by Eden Summers
Her heart fluttered like butterflies’ wings. “So ready I’m likely to lose my breakfast.”
She gripped her seatbelt tight, needing the slight sense of grounding. She didn’t even know what defined partying. She was clueless. All she had to go by were the long-distance phone calls from Kate, who had a knack of explaining the fabulousness of her life in vivid detail. Anything from the buzz of alcohol, the euphoria of sex, and even the heartbreak of lost love had been experienced vicariously through her best friend for as long as Alana could remember. “What did you have in mind?”
Kate leaned over and opened the glove compartment. “Only this.” She dropped an envelope in Alana’s lap and turned her attention back to the road.
“What is it?”
“Tickets to the start of your life.”
Alana frowned. “More specifically?”
“A chance to have your ovaries massaged by the vocal perfection of a sex god.”
“Kate.” She opened the envelope and pulled out two tickets. The writing on the paper was clear. The event started tonight at 9 o’clock and in a hotel she wasn’t familiar with. “Give me the details.”
“OK, OK. I won two passes to the private performance held by Reckless Beat tonight. Here. In Richmond. The place where it all began.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Kate scoffed. “A good thing? A good thing! Girl, I would’ve sold your kidneys on the black market to get these tickets. Reckless Beat are the reason I’m always in need of AA batteries.”
“TMI, much?” Alana clutched the tickets and tried not to let nervousness take hold. A performance. A real, live performance. By men who inspire the use of sex toys, no less. “I know who they are, I’m just not sure I’m ready for all that…interaction.”
Kate waggled her brows. “You totally are. They’re the type of men your mother warned you about, and you’re not going to miss a minute of their brilliance.”
Perfect. “That’s exactly what I need.” Sarcasm aside, this was probably the best start Alana could wish for. As daunting as the real world was, she wanted to grasp it with both hands. Not only that, she wanted to shake it, squish it, mold, and cherish it.
There was no more hiding behind the walls her mother had built around her.
Kate reached across the car and squeezed Alana’s wrist. “I know you’re panicking, but trust me, you’re going to have a great time this weekend.”
Panicking? Yes. Likely to vomit in Kate’s lovely little car? Yes, that too. “Is this a sit-down performance?” One where she had her own personal space to cling to.
“Sweetie, you’re going to be so tightly compacted against strangers that you’ll lose your virginity all over again.”
“Great.” Her voice was breathy, betraying her concern. “It sounds as fun as the first time.”
“Trust me.” Kate squeezed her wrist again. “You’ll have a night to remember.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She exhaled all the air from her lungs and focused on the world outside. There was no chickening out now. This was exactly what she’d wanted. Exactly what she prayed for. “As long as any battery action you require is kept on the down low and I don’t have to hear it.”
Kate grinned. “Hopefully, I won’t need toys tonight. I’m planning on enjoying the real thing.”
Oh, Christ. “Well, I guess there’s no time to waste.” She swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat. “We need to go shopping. Stat.”
Mitchell Davies finished tuning the last guitar in the lineup for tonight’s show and handed it back to the sound technician.
“Thanks, Tim.”
The man jerked his head in acknowledgement. “Are you all set this time?”
“Yeah.” Hell, yeah. He couldn’t wait for the rush of adrenaline and the thunderous spike of his pulse. Tonight was going to be epic. “I’m good to go.”
“You sure? I don’t want your neurosis calling me back down here again.”
“You say ‘again’ like I’ve been nagging you incessantly.” What was up with that? There was a pre-performance ritual that couldn’t be messed with. “And I’m not neurotic.”
Blake, the Reckless Beat bass guitarist, snorted from a few feet away.
“Oh, come on. It was one final check,” Mitch muttered.
Tim raised a brow. “One after another, after another.”
Fine. They had already rehearsed last night and collectively nailed the sound for their new album. But for the sake of sanity, Mitch had to triple check his babies to make sure nobody had messed with their strings overnight. He was paranoid when it came to live shows, and this one seemed more important than the concerts in front of thousands of fans.
