Then Luca starts to sing again. My eyes are glued to him, my ears attuned to the pitch of his voice. He sings and the atmosphere of the entire amphitheater seems to charge with a shared electric emotion. My body sways in tempo with the steps he takes across the stage, and when he moves his hips in an exaggerated gesture, I lick my lips and imagine he's doing it for me alone.
I can't help it.
I don't even want to.
CHAPTER FIVE
I'm sweaty after the concert—but so are Vera and Teagan. In fact, so is everyone else still here. It's a hot summer night. We all danced our asses off. And Luca's abs alone upped the temperature by about a thousand degrees.
He, for the record, is literally dripping with sweat by the end of his set.
I want to slip and slide along his entire body.
So, I'm sure, does every other girl—and plenty of the boys—in attendance.
"That was amazing. How much does Norris fucking rule?" Teagan's voice is hoarse from singing. "That solo…I about died from all the awesome."
"He's ridiculously talented," I agree. My voice is almost gone, too.
"And now we get to go hang out with him—and Luca James!" Vera's bouncing on her toes.
My stomach gives a little dip. There's no backing out now—not that I want to. On the contrary, every nerve under my skin is revved up, ready to see where the night takes me. Where Luca takes me.
The three of us stay in our seats a moment longer while the amphitheater begins to empty. I ask if they want to grab a drink from the VIP pavilion before heading backstage—a little liquid courage for the rest of the night—but Vera shakes her head. "Jared will be there. He'll just try to ruin this."
"Let's go," Teagan says, standing. "What if Norris leaves before we get there?"
What if Luca forgets he invited me, I want to ask. "All right, let's do it," I say, instead.
We make our way to the side of the stage, my pulse beating in my ears with each step along the concrete path. People weave between and around us going the opposite direction out of the theatre, but I notice them only in the most back-of-my-mind way. I feel like I'm dreaming, like I exist in a bubble of completely disoriented reality. Going backstage to hang out with Luca James and Gold Rush Standard.
"Like, what even is life right now?" Teagan sums it up the best. She pulls her long red curls down from her ponytail, letting them swing behind her.
"Seriously." Vera's got a compact out and is patting her face with powder as we walk.
I ask to borrow it really quick to check that my mascara isn't smeared all the way down my face. It isn't, but I wipe under my eyes to clear away a few small black smudges. "Wish I had time to take a shower and change into something less sweaty."
"Seriously." Vera takes her compact back.
Teagan furrows her brows, turning to Vera. "You're going to say something other than 'seriously' at some point tonight, right?"
Vera glares at her. "I'm so excited I can barely think straight and you want to make fun of my vocabulary choices?"
"Guys—" I'm ready to play peacemaker, but the two of them start laughing before I can. Guess the excitement of going backstage is bigger than the tension from snarky remarks.
The space beside the stage is small and full of roadies lifting and moving equipment and reading off clipboards and talking into headsets. We stand there, trying to figure out the next step, when Vera hails someone she knows. The woman holds a finger up, telling Vera to wait a moment.
"You know everyone," I say.
She shrugs. "Perks of working here the past three summers."
"This must be an awesome place to work," Teagan says, popping gum into her mouth. "Can you get me a job?"
Another shrug. "I don't have that kind of sway. Maybe if you get Jared to hit on you he'll find a spot."
Ouch.
"Hey." I wait for Vera to meet my gaze. "I didn't ever mean—"
"No—no hard feelings there," she reassures me. "I'm just stating the truth."
"Jared…" Teagan trails off, thinking. "Which one is he again?"
"Blond," I tell her. "Muscles for miles."
"Oh," she says. "The douche from earlier."
I widen my eyes at her until she glances at Vera and offers a half-assed apology. Vera shrugs a third time. "Not even thinking about Jared tonight. Say whatever you want, trust me."
I don't trust what she's saying, though. She's thinking about Jared. She was hurt when he hit on me. But if she's trying to push past hard feelings, I'll let her. Trying to talk to her about anything right now would probably make it more difficult for her instead of easier.
