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I shrug. No one seems to be paying me any mind. “So far, so good.”
“You were great.”
“Thanks.”
Trinity joins us and gives me a big hug. Her husband, Wrath, nods at me.
Heidi reintroduces me to her brother, Teller, and his fiancée, Charlotte. Rooster points out everyone else. Sparky gives me a bleary-eyed smile when I lean down to hug him.
“Best concert I’ve ever been to,” he whispers in my ear.
“Aw, thanks.”
Everyone’s so careful not to say my name, I wonder if Rooster warned them ahead of time not to blow my cover.
Trinity takes Rooster aside for a few quick words. He nods and glances at me, then calls Heidi over.
Teller taps the cooler next to him. “You want anything?”
“I’m good.”
Rooster takes my hand again. “We need to get you ready.”
“We’ll walk with you,” Murphy says. “We’re going back to our seats anyway.”
“I see how it is. Too good for us,” Ravage calls out.
Ignoring them, Murphy takes Heidi’s hand and leads her up the hill to the sidewalk.
“You’re coming to the clubhouse later, right?” Heidi asks Rooster.
“Yeah. Trinity said we can take Z’s old room.”
Heidi wrinkles her nose. “Well, if you want to stay at our place, you’re more than welcome. Either way, we’ll catch up while the guys are in church,” Heidi promises. “Hope and Lilly are excited to see you again too.”
My heart kicks up. While I haven’t wanted to acknowledge it, I’ve been homesick. Remembering how welcoming the ol’ ladies of Rooster’s club were last time leaves a warm feeling in my chest. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone tomorrow.
First, I have to survive this duet with Dawson Roads.Chapter ElevenRooster
Taking a video of my girl singing a duet of what’s apparently a ‘let’s fuck all night’ song is not on the list of things I wanted to do. Ever.
Yet here I am, standing to the side of the stage, preparing to do just that.
I must like Lynn.
And I must really like Shelby.
Jigsaw elbows me and leans in close. “You feel like a cuck, getting ready to film her singing with some other dude?”
Little bit, honestly. “You’ve been watching too much porn, asshole. I’m not a cuckold. They’re singing, not fuckin’ in front of me.”
“Yeah, but what if they get all hot and bothered—”
“Keep runnin’ your mouth, I’m gonna end you,” I growl. Why the fuck did I give this bonehead the extra pass Greg slipped me earlier?
“Be serious. You think she’s banging him?” Jigsaw lifts his chin toward the jumbo screens lit up with Dawson’s pretty-boy face. “I mean, they’re out on the road together. They’re lonely. Things get a little hot—”
“No. Stop running your mouth, dickface.” Fuck, I hope not. “Her mom wants to see the duet.”
“Her mom’s hot, right?”
“Would you shut up?” I gesture to my phone. “I don’t need your stupid commentary in the background.”
He pulls a fake zipper over his lips but continues laughing.
Dick.
I move closer to the edge of the stage to capture the best angle. I’ve also asked Heidi to record it since she and Murphy have tickets smack in the middle only a few rows back. Lynn will get the backstage and front-and-center experiences.
Dawson finally ends his eye-rolling bro anthem dedicated to tailgates, tan lines, and tiny cut-off shorts—not that I don’t enjoy all three things myself, but to devote an entire song to them? Christ. People really pay money to listen to this shit?
“Now, I got somethin’ special for y’all.” Dawson wipes sweat off his brow and squints out into the crowd. “I’ve been lucky enough to have this little lady on tour with me for the last couple months. Tonight, I asked if she’d help me sing a certain song.” He pauses and the crowd screams their enthusiasm. “Give a big, warm welcome to Miss Shelby Morgan!”
I hit record, expecting Shelby to enter from the other side of the stage like she did earlier. But the giant silver platform that raised Dawson from under the floor earlier rises again. A cloud of smoke billows through the air. As it clears, Shelby’s standing at the top of the platform, so tiny, but looking ready to kick some ass. She slowly struts down the ramp, one arm raised in the air, waving at the crowd. “How y’all doing?”
Dawson meets her at the end of the ramp, taking her hand like he’s escorting her to a fucking ball.
I’m white-knuckle gripping my phone but keep on recording.
The lights dim, and Dawson’s band slides into a slow, seductive melody. Dawson releases Shelby and starts crooning about a one-night stand he doesn’t want to end.
I refuse to acknowledge the parallel between his lyrics and my own relationship with Shelby.
Jigsaw side-eyes me with this pitying expression I want to punch off his face. I shove him to the side instead.
Shelby belts out her part of the song, staring at Dawson with a doe-eyed expression that I have to remind myself is all part of the performance.
