The Rhythm

by Moira Callahan

  “Mostly when they are on tour. They don’t attempt to get at them anymore during the times they are home recording and such since they purchased this place. On tour they are a smidgen more vulnerable, more chances for people to get in close if they want. We have a crack security team, but we’re all human and can make errors in judgment in a split second of time we’re often given.”

  Jen had to hold tight to the urge to snort. She highly doubted that Christine Franks ever made mistakes. The woman had control and efficiency down to a finely honed art form. The woman should likely bottle it for people like Jennifer who needed the occasional boost.

  “I suppose I should ask what my role is going to be. Public perception wise I mean.”

  Christine looked at her and gave a small nod. Jen had the fantasy it may have been approving. “I’d have you as a roadie, but then you’d never get to hang with the band, and you’d actually have to slug things about to keep up the cover. I spoke with the boys this morning about it again and we’ve decided to stick close to the truth. If anyone asks, you were hired to write the autobiography of Victorious. You may be recognized as a journalist therefore it’s best not to have to worry about disguises and such annoyances. It will also explain why you’re with the band all the time.”

  “Are you planning on answering such questions? I thought there was always a complete media blackout when it came to Victorious.”

  “Not completely, no. We do need the help of media to keep the boys at the top. I’m extremely selective about what I reveal. Personal details are never provided. Information about the tour and sets they have planned to play are okay.”

  Made sense. “Okay, what happens when I am identified and they start hounding the band?”

  “As always, I or one of our PR people will field all media inquiries. While they still shout questions out each time they see the band, they all know I don’t fuck around about the boy’s privacy. Neil Crenshaw was a prime example.”

  Jen knew the name. Neil had been a highly respected reporter for one of the big name papers and written a story about Victorious. An extremely inflammatory story as it turned out. Christine had demanded a retraction, sicced the lawyers on him, and his paper all to no avail. Apparently Neil had had an informant who’d sworn the information was legit and provided so-called evidence. Shit had then gotten real.

  The evidence had been proven falsified, the informant a disgruntled fired roadie, and Neil had lost his job when both he and the paper he’d worked for had been sued. The suit had destroyed Neil’s name to the point the most deprived of the smut rags wouldn’t touch him with a hundred-foot pole. Last Jen had heard he was working at a place he was required to ask, “Would you like to make that a combo?”

  It had made the media in general take a giant, wary step back. Everyone knew that if Christine Franks found out about a lie in print she would move heaven and earth to make those responsible pay. No one wanted to be in her laser sights. Especially Jen. And here it was she had herself a front row seat to all the fun. Maybe she should have thought this all through a hell of a lot more.

  “Good to know.” It was all she could get out through her tight throat. Jen felt like there was now a noose settled there and Christine was holding the handle to release the floor beneath her feet. No pressure, none at all.

  Chapter Six

  The roar of the crowd had his entire body humming. Stepping off the stage, Lance accepted the towel and bottled water from one of the roadies. After wiping his face, he draped the towel around his neck to drink down half the bottle in one shot. He followed the others to the dressing room for the intermission.

  He shot Jennifer a look as the other guys chattered about the crowd. It was definitely wild, but since they hadn’t done a tour in over eight months, it wasn’t a surprise. Normally they didn’t wait that long, but they’d had some song issues with their latest release that had tripped them up more than normal. Sometimes the tunes came instantly, other times they had to fight to get them out. In the end, it was always worth all the blood, sweat, late nights, and fights that occurred between them while trying to get it right to hear the reaction of the fans.

  Once they were in the relative quiet of their dressing room, he moved over to Jennifer’s side. “You’re looking a mite shell-shocked,” he commented.

  “They are rabid.”

  Laughing at the horrified tone of her voice, he shrugged. “They’re not all that bad,” he said. “They like their music and have been waiting a long time for this tour. It’s the first time they get to hear the new stuff in full that the stations have been teasing them with for the last couple of months.”

  On the sofa, Mark and Chase were discussing some of the chord changes to one of the songs. “I think we need to slow it down half a beat in the first chorus, then normal tempo in the second and third.”

  Jeremy agreed with their suggestion. “It would give us a lot more power on it if I could hold the note for a second longer I think. Give it a bit more oomph.”

  Chase was scribbling in his notebook. “Sounds good. We’ll give it a shot tomorrow night and see what the reaction is. What do you think about a full beat pause after Jeremy breaks the note before we pick up?”

  “Might be better if we all fall off before he finishes it to let it only be his voice,” Lance threw in.

  The others all looked at him before huge grins lit up their features. “Primo idea, bro,” Shade said. He flopped down next to Chase as the other man scribbled that into his book.

  “What is he writing down?” Jennifer asked quietly.

  “The first few shows we work out ways to make the songs more dynamic for the audience. Play around with how we sing them to ramp up the overall intensity. Chase always writes it down for us to play with during our sound checks the next day.”

  “Is that’s why some live performances are different from the recorded version.” She said it like she’d been hit by a sudden “aha” realization.