Although I wonder if this might actually have more to do with Luca. She didn't show the slightest hint of remaining bitterness over Jared until Luca and I…I don't know…hit it off? Or whatever it actually is we've done.
I feel bad all over again.
Vera's friend approaches us, but raises her finger again and barks instructions into her headset. After scowling at whatever response she receives, she greets Vera with a friendly but impatient smile. "What's up, hon?"
"We're trying to get backstage."
The woman shakes her head of short dark curls. "You know the policy, Vera. I can't make any exceptions."
"We were invited." Vera pauses and tilts her head toward me. "She was, anyway, by Luca James. He said we could come, too."
The woman isn't sure whether or not to believe Vera.
"It's true," Teagan adds.
"Is there a list we might be on?" I ask, noting the clipboard held against her chest.
"Not here." She stares at me, taking my measure for a second, and does the same to Vera and Teagan. Finally, she sighs. "You better not be messing with me, Vera."
"I'm not, I swear!"
After one more moment of hesitation, she turns and gestures for us to follow her. Vera raises her fist in a little celebration and we make our way past the throngs of roadies and through a door to the backstage area. It's almost empty, papers littering the floor, and it smells like old coffee. Vera's friend points us down a hallway. "Go past the pressroom, and turn left. That's where the dressing rooms are. There will be a list to get in—and you'd better be on it. Don't try anything funny."
"Thanks so much, Liv." Vera grabs her arm and squeezes.
Liv walks away with a, "Yeah, yeah, no problem," and then it's just us three.
"Is this really the right place?" Teagan looks around, disbelief across her face. "Where's all the glamour? The glitz? The free-running booze and sexy rock stars?"
I admit I'm a bit shocked, too. Gold Rush Standard is huge and famous and has zillions of fans, yet we're standing in a mostly deserted foyer. It's big, granted, but… Chipping white paint coats the brick walls around us; old, worn linoleum lines the floor; sallow overhead lights cast us in an almost sickly pallor. I feel a little embarrassed for BackBar, that they can't offer more than this to a band like Gold Rush. I can only imagine the prestige Luca's used to—and how he might compare it to this dump of an area.
A roadie walks out from a hallway and passes us, smiling at Vera along the way.
"Excuse me?" Teagan calls after him. "Where is everyone?"
"Dressing rooms, most like." He points behind him, his eyes on Vera. She doesn't even notice, just turns and heads in the direction he's shared. Disappointment flits across his mouth, but he turns, too, and walks away.
Teagan and I follow Vera down the hallway.
It's longer than it looked and actually curves around a bit, making the exterior of the building hard for me to picture—is it circular? I don't know, but as I open my mouth to ask Vera, we get to the pressroom. It's empty, though the double doors leading into it are still propped open. Rows of seats have their backs to us, facing a small, carpeted stage. A row of tables sits on the stage with black cushioned chairs behind them, where the artists must sit for interviews.
I wonder if Luca was in here earlier. I sniff the air, but don't catch his vanilla scent. And then I
shake my head at myself. I'm being ridiculous.
Teagan pushes past me and rushes into the room, hopping up on stage. "I'd like to thank the academy," she says, using a fist for a microphone. "And my agent. And, of course, I can't forget my millions and billions of fans."
"Teagan," Vera whispers beside me from the doorway. "We could get in trouble for this."
"Oh, please, like you don't want to get up here with me." Teagan holds her hand out, beckoning us. "Come on. Let's be famous."
"Aren't you in a hurry to meet Norris?" I motion down the hallway beside me. "Every second in here is a second you could spend with him…"
"Fine. Burst my fifteen minutes of fame." She huffs—but smiles after—and jumps down, coming back to us and leading the way down the hall.
We take another turn and then another and another, following the faint hum of conversations a distance away, and finally come to a collective pause in our steps. We find ourselves in a long hallway full of people. Most wearing badges around their necks. Some obviously roadies, the ones who are in jeans and T-shirts, looking a little dusty. They stand in small groups, talking and laughing with coffees. Groupies—or wannabe groupies, anyway—hang around them, occasionally jumping into conversations. Cleavage out everywhere. Tight shirts, short skirts. A few random non-roadie guys loiter here, too, some of them ridiculously good-looking. Teagan whistles softly beside me. And past all of them, a line of big-ass bouncers stand in front of a rope.
