I shove my phone at her.
Her eyes go wide.
“Did Connor Nash just call you LJ and ask you to save him a dance?” she hisses, grabbing me by the arms and shaking me.
I let a secretive smile spread across my lips. I need this. Ineedto focus on being excited about something tonight—not worrying about whether I’m a hack.
The others flock around us as soon as they hear Ash.
“Shh,” I whisper, glancing around. “I don’t like airing my business.”
Jane narrows her dark blue eyes. “So there’s business, is there?”
My friends and I are all attractive, but Jane’s beauty stops people on the street and makes them ask for her autograph, even though she’s not famous.
Her husband, Tripp, is six-five and built like an army ranger. They make a striking pair. And because Jane is stupid in love with him, she’s eager for me to join the happily-wedded club she and Millie are both in.
Parker and Sonny’s wedding is scheduled for the break between the first and second legs of my tour, and I expect Ash and Rusty to get engaged anytime now.
They’re all so happy, and I know they want the same for me.
But this?
This is the best I intend to do: crush on an untouchable rockstar from afar and squeal about it with my friends.
“Not even close,” I say, rolling my eyes affectionately at Jane. “We’ve texted a few times, but there is no business of any kind happening with Connor Nash. Or anyone else.”
“Anyone else?” Parker says, a shrewd glint in her dark eyes.
She should not be able to use that shrewdness against me. We’re usually the ones doing that to the others.
“As if there’s anyone else,” Ash says. “You’ve had a crush on Nash since high school.”
“Who didn’t have a crush on him?” Millie sighs. “I wasn’t into Duncan and Nash the way you guys were, but that part-surfer, part-cowboy look Nash had going on? Hotter than hot.”
“I notice you don’t think he’s still attractive,” Parker says. She was never into Duncan and Nash. She’s firmly a girl-power-anthem rock fan, which is why the song I dedicated to her—It’s Always Sonny—is an anthem.
Millie eyes Duke like he’s the first Diet Coke she’s seen after a long fast. “Have you seen my husband?”
Parker smirks. “Sonny was ranked hottest athlete in the NFL. Duke was, what, number six?”
Millie drops her jaw, gasping dramatically—the signature move I already miss. “He was number four, and he was robbed.”
Parker’s wicked chuckle sets off the rest of us.
We take our laughter into the cozy armchairs and couch.
The venue’s green room has been given a rustic-chic makeover, tailored specifically to my concert. I never included decor in my rider; my list of “requirements” for the venues was pretty simple—minky blankets and cozy socks (I’m always freezing), fresh veggies and guacamole (something healthy), Excedrin and Dr Pepper Zero (in case of a migraine).
That’s it.
Manny had other ideas.
He insisted on things I’d never think to ask for but that would supposedly make a difference by show twelve.
Fresh flowers. Lip balm. Lotion. Even a color palette.
I protested.