For the first time in Reckless Beat history, they were giving a live performance of their latest album in front of an intimate crowd of their most loyal fans. They weren’t even in a stadium. The stage he currently stood on was at the far end of a hotel ballroom in the heart of Richmond, Virginia. He’d actually be able to see the faces of the women who threw their panties on stage. Not that he approved of them slingshotting underwear his way. He’d much prefer to trail them down the legs of a beautiful woman once they were backstage or in his hotel suite.
You wouldn’t hear him protesting, though. Foreplay was foreplay, and he wouldn’t disrespect a woman who was prepared to start the proceedings when she wasn’t even sure if she was invited to the festivities. It took balls to throw dirty underwear at anyone, let alone a celebrity who could call you out in front of thousands of people.
“What is everyone else doing?” He glanced at Blake and received a shrug in response.
“Ryan was in before sunrise,” Tim answered. “Said he couldn’t sleep.”
“More like his wife would’ve kicked him out of bed,” Blake offered.
Mitch shot him a glare. The last thing Ryan needed was the wrong people overhearing about shit that shouldn’t be discussed. Nobody understood what was going on in that messed up marriage, not even husband and wife.
And still, no matter how turbulent Ryan’s marriage became, it still seemed more appealing than the lucky dip that came with being single. Some nights Mitch ended up with a five-star woman, the next he was wondering if his bed partner had been reincarnated from a praying mantis. He’d been screamed at, tied up, bitten—in unpleasurable places—and cursed at more times than he cared to recall.
“I’m sure they’re fine.” He turned to the back of the stage and sank into the euphoria of the pre-show buzz. Sean’s drums were already set up, crosses were marked on the floor where each band member needed to stand, and the usual mass of leads were taped to the ground to lessen the chance of him landing on his face mid-performance.
Within hours, people would be crammed up against the metal railing standing in front of the small makeshift stage. Screams would vibrate the room, his chest too, and hopefully his in-ear monitors would save him from an early onset of hearing loss. Men would take advantage of the excitement and work their charms on already aroused groupies. And the weakest of the women would faint.
All this in a mere few hours.
If that wasn’t god-like, he didn’t know what was.
“Can we leave now?” Blake came up beside him. “I need to get out of here before the adrenaline kicks in.”
“Yeah.” Mitch turned back to the room and pictured the empty space filled with moshing bodies. “We should go chill out in the suite or lay down and catch some Zs or something.”
Sleep would be perfect if it wasn’t entirely unachievable due to excitement. The pressure of satisfying hundreds of people had a way of stealing any possibility of slumber. At least without the help of drugs or alcohol.
“Or something? Are you hitting on me, bro?” Blake waggled his brows.
“Do I look like I want your tiny dick up my ass?” He ignored his best friend’s laughter and gave a farewell salute to Tim. “See you later.”
“Hopefully, not before it’s necessary.”
“Hopefully,” Mitch grated
. How could they put a limit on preparation? Especially when it came to music. He hadn’t become one of the most envied lead guitarists in the industry through luck. No, sir. The so-called neurotic checking was a part of his awesomeness.
He jumped off the stage and scaled the security railing to head for the entrance to the ballroom. “You coming?” he called to Blake.
“Yep.”
They strode in silence to the far end of the room and paused at the door. He wished he had the luck of his other band members who were safely secured in the homes of loved ones. Every time they travelled to the place where the band began, Ryan, Mason, and Sean would bunk with family, while he had to deal with the sarcastic charm of Blake, his brother from another mother, for uninterrupted hours.
His best friend was an asshole. The best asshole on the face of the planet. But an asshole nonetheless. The tattooed, stereotypical bad boy was an A-grade panty dropper, which meant a ravenous group of sex-hungry women were always close by. Unlike Mitch, who could blend into the masses with a baseball cap and dark glasses, there was no way to hide the ink marking Blake’s skin. When they were together, it meant a whole heap of television re-runs or unnecessary guitar practice while locked away in the hotel suite.
