and if I’m not around you, do your best to make sure he isn’t alone with you.”
I toss the towel onto the floor and grab the boy shorts on top of the pile of clothes that Dyllan left for me. Chance makes a sound of protest when I snap the waistband in place, but I ignore him and quickly pull on the red lace bra.
“Don’t worry, hubby, I’ll keep my distance,” I agree, picking up the next item in the pile with a frown. “That little turd.” I laugh.
“Is that a skirt or a top thing for your tits?” Chance asks, one long finger flicking the black fabric.
“I’m going to guess a skirt.” With a shrug, I step into it and pull it up.
The second I have the skirt on, I know exactly why Dyllan picked it out. The tiny micro skirt flares slightly right under my ass, but the rest hugs me well, hitting m
e about three inches under my pussy. Even when I move around the stage, they won’t see anything though because my boy shorts will keep all my bits covered. Still, Dyllan did promise when I got my bows tattooed that she would make sure I had a whole new wardrobe to show them off.
Grabbing the tiny tank, I pull it over my head. The black tank is completely transparent, hugging me close and stopping just above my belly button. My red bra shining just as brightly as the diamond balls in my belly ring.
“Goddamn,” Chance pants.
“Like?” I ask, spinning on my bare feet.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight,” he vows with a thick voice and eyes burning with need.
“Promises, promises,” I tease, stepping forward and cupping his thickness through his jeans. He hisses out a breath, his eyes closing to slits as his jaw flexes wildly. “Let’s go, hubby.” I torment him a little more with a few strokes through the denim before turning and reaching for the doorknob.
I don’t even get it turned before he’s covering me with his body and pressing that delicious hardness into my back. “I’m going to tie you up and make you pay for teasing me, baby,” he hisses darkly, biting my exposed shoulder hard enough that I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a mark.
I shiver, my legs getting wobbly. Holy shit, that’s hot.
His arms come around me. One hand going to the knob—covering my hand with his—and the other flattening against my stomach. His pinkie presses past the waistband and lands against my mound. He uses his other to twist the knob under our hold, pushing the door open at the same time he pulls us back. The door swings in, us moving to the side to allow it to completely open, and he drops his free hand to turn my head with a light touch to my jaw, his mouth crashing down to mine for a quick but deep kiss.
“Kids these days,” Jamison jokes. “Can’t seem to keep their hands off each other.”
“Must be the whole newlywed thing,” Dyllan adds, giggling when Chance breaks the kiss. My knees buckle, but before I know it, he’s sweeping me off my feet and carrying me into the dressing room. “I keep telling him he only had to carry her over the threshold once, but he still can’t seem to stop.”
I snap my head around, ready to put her in her place, but stop when I see Dix so red, he’s about to bust a vein.
“Dix,” I deadpan. “What a displeasure.”
“Likewise, Wrenlee.”
Chance makes a low noise deep in his throat, and I reach up to rub his chest. Dix’s eyes track my movement, not looking away, and he looks even more pissed than before—something I didn’t think was possible.
“Wren is here now, Dix. Tell us what you need since you apparently couldn’t do it before.” Wes sounds more pissed than I can ever remember him sounding.
“Brighthouse wanted me to remind you all that until the next six weeks is up, you still have a responsibility to them, and I’m here on behalf of them to make sure you hold up each and every commitment.” He turns to me. “It has been requested by Howard himself that you please stop talking about that problem of yours. Brighthouse doesn’t want to be painted in the same light as someone who behaved in such a manner that would allow herself to become vulnerable to such a problem. No matter if the engagement has now turned into a marriage, everyone already knows what you created in sin.”
“The fuck did he just say?” Wes bellows, trying to rush from his spot, only for a mammoth body to stop him when Jamison steps in front of him. His arms crossed and a lethal look painting his features.
I have just a second to notice that Luke is standing behind Wes, ready to hold him back if he tries to get past Jami. I should have worried less about my brother because my distraction meant that Chance left my side completely. By the time I’m looking back at Dix, Chance is backing him into a wall. He never touches him, just moves Dix back with the fury vibrating off him.
“If you ever talk about Wrenlee like that again, you will find out what it’s like to be vulnerable to a fucking problem. No matter what you or that piece of shit label you work for thinks about her, me, or anything that’s come from our love for each other, I suggest you keep those thoughts to yourself unless it’s to wish us congratulations, motherfucker. Now, get the hell out of here before I forget that I’m a gentleman.”
Dix, still pushing his own body as close to the wall as possible to avoid Chance’s rage, penguin walks the wall length until he’s blindly grabbing for the door and rushing out. Silence roars in my ears as I watch Chance’s shoulders heave in anger. I can’t look away, the raw power of his body holding me captive, much like Dix just was. Only mine is being held in awe and Dix was about to piss himself in fear.
