by Lisa Suzanne
I think of Angelique over in the office by herself. Is it a lonely existence to base your entire life around what your significant other does? Morgan doesn’t seem to feel that way, but she’s found her niche with the band. She’s outgoing and sweet, and as she told me earlier, she acts as the band nurse. She still has an identity of her own.
I think of what a future with Mark would look like. I wouldn’t be able to continue teaching—especially not seniors. They’d be too distracted by my personal life to learn anything, and besides, I wouldn’t want to be away from him for months out of the year. Like Morgan and Angelique, I’d want to go on tour with him when the band does.
Would he want me there, though?
These are all the types of things I need to discuss with him, but what we have is still so new—and not just new, but it’s supposed to be a secret, too. At least from the man we’re deceiving.
“Do they get nervous before shows?” I ask, directing the subject away from Mark and his past indiscretions.
She nods. “We’re always allowed in for the pregame shot after they do their little ritual. It’s the last thing they do before they huddle then run onstage, and I always see the spark of nerves before a show. They’d never admit it, but I know them well enough that I can read it on their faces. You’d think that’d stop after how many times they’ve done this, but it doesn’t go away.”
“Who gets most nervous?”
“Ethan.”
“No way!”
“Mark is the most confident, or at least the best at masking his nerves. As the front man, he has to be. He talks to the crowd the most. He works the stage. He somehow makes every person there feel like he’s singing directly to them.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve felt that every time I’ve seen them live.”
“Doesn’t matter if you’re in the last row of the top floor, furthest from the stage. He’s talking to you, singing to you.”
We’re both quiet as we watch the flurry of activity around us. I see a roadie carrying what I recognize as Mark’s signature guitar, and my heart flutters. I’m the one who will be going home with him tonight.
“Why does Angelique hate me?” I ask.
“She doesn’t,” she says softly. “She’s just protective of our boys.”
“And you’re not?”
“Oh, I am. But I like you. I got the immediate sense that you’re going to be around for more than just tonight.”
“How?”
“Nothing you did. It’s the way Mark acts around you.”
I step back out of another roadie’s way. “You only saw us together for a few seconds.”
“I know. That’s all I needed. He’s hooked on you. I’ve never seen him kiss a girl like he kissed you. It gave me little flutters.”
I laugh. “Me too.”
Angelique appears beside me. “It’s time,” she says.
Time for what? I want to ask, but I don’t.
Angelique still doesn’t look at me, and I get the feeling tonight isn’t the night to win her over. If Morgan’s right and Mark is hooked on me, I’ll get another chance. I’m generally a people-pleaser, though, and it hurts to know someone doesn’t like me, especially when she hasn’t even given me a chance.
But that’s what a life with him would be like. Millions of women around the globe would automatically hate me simply because of who I’m linked with.
I follow the ladies into the green room with that thought in my mind.
All four men are sitting around the small table now, each with a drink in front of him. Several security guards gather in one corner. The only one I recognize is Vinny. Gorgeous women mill around the room, but they all seem to have jobs to do—it’s not like they’re here to hook up. They stand around chatting with each other rather than focusing on the guys in the band, and I wonder how many of these same women were backstage at Mandalay Bay when I walked into the dressing room and assumed they all wanted Mark.
A bottle of Jägermeister sits on a counter behind the band members with several shot glasses. Morgan walks right over to the counter without even stopping to kiss her husband. Angelique stands behind Steve. I glance around awkwardly, not sure where to go or what to do. I don’t know my place here. I finally look over at Mark, and his gaze is pinned on me.
I see something new there in his eyes, something I’ve never seen—but I’ve also never been with him right before he’s about to take the stage.
He’s nervous, just like Morgan said he’d be. She said he masks it best, but I can still read it there. The thought makes me feel like I know him on a deeper level than I’ve given us credit for.
Without words, just the slightest angle of his head, he calls me to him. I walk over behind him, and he yanks me so my body aligns with his back. He leans his head onto my stomach. I wonder if he can feel the flutters tumbling around in there. He pulls my hand down onto his shoulder, holding it there for a few beats. I flash back to that night when I went to the casino with Brian and he did the same thing to me—pulled my hand onto his shoulder and then called me his good luck charm.
I shake Brian out of my head because I don’t want him here, not when I’m with Mark. Not when Mark needs me.
But no matter how much I shake him out, he’s still here, wedged between Mark and me, the elephant in the room, the shame in my heart, the guilt in my blood.
I glance over at Ethan, and he’s pinning me with a glare. I’m thankful for the friendly eyes of Morgan, James, and Steve, because honestly Angelique and Ethan are almost enough to discourage me from a relationship with Mark.
Almost enough.
Nothing could keep me away from him.
Even as I think it, I hope nothing isn’t just a famous last word for us.
Morgan pours out seven shots and passes them around the table. I don’t want a shot of Jäger on top of all the wine I’ve had tonight, but this is a ritual, and I won’t be the one to shake that up—especially not the first time I’ve ever been invited into this circle.
