Kylie
Iangrily wipe mascara tear stains off my face in the women’s bathroom located backstage. This is the last time I’ll ever listen to advice from Melanie. I called her last night after my one-sided conversation with Sonny and Mark. She convinced me Slater must still have feelings for me since he warned others to stay away from me. I stupidly let her words get my hopes up, which in turn, resulted in me giving myself a mini confidence boost.
My mousy brown hair, freckled nose, and cropped boots don’t fit in with the music industry, so I took a portion of my first paycheck to the salon on the ground floor of my hotel and asked them to give me a “rock star” look.
When the stylist spun me around to face the mirror, my jaw fell open. Right then and there, I felt rejuvenated, and perhaps even a little bit sexy. I skipped back to my room with a new-found spring in my step, my smile unstoppable as I dressed in clothing Melanie had left behind in case I needed it. Once I finished getting ready, I peered at myself in the mirror. For the first time in years, I felt sexy.
When I arrived at the stadium, the first person I saw was Emily. Her eyes popped opened as her squeal shredded the eardrums of anyone within a five-mile radius. “Kylie, you look hot!” My confidence soared even more when her hand slid down my recently straightened locks. “You’ve always been beautiful, but now you look like your naughty twin.”
Now I just feel like the stupid rejected twin. I never expected Slater to wait around for me, and I’m not stupid; I know he’s takingfulladvantage of his rock star lifestyle, but it hurt like a million bee stings having him tell me that so harshly. The only good thing that came out of our exchange is that I’m now certain he isn’t harboring any old feelings for me. He’s moved on, and now it’s time for me to do the same.
After taking a few more minutes to gather my composure, I walk back to the wings of the stage. I only have four more hours to survive, then my working day will be over. As I stand behind Emily and Jenni, I can’t help but feel envious. They’re bouncing their adorable children on their hips while watching the men they love perform. Once again, that could have been me if I weren’t dealt the shittiest hand you could possibly imagine.
Since I am unable to see Slater from my position, I take a giant step to my right. Now that I’m standing next to the thick red curtains, I swear I can hear someone whispering my name. Unsure if I’m hearing things, I tilt toward the ruffled fabric. When a loud “Boo!” roars out of the curtain, I jump in the air like a cat thrown into bathwater.
“Sorry,” I apologize when Jenni and Emily spin around to face me. My squeal scared them as much as my mischievous greeter made me poop my pants. Once their attention diverts back to the stage, I hunt down the person responsible for my skyrocketing heart rate.
It takes me ruffling through the deep curtain for several minutes before I spot the amused face of Sonny. “You scared the living shit out of me.”
His smile grows when I slap his chest. “Sorry. You looked bored. Figured I could offer up some entertainment.”
I assume he means my near coronary, but I’m proven wrong when he guides me to the very back of the stage. A handful of roadies are using old amps as chairs and a lopsided card table holds their drinks and a stack of cards.
After a frisky wink that reveals he is as devilish as he is handsome, Sonny guides me closer to the group. Most of the men appear to be around my age—somewhere between their early to mid-twenties. Their black polo shirts have “Rise Up Roadies” written in blue on a pocket, and they’re all wearing blue jeans.
“You met Mark last night.” Sonny points to Mark sitting at our left. “This is Pierre, David, and Jeffrey.” He points to each member of the crew.
I remove my hand from Sonny’s sweaty grip to accept the handshakes each offers.
“They’re twins,” Mark informs me when he notices my curious gaze drifting between David and Jeffrey.
They must be identical twins because they have the same green eyes, dimpled chins, near invisible bottom lip, and blond hair. Except Jeffery’s hair sits at his shoulders, and David’s is clipped close to his scalp. Pierre has brown eyes and gorgeous olive skin. With his jet black hair and alluring features, I’m assuming he has Italian heritage. My suspicions are confirmed when Mark refers to him as the Italian Stallion once their game starts up again.
My curiosity piques when they lick a card before sticking it to their forehead. “What game are they playing?”
Sonny smiles a blinding grin. “It’s a drinking game. You have to guess what your card is. Each wrong guess means you have to take a shot.”
Laughter echoes around the room when Mark roars, “You bastards better not be cheating!” before swallowing a generous nip of brown liquor.
“Do you want to play?” Excitement dangles on Sonny’s vocal cords.
I shake my head. I used to hold my own when Slater and I played drinking games, but I haven’t drunk hard liquor in over a year, so I’m reasonably sure it will only take a few sips to get me drunk.
“I’m still working.” I swing my gaze back to the wings where I see Emily and Jenni’s legs peeking out beneath the curtain.
“So are we—”
David throws a pile of cards at Mark’s head, shutting him up. It hits him under his right eye so hard, he’ll most likely wake up with a black eye tomorrow morning.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
The slur of Mark’s words has me wondering if the other guys are cheating. The band only went on a few minutes ago, yet he’s already well intoxicated.
I cross my heart. “It’ll remain our little secret.”
Mark grins before twisting his lips with his fingers. After waving goodbye, I stroll to the curtain. Just as I’m about to enter the wings, Sonny calls my name. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
His bold wink makes me doubt he’s still referring to the card game. Although I’m not looking for anything permanent, Slater’s rejection is still fresh in my mind, so I nod at the innuendo in Sonny’s tone before reentering the wings, unsure which performance will be my most damning tonight.
