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The crowd screams.
"So it's just me?" He winks at the crowd. He points to the guitarist then to the bassist. "Only two songs to go. Think we can get the string jockeys shirtless by the end of the show?"
There's another set of cheers. Every guy in the band has his fans.
Miles smiles that same smug smile. He throws up four fingers and uses them to count down.
The song starts. It's one of their singles. It plays on KROQ but not nearly as often as In Pieces does. It has a slick guitar riff, a throbbing beat, and, of course, a perfect vocal melody.
Kara squeezes my hand. I can't bring myself to look away from Miles to catch her expression. No doubt she's ecstatic, too. I squeeze back. I shift my hips to the music. I scream. Just another fan. Just another girl who wants that sexy boy on stage she'll never have.
Only, I can have him.
I have had him.
The song transitions into the next. The last song, according to Miles's earlier claim. There is something final about it. It's like everyone is playing harder. Miles goes all out with his vocals. He's not in smug mode, not flirting with the crowd. He's there, in the music, in the moment that made him write this song.
It's captivating, sexy, and terrifying at once. There's more to Miles than bad boy rock star. There must be, or he wouldn't be so lost in his words.
The song ends to a chorus of screams and cheers. The Sinful guys wave goodbye. Miles takes a bow. The drummer blows kisses. He even holds his hand up to his ear to make the "call me" motion. They walk offstage, and a roadie collects their discarded t-shirts.
Kara pulls me away from the main crowd. She gives our names to the bouncer guarding the backstage area. He lets us pass.
The small space is crowded with gear. There are other musician types here—must be the opening act—but most of them are busy soaking in groupie adoration. One of them is sucking face against the wall. And oh, God, he's getting a handjob.
I guess they don't call it sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll for nothing.
There's a door marked "Sinful Serenade." It's a lot less busy than the rest of the backstage area. Drew is sitting on the couch alone. The light-haired drummer is surrounded by a cloud of fans. His attention turns to us.
He nods to Drew then to Kara. "Kara, right?"
"You're not sleeping with my friends." Drew waves the guy off. "So why don't you get Aiden to put another one of our songs in a commercial while I'm occupied?"
The drummer offers his hand. "I'm Tom."
"Meg." I shake.
"Nice to meet you. And to see you again, Kara." He looks from Drew to me. "Sometimes, I think I'm the only person in the band who cares about making money." Tom shakes his head with outrage and returns to his cloud of fans.
"Want a drink?" Drew asks. His gaze fixes on something behind me. "Maybe a shirt."
I turn. It's Miles, standing there in his tight jeans, still sans shirt. He shakes his head but he grabs a t-shirt off the couch and pulls it on.
Miles throws Drew a cocky wink. There's no challenge or animosity to it, just mutual understanding. They're teasing each other.
Drew goes to grab Kara's wrist but she pulls it into her chest. He looks at her a little funny. She shrugs like it's nothing.
"Come on, Kendrick. You'll miss the good tequila."
She nods. "Meg, you want something?"
I shake my head. "No, thanks."
She follows Drew to a table in the back, leaving me alone with Miles. Or as good as alone.
He runs his fingertips over my exposed shoulders. I'm hot instantly. It feels good being near him. It will feel better without the audience, without the space between us, without the clothes.
"I like your dress," he says.