Once everyone has a shot, they all hold up their glasses and touch them. I join in like I’m a member of the band. My eye catches Angelique’s, and she looks pissed that I’m here. I brush away the thought. Mark wants me here; her feelings don’t matter.
“To show six seventy-one,” Mark says. “Good pitches, no hitches, no forgets.”
Everyone—except me—chimes in together with, “No regrets!”
I’ll know the words for next time.
We all throw back our shots, and then the boys stand. I move away from the table as Mark scoots his chair back, but he doesn’t let me get far. His hand circles my wrist and he tugs me so I fall into his chest. He chuckles as those deep, green eyes hold me captive.
“Wish me luck.”
I smile as my insides melt at this glimpse of his insecurity. “You? Nah, you don’t need it.”
“Nah, you’re probably right.”
I laugh, and his mouth covers mine. He doesn’t seem to care that everyone’s watching, doesn’t seem to mind that I’m in a relationship with his younger brother. All that matters is the two of us and this singular connection of lip to lip, mouth to mouth. He opens his mouth, and his tongue slides against mine. He tastes like the Jäger we just shot down, but I still get a hint of his peppermint. This is a tiny preview of what we’ll be doing later, and it sends a shot of adrenaline through me.
He pulls back and his eyes latch onto mine for just a beat, but that beat represents all the need, all the want, all the lust and desire that courses through me, through him, between us. I see it there in him just as much as I feel it inside of me. I feel him pulling strength and confidence from that single look shared between us, like he can get out on that stage and do what he does best now because I’m here.
And that thought blows my mind.
He’s done this for over ten years without me, yet the need in his eyes for me tells a different story.
I don’t know how I ever believed that he wasn’t sincere
in his feelings for me—that he was just using me as a pawn in a game with his brother. I see everything I need to see there, all the love and longing, and I’m certain that I’ve chosen the right brother.
A rush of excitement rockets through my system. I can’t wait for him to get out on that stage, to watch him perform. I can’t imagine how he feels if I’m this excited.
I think back to his toast—to show six seventy-one. It’s hard to fathom that they’ve played that many shows together. It’s fascinating to see they still get nervous in their own ways as they get on that stage, even though it’s for the six hundred seventy-first time.
The four band members bid us goodbye. We follow them out of the green room, and they huddle privately behind the stage, wait for their introduction, and head out.
Morgan, Angelique, and I walk through the door and into the bar to watch. A crowd has gathered by the stage, so we stand near the back. I’m used to finding my way to the front so I can catch a closer glimpse of Mark Ashton, but tonight I allow others to stand up front.
I can’t help when my mouth forms the words I know so well. I bob my head to the music and dance in place. The wine and Jäger have done their job well to lower my inhibitions along with my ability to care what anybody thinks of me, including Angelique. I catch Mark’s eye, and I swear he smiles at me as he sings the words to the songs I know so well. I wonder for a split second if I feel like he’s singing to me because of that charisma Morgan and I talked about or if it’s because of what we share now—if it’s because he actually is singing to me.
It feels odd to be here without Jill, to sing along without my best friend by my side. I glance over at Morgan and Angelique. They’re both staring up at the stage, but neither of them is singing. Surely they know the words. They’d have to after hearing them upwards of six hundred times—not even counting practices. They’re both studying, though. Instead of enjoying the show, they’re silently critiquing. I try to imagine myself doing that—sitting by and objectively watching the show for mistakes and cracks instead of enjoying it as I sing every word to every song.
I can’t imagine myself ever being like them. I’m a fan of this band, of Mark Ashton, and I always will be. Even just thinking of sitting through nearly seven hundred Vail shows has my toes tingling. An acute, sharp ache presses between my legs as I watch him up there. Watching him like this—in his element, working the crowd—it’s insane. I see it from a completely different perspective now, and while I always got turned on watching him even though he had no idea I even existed, this is different. I’m more than just turned on. I feel the rough seam of my jeans press against my panties, and I think of Mark’s mouth in that same place, his peppermint breath hot against my sensitive, wet flesh.
I’ve wanted men before, sure, but not like this. I crave him. It’s basic and instinctual, carnal and erotic. It’s inside me, a caged animal trying to claw its way out.
The tempo shifts from Vail’s newest rock chart topper to a slower ballad. Ethan takes a break because this song doesn’t have drums. He sits back and chugs his beer, and James and Steve also stop for a drink break. Mark strums his guitar and then starts singing the words that I memorized after I only read them once.
The light hits your eyes
A part of me dies
A little like destiny
It’s just for one night
But it feels too right
A little like destiny
I can’t let it go
It’s starting to show
A little like destiny
His eyes are on mine through the entire song. I don’t sing along even though I know the words—this feels like Mark’s song, a tribute to whatever we’re starting here, and I’m hypnotized by his voice and his eyes. He told me he finished writing the lyrics, and the brand new words wash over me.