He pushed the ballroom door open a cautious inch and straightened with relief at the sight of one of their security team standing a foot away.
“We all clear?”
Steve jerked his head. “The bitches are banked up outside for now.”
“Bitches?” Blake pushed the door wide and frowned at the newest member of their security. “You wouldn’t want Leah to hear you talking like that. She’ll kick your ass to next Tuesday.”
True story. Leah, their band manager, would bust the balls of anyone who disrespected Reckless Beat fans. She was such a pretty little thing, yet behind the smiles and professionalism stood a vulture—claws, sharp beak, crazy eyes and all. The woman even had the ability to squash Mason’s ego if she wanted, and that wasn’t an easy feat.
“If it quacks like a duck, waddles like a duck, and shits like a duck, it’s a fuckin’ duck.” Steve crossed his arms over his puffed out chest. “I’m just callin’ ’em like I see ’em.”
“Nice,” Blake grated. “Where did we find this guy, again?”
Screams burst to life from outside the hotel doors. A cacophony of sound that made them all wince.
“Shit.” Women were everywhere, body to body, banked behind a wall of security outside. There were signs. Pictures. Posters. Some just waved their hands wildly in an effort to attract attention.
“It looks like all my fans have arrived. I wonder where yours are.” He nudged Blake in the ribs and quickly dodged the tattooed arm that came sailing toward him. All it did was make the women scream louder.
“You wouldn’t know what a fan was, unless one bit you in the ass.” Blake snickered. “Oh, that’s right, the last one did, didn’t she?”
That woman had been crazy. The type to fall into the trying-too-hard-to-impress-a-rocker category. “Apparently, it’s foreplay,” he mumbled.
“Apparently, it’s fucking psychotic,” Blake countered.
The collective hype over the two of them was nowhere near the unruly insanity of what it would resemble if Mason were to walk into the lobby. There wasn’t a pair of ovaries that could withstand the charm of the Reckless Beat frontman. Men, too, as Mason learned the hard way.
“Tell me again why we’re doing an intimate performance.” Blake stared through the floor to ceiling windows, his brow etched in concern. The women were rocking the crowd barrier, shaking it with Hulk strength. “One that puts us in close proximity to starved women.”
“Publicity, my friend.” Mitch clapped his friend on the shoulder and started for the elevator. Publicity was the excuse for every crazy-ass, life threatening thing they’d ever done. And tonight would be no different.
Chapter Two
“Come on,” Kate called, tugging Alana’s arm. “Hurry.”
A mass of people filled the space before them, most of them packed like sardines in the small area in front of the stage. She planted her feet, already saturated with social interaction from the hours of useless shopping. Apparently, revealing clothing wasn’t a stage of her liberation. Not yet. But then again, Kate exposed enough skin for both of them.
“You don’t want to stand back here?” Back where people weren’t rubbing against each other like a Discovery channel mating ritual.
“No way.” Kate tugged her wrist harder, demanding compliance, and led her through the claustrophobic restriction of tightly compacted bodies. She would bet the New York peak-hour subway had nothing on the personal space violations currently filling this room. It was chaotic and entirely out of her comfort zone.
In and out, in and out, they made their way through the human obstacles until they were close to their destination—front row of what she assumed would soon be a mosh pit.
She would’ve thought the trek to the barrier was impossible, and somehow Kate squeezed past everyone, leaving no hairy, sweaty man untouched. Her best friend was Moses, only instead of the sea, she had the power to part groupies with the flick of her hand.
“So this is it?” Alana yelled over the mass of conversation.
It would be easy to start wishing she was home, in the place where no one had ever made her feel like butt floss, but she wasn’t going to give up on her adventure. Not yet.
