I turn to the others. “You guys get out there, and I’ll try to find Tristan. I’m not needed for vocals until last, anyway. Hopefully, I’ll have found him by then and be out there before you even need us.”
“Are you sure? I can help,” Blake offers. He’d come third in the lineup followed by Tris, but I don’t want to cause any other problems with the sound guy. Not when he’s changed his tune.
“It’s fine. I got this.” I smile at him and resist the urge to reach out and move a lock of hair that fell over the rim of his glasses. “Really, I do. Go.”
Blake stares at me for a beat longer before he moves to the stage. I turn and beeline for our dressing room. With how things have been, I suppose I should be thankful they even gave me one, but then again, it’s probably because it’s written into my contract. Not everything was overlooked. Just enough for me to be royally screwed.
Opening the door, it only takes me a split second to realize it’s empty. I close it again with a growl.
Where the fuck is he?
I dig in my bag for my phone and yank it out when my fingers close around it. On my screen, I find texts in our group chat from the guys sent at various times since we arrived, all asking where he is.
My lip stings as I bite it, wishing I had the forethought to ask if they have access to checking his location. I squeeze the phone in my grip when I don’t find an answer from fucking Tristan.
He wanted this life so badly, yet he’s nowhere to be found.
I know he doesn’t want to screw me over more than he wants to perform for the world. Our music is famous across the globe, the lengths we could reach if we teamed up would be out of this world.
Not to mention how he completely turned around. For a short time he was my best friend again, the sweet, caring Tristan who stole my heart.
Please don’t let that have all been a lie. I can’t handle it if it was.
A snicker catches my attention, and I find a crew member leaning against the wall, looking from their phone to me and then back again. It doesn’t take a large leap to assume they’re laughing at me. Movement along the hall leads me to someone else who’s staring at me. Suddenly, it feels as if the weight of the world is glaring at me.
Five seconds is all it takes for me to have my phone unlocked and a search engine running my name for the latest headlines. The one on top is currently trending.
“Rumors say Raina is already dating a member of her band. But who is it?”
Sorry, ladies! If you’re crushing on any Desert Nights band members, you might be out of luck. An insider reports that Raina is dating a sexy new musician who just joined her band. The four men are all single according to their profiles, and they haven’t been seen with anyone since they sequestered themselves away for a month long crash course learning Raina’s songs.
I stop reading, having seen enough. It could’ve been anyone, but my money is on Alyssa. She gave me a strange look yesterday after barging into my dressing room. She ensured every eye we come across will be trained on us, searching for any clues of who I might be dating.
Fucking bitch.
With a deep breath, I gird my loins and find my ovaries, then don my armor of a bitchy pop princess personality. I don’tlikegiving off the energy everyone expects out of me, but sometimesit’s the only way to gain their respect. And right now it’s exactly what’s needed if I’m going to show my face in the greenroom.
Holding my head high, I stride into the room and kick a guitar case out of my path. Why musicians leave them strewn everywhere in the greenroom is beyond me. I’ve always requested order from my band—probably something the last one complained about me—although I like to think everyone who has to work around the chaos appreciates it.
At the sound of the case moving across the floor, someone shouts “Hey!” and jumps from their seat. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Don’t leave your shit where people are trying to walk and it won’t get kicked,” I snap back. I don’t recognize them, which means it must be someone playing for Carmen. He sits back down as I narrow my gaze on him and scowl. Nobody wants the full force of a pissed off star pointed in their direction. Especially when you don’t have fame or power to back you up.
“No need to be a bitch.” The voice sends razor blade-sharp claws along my rib cage, threatening to cut me into ribbons. Nick leans forward and wipes a thumb over his lips as Carmen leans into him with a giggle. He’s nearly twice her age, and she’s a minor. Fucking disgusting.
The rest of the Napalm Delights members sit in various places spread out over three couches, including who I can only assume are Carmen’s players. There’s also a few of my backup dancers, but they aren’t paying any attention, too focused on their phones to give a shit about the drama around them.
Curtis spreads his legs further apart—going way beyond man spreading—and taps his thigh. “Come take a seat, slut. I know it’s what you’re here for. Let’s skip the bullshit.”
“I’m not in the mood to catch whatever STD you’ve got cooking in your pants.” I give him my middle finger while staring at thecuticles of my other hand. If only I had a stick of gum to really sell the vibe I’m going for. “Where’s Tristan?”
Nick takes a sip of his beer and slowly blinks at me. “What makes you think we’d know?”
Truth be told, I didn’t. Not until now. But I learned a long time ago you don’t ask them for anything, you demand it. Posing the question the way I did leads them to believe I already know something, and they fell into my trap.
“Yeah,” Russ adds, knocking back a pill. Probably in a ploy to tempt me into asking for one. “We haven’t seen him since last night.”
A loud laugh falls from Curtis’ lips. “He sure knows how to have a good time. We tag teamed a groupie at the party last night. He wasn’t afraid to come near this.” My face scrunches in disgust as he grabs his crotch.