She’s with him but in my heart
With him so my world falls apart
In the other room loving another man
She’ll come back to me when she can
Because she belongs with me
It’s a little like destiny
She wasn’t in my plan
Never in the plan
But the day I met her
Is the day my life began
He fades into the refrain again, and when he hits the last line, a little like destiny, he draws in a deep breath then digs deep to belt it out in a sort of battle cry. His eyes are on mine, and I can feel his emotions tumbling through my chest as he brings everything he has and lays it out for everyone to hear, lays it out for me to gather in my arms and hold in my heart.
When the song’s over and he fades out of that final bar, the crowd goes wild. Morgan’s arm comes around me. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I tear my gaze from Mark, who’s looking down at his guitar as he starts the intro to the next song. In my periphery, I hear the drums join in and then the bass and the rhythm guitar. My eyes meet Morgan’s, and I nod.
“You’re crying,” she says.
I touch my fingers to my cheek. It’s wet.
“I didn’t realize…” I trail off in a daze.
“He wrote that for you,” Morgan says close to my ear.
I nod and try to swallow down the lump in my throat. It’s impossible.
I wipe the tears from my cheeks, shocked I’m crying but not entirely surprised by it. I draw in a deep breath and watch the crowd for the next song because it’s too intense to look up at Mark. I’ll cry again, cry that he wants me like this, that he feels so strongly about me he set words about his feelings to music. That he brought me into this world of his, that he wants me to be part of it and part of his life.
I can’t bring myself to sing along to the rest of the set because of that damn lump in my throat, but I feel it start to loosen when Morgan presses another glass of wine to my palm. I look to her gratefully, and I suddenly feel like I have a friend. Angelique may hate me until she gets the chance to know me, but I’ll win her over. Morgan, though, makes me feel like I fit into this world that I never thought I’d be part of.
fifteen
They’re still up on stage when Morgan grabs my hand. She follows Angelique as she starts pulling me toward the door to the back room.
“It’s not over,” I say.
She nods. “This is the last song. Trust me, you’ll want to be back there when it’s over.”
“Won’t there be an encore?”
She shakes her head. “Not for private shows.”
The security guard easily lets us through—we didn’t even need a badge or press pass or anything to get back there. Morgan’s still pulling me by my hand to the green room.
Morgan collapses on a couch. I sit next to her, and Angelique sits across from us in a chair.
“Good show,” Morgan says.
I sigh dreamily. I’ve never seen a private performance like that for any band, let alone my favorite band. “It was amazing.”
Angelique rolls her eyes. “Ethan messed up the riff on ‘Twice Told.’ And Mark was totally off his game on ‘Before You’re Gone.’”
I feel the sudden urge to stick up for Mark. He was perfect on every song. I didn’t see any time during the entire show when he was off his game.
“But Steve was perfect?” Morgan asks before I get the chance to jump to Mark’s defense.
“He’s always perfect.” Angelique crosses one leg over the other and purses her lips.
“Says his wife,” Morgan mutters. “He totally missed his transition cue between keys and strings on ‘Down that Road.’”
“Because he’s playing two instruments.”
“So is Mark,” I chime in.
Angelique pins me with a glare. “Mark plays one instrument.”
“His voice is an instrument, plus lead guitar.”
Angelique rolls her eyes. “A voice is not an instrument.”
“Then how come Steve doesn’t sing?” I shouldn’t be challenging her, but the primal need to defend Mark crashes thr
ough me.
“He does. He’s had to save Mark’s ass more than once since you came along.”
My chest tightens with the sort of adrenaline that takes over when your body goes into fight mode. I’m ready to throw down with this bitch. She has not only been awful to me tonight, but now she’s insulting Mark. She doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what Mark and I share, and it’s bullshit that she’s assuming she does.
“All right, all right,” Morgan says. “Enough. They all messed up, even James. It was good, and they’re gonna need our support when they walk through those doors instead of walking into a room filled with tension.” She stands and walks over to the counter to pour seven shots, leaving Angelique and me alone across from one another.
She glares at me, but instead of engaging, I avert my gaze to the floor. Morgan’s right, and besides, I’m new here. I’m finding my place, and I will find it, but tonight isn’t the night for that. I’ll find it some other time. I stand and walk over to Morgan to see if she needs help.
A minute later, the boys come tearing through the door. They’re all amped up after their performance. Steve and James beeline for their wives, and Mark strides over to me. His black shirt sticks to his wet skin, giving me a preview of the sculpted muscles hidden beneath. He stands apart from me for a minute, his eyes intense on mine, his chest heaving. Then, without warning, he grabs my chin and presses his mouth to mine. The stubble along his jaw rubs fire against my mouth, but I love it. I love the sensation of being rubbed raw by him. That’s what he does to me inside, too—rubs me raw with his fire until I’m open and exposed only to him.
“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Ethan yells in chorus to that pop song, the lone wolf in a three-pack of couples. Mark physically lets go of me, but his eyes are still on me, dark with desire.
He leans in close to my ear. “We need to go take these shots. It’s tradition before and after a show. Then a shower, then the meet and greet. But then…” He pauses as he nuzzles that rough stubble against my neck. “Then it’s time to fuck.”
