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“Sounds like it to me. And who wouldn’t be feeling the Christmas spirit? Look at this place.”
“I know.” I took in the icicles hanging from the roof, the snowy trees flanking the arena’s sides, and the blue and white wristbands flashing from the crowd. “I feel like I’ve stepped inside a snow globe. Let’s give it up for the mastermind behind this whole event, Paige Dawson. She’s really outdone herself.”
The crowd agreed wholeheartedly. Dylan and I looked to the wings, where Paige gave a mock curtsy and then shooed us along. Of course she didn’t want to stop and take in the praise—it would throw her carefully planned schedule all out of whack. We couldn’t have that.
“Now that that’s been said, welcome everyone to the Jingle Ball. We have some seriously exciting things happening tonight to raise money for many of the nonprofit organizations around the country that are struggling. From the hunger crisis, to the LGBT youth on the streets, and the arts that have taken a huge hit this year. Know that the money you paid to come and be with us tonight is going to a good cause, a worthy cause, a cause to help your fellow man. And we couldn’t be more thrilled that you decided to come and spend your Saturday night with us.”
“Ace couldn’t be more right,” Dylan said. “We are beyond thrilled. We are thankful and grateful to each and every one of you for choosing to come out tonight and give back to your community. After all, that’s what Christmas is all about. Spreading the cheer and good fortune, and tonight we are going to do just that.”
Clapping and cheering rang out as we stood there drinking in the joy filling the air, and I couldn’t have been happier in that moment.
“Tonight there will be an auction with some fantastic prizes up for grabs.”
“They really are fantastic,” Dylan agreed. “You know that yummy food you’ve been eating all night? You have a chance to bid on an all-expenses paid dinner at JULIEN.”
“Mmm, I might have to try for that one. The food at JULIEN is the best I’ve ever tasted. Or if you’re looking for love and someone to maybe take to JULIEN, there’s free matchmaking up for grabs.”
Dylan grinned up at me as the crowd went nuts, and I chuckled.
“Yes, and there also happens to be a pair of VIP tickets for the next concert of a certain band that may or may not be here tonight—”
“Fallen Angel! Fallen Angel!” the crowd chanted.
I looked to Dylan. “Is that right?”
“It sure is. And not only will you get VIP tickets, you also get to meet them!”
The roar from the arena was so loud that it all but made the stage vibrate.
“Exciting, right? And there’s a whole slew of other prizes in the mix also, but we’ll tell you about them later, because as much as we love talking to you, I’m almost positive we are not the ones you want singing.”
“He’s right.” Dylan winked at the crowd. “There’s a reason he went into acting.”
“I admit it, singing is not my strong suit. But I think we have a solution to that problem. Are you guys ready to get tonight started?”
Dylan and I laughed as the hooting and hollering echoed around the arena. As someone who played to a camera for a living, I was used to attention. But I couldn’t imagine what it was like to play to an audience this big—and larger—on a nightly basis. The energy was palpable, the adrenaline easy to get caught up in, and when I leaned down and said into the mic, “Please help us welcome Fallen Angel,” the thunderous response nearly blew us off the stage.
Fifteen
LOGAN
THE LIGHTS WENT low, a hush fell over the arena, and the crowd around us began to scream with excitement. Ace—that bastard—had given Tate a pair of VIP tickets before we’d left brunch, and that had us close enough to the stage that by the end of tonight I wouldn’t be able to hear for a year.
That didn’t seem to bother Tate in the least, however, as he wrapped his leather-clad arms around my waist and moved in behind me.
“You excited?”
I glanced back to see a wide smile on his sexy lips. “About standing so close to the stage that I’m likely to get sprayed with sweat?”
Tate chuckled and nuzzled against the collar of my black button-up shirt. “I’ve never known you to be worried about a little sweat. Plus, it’s Fallen Angel. People would kill to be covered in their sweat.”
“Not this person. I don’t even know who they are.”
“Yes, you do. I play them all the time at the bar. ‘Invitation’? ‘Hard’? I know you know that last one—you told me the lyrics were just your kind of filthy.”