"This is more like it," Teagan says.
Vera wrinkles her nose. "It smells like cigarettes."
"And like half the oxygen has been replaced by cheap perfume," I add. The mingling of odors makes me a little nauseated. I try to breathe through my mouth, but I can even taste the acrid flavors of perfumes. Gross.
Still, none of us moves.
"Well?" Vera turns to me.
"Yeah, let's go," Teagan says. Neither of them takes a step.
"After you." I hold out a hand to let them lead the way, but they both shake their heads.
"You're the one with the invitation," Teagan reminds me. Again, nerves swirl in my stomach because what if I can't get us in? What if Luca wasn't really serious?
Made it this far, though. Guess there's no turning back.
Still, I wait. And watch as a group of girls is turned away by one of the bouncers. They storm back down the hall and, as they pass us, I hear them arguing about whose idea it was to pretend they worked for the label, and how stupid it was. "We should've said we were invited, I told you," one girl says to another.
"Right," the other girl answers. "Because then when our names weren't on the list, we could've done what, exactly?"
The first girl responds in a hiss I can't quite make out as they're turning the corner behind us.
So there is a list. Great.
"Cassidy?" Vera puts a hand on my shoulder and gives a little shove. "Don't chicken out now."
"I'm not." I kind of am. Because, yeah, I'm nervous we won't get in—but I'm even more nervous about what happens if we do.
Okay. One foot in front of the other. It gets a little easier when Luca's face pops into my mind, but I wish it didn't. This is crazy. I should go home. To Gage. I stop moving.
"God. Fine." Teagan grabs my hand and pulls me forward, Vera keeping pace on my other side. A second later, I'm matching the pace without Teagan's help. We're going backstage. We're going to hang out with Gold Rush Standard. How can I pass up this opportunity?
Plus I want to see Luca.
Ugh. I wish I could turn off my mind sometimes. Or at least stuff a sock in its mouth.
And then we're at the bouncers. One has a clipboard in his hands. His expression remains impassive and he's much bigger up close and I can't help but stammer. "I, uh, L-Luca said to meet him after the concert?"
"Names?" His voice is bored, and his eyes are looking past us.
"Cassidy…" Does Luca even know my last name? "Evans."
He scans his clipboard, shaking his head. "I don't see you."
Shit.
"He said we'd be on the list," Teagan says, all attitude.
"Well, you aren't."
Shit.
I knew this was a mistake. We shouldn't have come. We shouldn't—oh, wait.
"What about Cassie?" I ask. "Luca calls me Cassie." I ignore a sly smile from Teagan—and the way Vera sighs.
The bouncer checks again. "Huh. Here you are. Cassie Question Mark. Plus two."
He steps to the side and opens the rope to let us pass. I'm so relieved my legs go jelly for a second.
Someone boos behind us as we cross the rope. Teagan turns to flick them off. I glance at the bouncers, hoping one'll tell us where to go, but they're just a row of backs toward us now.
It's like stepping into a new room, this space behind the rope. Like everyone on the other side doesn't really exist, though I can still hear—and smell—them all. The hallway continues on for another hundred yards or so lined with doors, all closed. It's obvious where the band is, though, based on the noise coming from a room four doors down. Laughing. Clinking bottles. The soft hum of music.
Teagan knocks, but nobody answers.
"What do we do?" Vera asks.
"This." I take a deep breath and push the door open.
CHAPTER SIX
I've never been in a band's dressing room before so I don't know what to expect, but what I find isn't much. The room itself is large, almost the same size as the pressroom. It's all open, but with areas separated by furniture arrangement. Most of the band and a few roadies are sitting in the middle of the room in a circular layout of tan couches and blue leather-studded wingback chairs around a wide, low coffee table, slamming back sandwiches and talking about the show and laughing and looking worn out. Franklin Charles, of all people, is playing from speakers built into the walls. I wonder who chose the music. If it's Luca, I might be in more trouble than I fear.
