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“You can always wear whatever you want.” I slip one hand behind her legs and the other around her shoulders, scooping her up into my arms and swinging her in a circle. “I gotcha.”
“Chaser!” Her wild laughter dissolves in the noise of the city.
At the back door, I gently set her down.
“Thanks for the lift.”
“Anytime, little dove.”
The guys have already filled the small storage room in the back of the record store. The owner stops to introduce himself but keeps staring at us like we might disappear at any moment. “Holy shit! I’m so honored to have you here today.” He shakes all of our hands with enthusiasm but stops dead when he reaches Mallory. “Oh my God. I never thought…I never expected you to show up too, Miss Dove. Wow. Thank you so much.”
I swear he’s either about to bow down to her or faint. One or the other.
Mallory beams at him and holds out her hand. “It was a last minute decision. I hope that’s okay.”
One of my possessive caveman arms is wrapped around Mallory like a fuckin’ python, but the dude still takes her hand and pulls it toward his gaping piehole. He leans down and brushes his lips over her knuckles. “It’s an honor. I’ll find an extra chair for you right away.”
I clear my throat and he finally drops her hand.
“Is someone still out there to open the gate?” Alvin asks. “Jacob’s coming by taxi.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll send someone right now,” he promises.
“Did Andrew know you’d be here today?” Mallory asks.
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m worried that we couldn’t find him this morning.”
Yeah, it’s not a good sign but it’s also really not my problem. Andrew’s an adult—sort of. “Let’s get through this afternoon and then I’ll worry about his whereabouts.”
The back door bounces open and Jacob steps through with his arms outstretched. “Your fearless singer has arrived!” he announces.
“Settle down, Rocky.” Alvin rolls his eyes but slaps one of Jacob’s outstretched hands.
Garrett grabs Jacob in a bear hug and bounces him up and down like a big, fat baby. Jacob grins at me over Garrett’s shoulder. “Had you worried, didn’t I?”
“A little bit,” Mallory says.
“Nah, I knew you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to have girls fawn all over you,” I answer. “Pamela get to the airport?”
“Yup, on her way to L.A. now.”
“Good.” Since we can’t get rid of Andrew, hopefully her departure alleviates some of the drama in our lives.
The owner moves us into the store where he’s set up a long row of tables to form one big barrier between us and the rest of the shop. He has an impressive number of Kickstart merchandise, records, tapes, posters, and T-shirts staged at various points along the line for sale. Thom did a good job arranging this at the last minute.
I point to the first chair at the end of the table. “Jacob, you should have that spot. Let your sunny face be the first thing people see when they walk in.”
He salutes me and marches toward the seat facing the front door.
Garrett takes the next chair. Mallory and I set up at the third spot, with Alvin in the chair a few feet to our left.
“Mallory.” The owner drops a medium-sized, thin cardboard rectangular box on the table in front of us. “I found these in the back, if you’d like something to sign too.”
He pulls the lid off, revealing a thick stack of glossy eight by eleven promo posters for ‘Candy Jar’ featuring Mallory in her tiny denim shorts and halter top.
For a brief second her smile falters but she pulls it together and thanks him.
“Are you ready?” he asks, glancing up and down the length of the table. “I’ll have my guys open the doors and start letting them in, if that’s okay.”
Robbie puts his back to the wall at Jacob’s end and crosses his massive arms over his chest. “Ready.”
As soon as the door opens, the volume level in the building shoots up. Girls squeal Jacob’s name and flock to him first. A few skip his line and move down to Garrett. Even more rush straight for me.
I’m handed a variety of items to sign. Robbie walks back and forth, keeping the line moving quickly. The owner moves to the front of the store to work the cash register.
A few hours fly by almost as quickly as time flies when we’re on stage.
I’m about to ask Mallory if she needs me to get her anything to drink when another fan steps up to the table.
“Hi, Chaser.” The smoky voice has a tinge of familiarity to it. I glance up and study the girl in front of us. Teased, curly blonde hair. Pretty face. Bright red lips. “Long time.”