  “Pretty much. In studio, things sound differently than on a stage. Plus we’re not playing to the crowd’s reactions either. In studio, we’re working to make the best sound for replay on the radio, at home, or wherever it might be the fans have our tunes going. On stage we can mix things up, and play around. It also helps us to figure out songs for upcoming albums. Provides a lot of inspiration for us.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Grinning at her, he shrugged. “We have our moments.” A knock on the door followed by their ten-minute warning had him pushing off the wall at her side. “Back in a couple,” he told her before heading into the bathroom. After using the facilities, he yanked off his shirt to throw some water over his head and down his chest. He’d pull on a clean, identical shirt for the second half of the show once he went back out.

  Lance could hear the guys still chattering on about the pros and cons of tweaks to make for upcoming shows. The noise was comforting to him. It let him relax from the first high a bit and prepare for the rush of hitting the stage again. He made a mental note to talk with Jennifer later, if she was still awake and get her take on it all.

  He knew from a brief conversation on the way to the venue she’d been to more than a couple of live concerts in her days, but always out in the audience. He knew it was a different vibe out in the masses than being the one up on stage. Out with the fans, you were surrounded by the energy they exuded. On stage it was all directed right at you, bombarding you, and lifting you on a high like no other.

  While Lance was no angel and liked his alcohol, he’d never been one to touch drugs. He’d seen too many others go down that path and never wanted to end up like they had. His own mother had been a prime example of why people needed to stay off drugs. Shade had dabbled a bit before deciding it wasn’t for him, but Mark had gotten in deep back in the beginning when the fame had first hit.

  It had taken them a long time to get him out. A few carefully arranged stints in rehab and the love of his band brothers kept him clean six years and counting. Jeremy
had stayed clear of all the drugs. With his family history, he’d never wanted to chance a mistake that could cost him his gift. Chase had given everything a try once. To see what the hype was all about. His report at the end had been what Lance had always known. There was no high like being out on stage playing to a stadium of screaming fans.

  Drying off, Lance went back out to rejoin the others as the five-minute warning came. He snatched the shirt from the air that Jeremy tossed his way and shrugged into it. As his head cleared the neckline, he didn’t miss the hungry look Jennifer shot him. Instant reaction. His cock hardened behind his zipper and began to throb. Not the best way to go back out on stage when he had to fold himself up behind his drums.

  He took another chilled water from the ice chest to drink down as he walked her way. Settling back in at her side he didn’t miss the slight blush her cheeks held. “You ready for part two of the night?”

  Jennifer gave a slow, wary nod. “I think I might be. I don’t get how you guys can go out there night after night. I get nervous talking in front of people I know. Stepping out onto a stage where you’re the sole focus of twenty thousand, or more screaming people makes me feel like I’d break out in hives and keel over.”

  Chase laughed at her words. “We still get nervous every time we go out. Each of us has our own specific rituals before a show that help to calm us a bit. And by the end of the first or second song we’re all in the groove. It’s why we always play something that sends the fans wild for the first tune. If they are hyped up and screaming for more it helps to soothe out our nerves.”

  “Truly?” She looked stunned by his revelation, looking to Lance for confirmation. “After all these years you guys are still nervous heading out there?”

  “Every damn time,” he told her. “Although we have a massive fan base now, it’s like that first time whenever those lights hit us. Are they going to like us? What if we miss a note? What if we’re out of time? What if I can’t remember the tune?”

  “I didn’t consider that,” she said softly.

  “While we may look a hell of a lot more confident out there now, we still get hit with a bout of butterflies as the spotlight comes on. There’s always the smallest instance when we freeze. Then the roar of the crowd breaks through, and we’re off and running.”

  “Two minutes Victorious, this is your two minutes warning.”

  Finishing off his latest bottle of water Lance tossed it into the recycling bin, and gave her a wink. He grabbed up his drumsticks, twirled them between his fingers, and followed the others out of the room. Clearing the door, he could hear the chant of the crowd building in volume. They knew it was nearly time for the second half of the show and they were all hyped.

  Lance could feel Jennifer at his back. He liked the sensation of her being close before he stepped out onto the stage. It was more settling than any of his other rituals.

  The glow in the dark tape his only guide as he crossed the stage, Lance threw a leg over his stool and sat. He could make out the vague shapes of the others as they picked up their instruments. A roadie tapped his shoulder when he got word from the other guys that they were ready. Flipping his sticks once more, he began to tap out a beat. The lights on stage went up a second later, and the crowd roared. Closing his eyes for a second, Lance let out a breath. There was nothing in the world better than that sound.

  Chapter Seven

  The near stampede after the first show had shocked Jen. Fans with backstage passes hadn’t liked the fact the band did nothing more than sign their ticket stubs or passes. Many had attempted to throw themselves at the band members. One girl had latched onto Lance. It had taken three security guards to pry her off him. He’d been left with more than a few welts from her nails clawing at him.

  He’d been pissed, understandably. Back in the suite, she’d taken his cranky ass to the bathroom to clean him up. With a light push to his chest, Jen got him seated on the edge of the tub. “Shirt off,” she ordered.

  Turning to collect what she needed from a first aid kit, she’d turned back around to find him with the shirt balled in his hands. It had been a mistake to have him take the shirt off. Then her gaze settled on the set of scratches up his arm. “Jesus. That fucking bitch.”