Beside me, Teagan and Vera are quiet and still as mannequins. This would be so much easier if the room was crowded and people were drinking and partying—which is how I picture backstage after concerts. We'd be so much less conspicuous. Now, instead, we're getting noticed and conversations are dying down. Everyone sitting around is looking at us. At least the room is freezing. The sweat making my dress stick to my skin begins to evaporate.
The drummer, Steve Kinder, tips up his red, bearded chin in greeting. "Who you here for?"
"Uh." I swallow, my eyes traveling past him and to a sleek set of couches at the other end of the long room. The back of Luca's head is visible—and next to him, so Norris's short dark hair—and some basketball video game is playing on a flat-screen TV on the wall across from them; the sounds of the game squeak against Franklin Charles' vocals. Neither guy gives any indication they've heard Steve.
Suddenly, I don't want to interrupt. I don't want to be here, standing so exposed in front of the rest of the band. I've been so wrapped up in Luca, I forgot almost everyone else in this room would be famous, too. Who am I to bust into their place like this? I feel like an idiot. I wish Vera or Teagan would say something—I don't think they're even breathing. I start to take a step backward—
"They're here for Luca."
I whip my head to the right, where Polly stands, smiling at me—though I can't tell if it's real or fake. I'm going with the latter, but I flash my teeth tentatively in return. "Hey, Polly."
"Bartender." Her tone could be kinder. But it could also be way worse.
"Cassie, you made it."
I look back to the left so fast I almost tweak my neck, and my throat goes dry. Luca's standing and turned to face me, a real smile lighting his face. He's changed again, in still tight, but this time blue, jeans and a V-necked green shirt. He gestures for me—us, I mean—to join him. Beside him, Norris stands, smiling also. Beside me, Teagan pulls in a loud breath and mutters, "Holy shit."
I…wave, awkwardly. "Hi."
Luca motions us over a second time. "Come on."
Vera gra
bs my hand. Her palm is sweaty—or maybe it's my own. She takes the first step toward Luca, and after one more second of hesitation I follow. My eyes dart around the room as we pass through, but I can't seem to make myself meet anyone's gaze. Instead, I say to the spot between Steve and a roadie, "Sorry to interrupt."
Steve pops the cap off of a glass Coca-Cola bottle and flicks it behind him, where it hits the wall with a faint clanging sound. "You're not interrupting anything, doll."
"Oh, okay. Good." God. I sound so unsure of myself. I feel so unsure of myself. And when we reach the couch, when we step around it to join Luca and Norris, the feeling doesn't go away. What the hell am I doing here?
I should be with Gage. He's probably wondering where I am. I reach for my phone in the pocket of my dress, but don't bring it out. The weight of it in my hand reassures me a little though. My connection to him. I told him I'd text him after the concert. And I'm going to. Soon.
"I like your dress." Everyone else fades away as Luca's eyes travel slowly down my face, my chest, my stomach, my legs—and then back up at the same leisurely pace.
I should be right here. With Luca James. Who on earth would give up the opportunity to hang out with him?
"I like your tattoos." I let my gaze sweep across his arms.
"You haven't even seen them all…yet."
I bet they travel all the way across his back. My tongue could travel along their path without lifting from his skin.
"This is only a little weird," Norris cuts the tension that's sprung between us—and just like that the rest of the room comes back into focus and I remember Luca and I aren't alone. My face bakes into a furnace. Whoops.
Teagan laughs and sticks out her hand to introduce herself. Norris takes it and says, "Aren't you a pretty one?"
She straight-up glows at the compliment and I wonder if we're going to be in trouble here. Teagan gets who she wants—and I have no doubt she could get Norris if she wanted. But he's got someone already.
I've got someone already, too, I remind myself. I shouldn't judge.
Starstruck (Rock & Release, Act II) Page 5