I groan before catching myself and force a bland smile. “Uh, hey.”
Awkward moments are bound to pop up when you’ve fucked groupies from coast to coast. It’s some sort of miracle this hasn’t happened a lot sooner.
That Mallory’s at my side jacks up the awkwardness to an almost painful degree.
“Carrie, yeah?” Fuck, I hope I’m right. I’d rather not be the asshole who forgot a one-night stand’s name in addition to subjecting Mallory to this awkward moment.
“You remember!” She beams at me. “How are you? I wanted to catch you guys last time you played in Union but I couldn’t get a ride.”
“Bummer.”
She leans over the table, all but shoving her tits in my face. I sit back and sling my arm around Mallory’s stiff shoulders.
“Did you want me to sign something?” I drop my gaze to the copy of Metal Edge in her hands.
“Oh. Yes.” Her gaze darts to Mallory and then back to me. “I didn’t realize…” She shoves the magazine at me and I flip through it until I find a photo of the band. Must be from my brief cokehead era. Vacant eyes. Strained smile. Jacob looks like he nodded off in an alleyway and we carried him into the studio and propped him up for the camera. Hell, there’s a good chance it actually happened that way. Fuck if I remember. I sure as hell didn’t agree to the hideous hot pink background we’re staged in front of. The empty bottles of Jack Daniels scattered at our feet give the photo an extra-special sleazy touch.
I scrawl my signature over my dopey face and hand the magazine back. “Thanks.”
Carrie lingers for a few extra seconds.
Please don’t hand me your phone number. Or anything else.
Finally, she slides over to Alvin.
“Old friend?” The tart snap to Mallory’s tone bothers me more than anything else that just happened in the last thirty seconds.
“Ancient.” I glance over but she’s watching Carrie twirl her hair and push her boobs in Alvin’s face.
Mallory shakes her head and shifts her body toward me. She runs her hand over my leg. A reassuring gesture even if she’s not able to express it with words.
“Don’t know how you put up with me,” I mutter.
“Honestly, I’m shocked it hasn’t happened sooner.”
I choke and sputter but thank fuck I stop myself from agreeing.
A few more girls—none that I have intimate knowledge of, thank you, Jesus—approach. They either stone-cold ignore Mallory or give her the stink-eye the whole time they’re chatting me up.
Mallory pretends not to notice, quietly handing me Sharpies or whatever else I need to keep the line moving.
When there’s a break, she grasps her purse in her lap in a white-knuckled death grip. “I should’ve stayed at the hotel. Everyone probably thinks I’m some bitch here to monitor your every move.”
“Hey.” I curl my arm around her and pull her closer. “No one thinks that and if they do, they can fuck off. I want you here. I need you here with me. That’s all that matters.” I jerk my chin at the store owner who hasn’t taken his eyes off Mallory all day. “Besides, who would old ham hands over there have to lust after if you hadn’t come with us?”
“Stop. He’s so nice.” She taps the box of posters he miraculous
ly found in the back room.
“Yeah, crazy how he just had these lying around.” I roll my eyes.
Instead of answering, she tips her head, indicating another fan is lined up for me to talk to.
Please, not another groupie.
With a deep breath, I turn and run my gaze over the freckle-faced kid who can’t be older than eleven or twelve.
“Chaser! You’re my favorite guitar player ever,” he gushes at warp speed while shoving several cassette tapes at me. “‘Cry it Out’ is the first song I learned to play.”
“Yeah?” I answer, pulling out the insert and tapping it with my Sharpie. “That’s really cool. Thanks.”
He nods for me to sign it and fires off question after question.
“What’s the first song you learned to play? Do you ride a motorcycle? I want a Harley when I can get my license. Is that what you have? Who’s your favorite guitar player? How did you guys meet and start the band?”
None of the answers are things I haven’t said in dozens of interviews before but I indulge his barrage of questions, charmed by his enthusiasm.
“What’s your name?” I finally ask when he takes a breath.
