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“It’ll be fine,” she assures me. “I’m not that big of a deal to have people here to watch me. We usually have a few kids. Some radio station winners. Everyone’s super nice.” She shrugs. “But once in a while…”
“I’ll be right here.” I nod to the fans being let into the room by a local security guard in a black and yellow T-shirt. “Don’t worry about anything.”
“Thank you.”
I stand next to the banner with Shelby’s name and image splashed over it, where I can watch her but not be in the way.
A little girl runs up and throws her arms around Shelby’s legs, chattering a mile a minute. Shelby squats so she’s eye level with the tyke and scrawls her signature over a poster. After a quick photo, the girl’s mother nudges her along.
Not that I expected her to be anything but sweet and kind to everyone but the more I watch her, the more that foreign L word keeps pulsing in my chest.Chapter EightShelby
Having Rooster at my back gives me a certain amount of peace I don’t want to get too comfortable with. Normally, Greg or Trent stand guard, but I can’t count on them to stay focused on me one hundred percent of the time. With Rooster, I’m confident he’s concentrating on me. I’m completely safe under his watchful eyes.
Security manages the line of people at the door, only allowing a few fans into the room at a time.
“Hi, Shelby!” Another little girl screams and throws her arms around my legs.
“Is this your first concert?” I ask.
“Yes! You’re my fav-o-rite.” I lean over to hug her, listening to her excited high-pitched chatter with a smile stretched across my face.
Her mother nervously chuckles. “She’s a big fan.” In a lower voice, she adds, “I’m here for Dawson Roads.”
Gee, thanks, lady.
I smile thinly and return my attention to the girl, signing her poster and ticket stub. “Have an awesome time tonight.”
After that, it’s a blur of people. A couple who just got engaged. A girl who won tickets off the local radio show. A little boy who’s too tongue-tied to say anything, no matter how hard I try to play it cool and normal.
I smile for so many pictures, my cheeks ache. The last group the guard allows into the room appear to be college-aged guys.
“Hello, Miss Morgan.” One of them holds out his hand. He’s shy and polite. Cute too, with freckles and an intense farmer’s tan. His two rowdier buddies obviously and openly stare at my tits without saying a word. But I’m used to that and my tits are pretty fabulous, so I try to ignore their stares.
The four of us turn to face the camera for a picture. Someone’s hand strays to my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me yelp.
A short scream barely passes my lips.
The offender drops to his knees next to me, howling in pain.
“Hands to yourself, motherfucker,” Rooster growls, bending the guy’s arm back at an unnatural angle. “Apologize. Right fucking now.”
“S…sorry, Shelby.”
Two security guards bumble over and Rooster releases the ass-grabber with a hard shove.
Grabby hands is escorted away from me.
One of the guards reaches for Rooster next.
Oh hell no. I slap my hand on the guy’s chest, stopping him. “Whatdaya think you’re doin’? He’s with me. Maybe pay better attention next time.”
The guard’s eyes go wide. “Sorry, Miss Morgan.”
I turn to thank Rooster, but his steely gaze is trained on the three guys as security pushes them out the door.
“Hey.” I tap his arm. “Thank you.”
“That happen often?”
“Not really.”
He growls an unhappy noise and wraps an arm around my waist. “What’s next?”
I flick my gaze at the clock. My heart thunders. Time’s ticking down. I gulp in some air and try to settle my nerves.
“Shelby?” he questions.
“T-minus thirty. I need to get ready.”
He walks me back to my small dressing room.
Once we’re inside, I strip off my dress and shake out the blue one. Rooster presses his back to the door so at least I don’t have to worry about anyone popping in for a free peep show.
What’s left of my cup of tea has long gone cold, but I take a quick sip anyway.
“Do you want me to get you a fresh one?” Rooster asks.
“Nah, I don’t want to have to pee when I’m on stage.”
He chuckles. “Okay.”
Embarrassed I blurted that out, I duck into the bathroom to empty my bladder. My nerves are already so jangled, I’ll be peeing twenty times tonight.
When I return to the dressing room, Rooster’s waiting patiently by the door. “Need help with the dress?”
“If you don’t mind.”
He holds it out for me, and I step into it the same way I did with the earlier outfit. “Careful, or I’m going to hire you. . .as soon as I have money for a personal assistant.”