“Did he just say love?” Dyllan gasps in a squeal, not fazed by the heaviness around her. She jumps from the stool, claps her hands, and does a tiny victory dance.
Oh, wow. I think back to what he told Dix, and even though he had been defending me and our very real relationship—it had been in reaction to Dix insulting our nonexistent child and the marriage rumor that we’ve just been playing along with for laughs. Never once did he say anything about it being fabricated; he only threatened with the parts of our relationship that were true.
When he turns, his breathing still erratic with his anger, I can see it in his eyes—the truth. He wasn’t just saying that for Dix’s benefit.
Nope, he sure wasn’t.
Chance Nash, my not husband, has just proclaimed his love for me in a way that leaves no room for argument from anyone.
And I can’t wait to let him tie me up and show me just how much love he has for me.
The first hour of our show went off without a hitch, but only because the crowd doesn’t know my guys like I do. The mood that Dix had put them in was something they couldn’t shake until they realized it didn’t affect me. Once they saw how much fun I was having with the sold-out Vegas crowd, they lightened up and enjoyed themselves as much as I was.
Everything that I had started to hate about this life in the last few years started to drain away from me with each song that I performed on stage. I felt every last ounce of disquiet still clinging to me vanish completely. We still have things that we’re figuring out for our future, but when it comes down to it, we’ll get to that together.
I rocked that stage like I hadn’t rocked one in a long time. Playing up the sexy image that Brighthouse had always exploited, I danced with seductive rolls of my hips, flashed my bows while I belted out the lyrics over my shoulder, and had more fun than I’ve had in years. It’s funny how now that I see things in a new light, how I always thought this part of me wasn’t real—an act that had been created by the demands of Brighthouse to give the fans a part of me. Now, I finally see that the Wrenlee the public has always craved is really married to the Wren I’ve always been. I know now that I’m the one who holds the power to my life. I’m the one who decides the person I am in the public eye. I get to pick how much and how little they get from me—no one else has that authority.
I have no doubt in my mind that feeling has everything to do with the man standing to the left of the stage, just out of view, with a primal hunger on his face the whole time I put my all into the music. He’s made no secret that Wren’s—me—his, but that he still wants the Wrenlee put on display for the world. He is fiercely protective of the person I am when I’m not performing, but he opens his arms and lets me fly when it’s time to rock. He doesn’t discriminate when it comes to his desire for me. He wants me with no makeup and leggings. He wants me with a face a drag queen would love and my body on display. He holds me close when I’m not performing—a shield to guard my privacy—yet he lets me go long enough to be a fantasy for others—standing back to shield and guard me from the shadows. To him, I’m just me, and that me belongs to him.
His lips start to twitch when I blow him a kiss, something the crowd doesn’t miss, and their screams grow in volume at my move. I toss my head back when he lifts his hand and returns the gesture, something so unlike the stoic man he becomes wh
en he’s ‘working.’
The song ends, and Wes continues a few heavy riffs from his bass guitar, while I give the masses a sassy smile. “I gotta say, Vegas, you sure do look hot tonight! What do you say we cool off and get a little … ‘Drunk Before Dawn’?” When I finish speaking, I hold my arm out with the mic pointed out toward them and wait for the crowd to go nuts at the mention of one of our biggest hits.
They don’t disappoint, and I’m thankful I pulled out my earplugs a while ago, so I’m able to feel the full power of their unadulterated excitement slap me in the face. “Well, then! I think you guys are thirsty! Let’s go, boys! Let’s show the good people of Las Vegas how to get Loaded!”
Jamison starts to pound out a voracious beat, each one vibrating through my body with pure and beautiful power. The complex time signatures of one of my favorite songs of all time rolls through me until I feel like I’m alive with the power of it. I glance over my shoulder while the boys create their magic, waiting for my intro, and see Jamison. The playful enthusiasm on his face is like a virus to your soul. I smile over my shoulder at Luke and Wes, my excitement buzzing even more intensely as their hands move quickly and their eyes smile back at me.
Then it’s my turn. That magic spot in the music that marks ‘go time.’ I toss my hair back, look up high into the rafters of the arena, and give this song everything I feel. As soon as I start rasping out the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, the crowd is already screaming the words along with me, high on the same feeling I am.
At this moment, we’re one.
I continue to sway my hips, singing with a smile, as I glance at where I last saw Chance standing. He’s stepped forward only minutely, but enough that his face is no longer completely masked by the shadows around him. The new position no longer mutes his handsome face but leaves him illuminated by the stage lights, showing me just how much he’s enjoying watching me perform. His plump lips—lips I know can turn me into a puddle of goo—are silently mouthing the words along with me. I knew he was no stranger to us, but I had no idea he was this familiar with our music. I don’t know how to explain it, but knowing that he clearly enjoys our music enough to know the words makes me feel like a superwoman. The normal rush I get from being on stage turns into a powerful intoxication coupled with his affections.