  Gently, she put her fingertips to the unmarked skin and let out a gasp at how hot he was.

  “I always run hot after a show. The adrenaline takes a long time to wear off, and then I get chilled.”

  Of course he’d know what she’d be thinking. The man seemed to be a mind reader where she was concerned. Picking up the peroxide, she got a cotton ball damp it with. “This is going to sting,” she warned.

  Lance didn’t say anything, his fingers digging harder into the shirt he still held. He seemed internally focused on something she wouldn’t worry about trying to understand.

  Lightly, she stroked her fingers over his skin once more. Stepping closer, she straddled his one thigh, squeezed his shoulder up higher, and began to clean the wound. Jen nearly stopped breathing when he wrapped a hand around her leg. His fingers were up high. Close enough he had to feel the heat of her arousal through her jeans. She’d been turned on since the first song of their set that night. The mere sight of the play of muscle under his tanned flesh while he’d beat out the rhythm of the songs had been a major turn on for her.

  Applying the antibiotic cream to the scratches, she thought back to the concert. He’d been drenched in sweat, the longer strands of hair he had up front a curtain over his forehead while he’d beat on the drums. A sexier sight she’d never seen. Odd since Jen never once thought of herself as a band groupie before that moment. She loved music in all its forms but never had she fixated on a member of a band like she had Lance.

  What had nearly sent her into a spontaneous orgasm was the last song of their set before they’d walked off stage. It was one she recognized from the radio. A song that stood the test of time and played nearly constantly over the four years since it was released. It was the only song that Lance sang.

  Jeremy had a smoky quality to his voice that promised sinfully sexual things. Lance, on the other hand, had a growl that made a girl think of sweaty bodies tangled together as they strained toward completion. She also knew why they did it as the last song of the night. The fans, already crazed from the two-hour performance, went to a whole new level once he was done. One odd thing she’d noticed, and would need to pay attention to for the rest of the tour she was there for, was the crowd had gone dead quiet while Lance sang.

  When it had been Jeremy, the crowd cheered or sang along. But the entire building had been eerily silent during Lance’s song. Then they’d practically brought the ceiling down as the last note faded. It had been like they were afraid to interrupt him in case he stopped.

  She finished on the one shoulder and made to move to his other side, but he held on to her leg. Swallowing hard, she looked down at the tousled strands of his honey-blond hair. “Lance, you need to let go. I have to do the other side, and I can’t reach from here.”

  His hand tightened on her thigh before slowly sliding down her leg to fall off. Sucking in a breath, she collected her items and moved to straddle his other leg. Immediately his other hand moved to grip her leg.

  She didn’t know what he was doing, but she knew it was wreaking havoc on her senses. Applying peroxide to a clean cotton ball, she gently cleaned up the scratches on his flesh before applying more antibiotic cream.

  A knock on the door nearly sent her tumbling. Lance’s hand was the only thing to keep her upright. “Yeah?” she called out.

  The door eased open to reveal a worried looking Jeremy. “He okay?”

  “He’ll be fine. Nothing too serious and he’s calmed down a lot.” She’d felt his muscles slowly loosening as she’d tended to the marks the fans nails had left.

  Her words seemed to relieve Jeremy. He gave her a grateful look and let out a breath. “We’re ordering up the usual fare. Did you want something, Jen?”

  Lance’s hand tig
htened on her leg. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to consider what it meant, she gave Jeremy a quick smile. “Medium rare burger, cheese, extra pickles, no onion, please. Fries with gravy on the side too, please.”

  “Copy that. Should be up here in twenty. It’ll give him time to have a shower.”

  Shit, she hadn’t considered Lance might want to bathe. She’d have to reapply the antibiotic cream after he did. Not exactly the worst thing she’d have to do. Jeremy shut the door behind him, and she heard him tell the others that Lance was fine.

  Looking down, she found Lance staring up at her. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead, and before she considered the ramifications, Jen brushed it back. “I’ll give you some privacy to shower,” she said. “But I’ll need to put the cream on again once you’re done, which means no shirt after your shower.”

  His lips curled slowly until the dimple in his left cheek revealed itself. “I knew it.”

  “What? What did you know?”

  “You like having me run around half naked.”

  Jen’s jaw dropped, and she had to resist the urge to smack him. “How the hell did you get that from what I said?”

  “I can read between the lines of course.”

  She had nothing for that. Covering her fumble quickly, she gave him a snort and made to move away. Only he wasn’t letting her go. Jen could force the issue, but she had a feeling she’d end up on her ass. “You need to shower.”

  “True enough.” His hand slid up the back of her thigh until he cupped her ass. Jen’s brain sent up warning flares as it started its way into meltdown. “Don’t go too far.”

  All she could do was shake her head. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth, and she was having issues breathing. After his hand fell away, she couldn’t budge for a few seconds as she fought to collect a thought, any thought.

  Finally she took a giant step away, locked her knees, and began to tidy up. She did it with her back to him and her head down. Jen didn’t know what she’d do if she continued to look at him. Probably something incredibly idiotic like jump his bones. But that would make her no better than the woman security had needed to pry off him one claw at a time.