She staggered with the pulse of the crowd, her hips smashed against the security barrier holding the fans back from the intimate hotel stage. The jolts of pain as her bones clashed with the metal railing kept her awake despite the long day of traveling and unending hours walking back and forth through a shopping mall. Her body ached like she was in her eighties instead of her late twenties, and her weary muscles throbbed to her core. If it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she would’ve collapsed long ago.
“This is going to be awesome,” Kate squealed from beside her, bouncing on her toes even though her feet were encased in gravity-defying high heels. With a voracious smile, her friend waggled her eyebrows and turned her attention back to the curtain hiding the stage.
Kate kept repeating how lucky they were to have tickets to Reckless Beat’s first performance of their new album—an event people would apparently pay big dollars to attend, if the tickets were actually on sale. The band members, and no doubt their PR manager, had decided to share the major event with a small crowd of their most dedicated fans…or the biggest crazed loons, whichever way you wanted to define them. And Alana was caught in the middle, her body compacted between Kate, a man with a horrendous mullet, and a woman with a set of lungs that rivaled Mariah Carey’s whistle-like soprano.
The thousand or so fans stared at the curtain, transfixed with matching goofy grins. She couldn’t help smiling along with them. Not that the curtain held any charm. The room simply overflowed with contagious euphoria.
The two security guards, one at either end of the stage, were the only people with stern expressions. They stood tall, their arms crossed over their thick chests while they scanned the crowd. She couldn’t blame them. With the mix of hard rock and passionate love songs, the emotions in the room would swing from one extreme to another.
Reckless Beat was famous for intense rhythms and emotional lyrics. The smooth, deeply penetrating sound of the lead singer had even captured her own heart on more than one occasion, and she’d only listened to them on the radio.
“Welcome, Reckless fans. Are you ready to rock?” The male announcer’s voice boomed from innumerable speakers around the room.
Screams and shouts combined into a loud drone, which reverberated in her head. The sound vibrated in her chest, giving her goose bumps. She fought the urge to cover her ears and laughed uncontrollably while Kate grabbed her hand and squeezed tight. They jumped up and down as their bodies pushed harder against the railing, the eager fans behind them vying for a better position.
“I can’t hear y
ou,” he taunted from his hiding position.
The cacophony grew, the excitement making her veins buzz to life. Maybe she would make it through the performance without falling asleep after all. Lights flashed with searing brightness, illuminating the curtain so four silhouettes shone from behind.
“Well, I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” the voice said with a chuckle.
The curtain rose, mere feet from Alana’s hands, and crept higher to reveal the members of Reckless Beat in all their tanned and muscled glory. The four of them stood close, almost within reach. The lead singer held the microphone stand in the center of the stage, with two guitarists standing to his left and one to his right. If she leaned against Mariah Carey beside her, she could see the drummer in the back, his talented fingers twirling those magic sticks in the air.
She had no clue what their names were. She only knew disjointed verses of a few of their top hits. But when the seductively sexy, lead guitarist kicked off with a delicate caress of the strings, her heart melted. He eyed the crowd from under thick lashes. His lips tilted with a wicked grin as he held his cherry-red instrument with confidence.
The first song drowned under fan hysteria. Lyrics filtered through. A song of love, or loss, she couldn’t determine, and she didn’t mind. Her heartbeat echoed with the drums, her body thrummed with the bass guitar, and the lead singer’s voice traveled over her skin like warm honey.
As a teenager, her mother hadn’t allowed her to go to concerts. She couldn’t even leave the property without receiving a lecture and a glare of disapproval. It hurt and, being a stubborn teenager, she rebelled as often as possible. Over time she learned to accept her isolation and grew to understand why it was necessary. She was now content with what she had. A retreat for women recovering from abuse was her home. A quiet, and at times, highly emotional environment, her mother had opened when Alana was a child.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to let the music sink into her soul. The words cleared as one by one the fans decided to enjoy what they were here for.
