The hem of her dress swishes around her slim thighs when she twists on the spot. “Thanks, I think so too.”
When I pivot on my heels to retrace my steps, I spot Melanie halfway down the hall. Her eyes are wide and panicked as she flicks them up and down the packed space. Relief skates across her tear-shaped face when I increase my five-foot-eight height half an inch by balancing on the balls of my feet to wave her down. She darts between dozens of knee-clanging girls so eager to meet Rise Up, they appear seconds from peeing their pants.
“Jesus, I thought I lost you.” Her voice is unlike anything I’ve heard before—panicked, yet hopeful. But she’s not the least bit worried. “I was panicked a roadie was having his way with you in the broom closet, and I was missing out on the action.” She bumps me with her hip, her smile playful. “Don’t worry, Voyeur Theresa is here to save the day! Where’s the hot hunk of man-meat you couldn’t keep your mitts off until I arrived?”
It takes Jenni laughing at her theatrics for Melanie to realize we have company. Ignorance is nothing new for Melanie. If there’s a hot guy within a five-mile radius, she won’t pay you any attention.
“Holy shit.” Melanie grabs my arm to squeeze it, her lips circling more the longer she stares at Jenni. “You’re Nick Holt’s wife!”
Jenni’s nose screws up. “His fiancée—”
“Same fucking thing.”
“Melanie, language!” I scold, horrified by her bluntness.
Melanie rolls her eyes like it’s no big deal. To someone who has no filter, it may not be, but not all of us are rainbow, bubblegum, hot fudge, sprinkled sundaes with cherries on the top. Some people are just straight up vanilla ice cream that’s been in the freezer so long that it’s starting to turn yellow. With how many ogling eyes Slater had on him earlier, I bet he’s offered more than one flavor of ice cream tonight—and I doubt any of them will be plain old vanilla like me.
Hating the bitterness scorching my throat, I return my focus to the present. “Jenni, this is my potty-mouthed friend Melanie.” I wave my hand to Melanie, who appears pleased by her nickname. “Melanie, this is Jenni.”
Instead of peppering my introduction with a handshake or a quick, none-stalkerish hug, Melanie asks, “How the fuck do you two know each other?”
She stops thrusting her perfectly manicured finger between Jenni and me when I say, “We’ve met previously…only once.” I force out my last two words in a hurry when the suspicion on Melanie’s face switches to anger. “We stayed at a cabin together two years ago when Rise Up got together for one last hurrah before their debut album dropped.”
A brick lodges in my throat when Melanie’s bouncing eyes lock on mine. They’re bristling with unbridled anger. “Let me get this straight…” She pauses to take in a brain-sucking breath. “…The entire time I’ve known you, you failed to mention you’ve met Rise Up previously?”
Despite being mere seconds from death, I nod.
“Allof them?”
“Only once,” I retort, attempting to pacify her anger.
Melanie has a slight obsession with Marcus, the bassist of Rise Up. By slight, I mean a full-on,he most likely has a restraining order against herobsession. She swears he’s her future baby’s daddy; it’s just no one has informed Marcus of that yet.
“Excluding Slater. You guys—” I cut Jenni off with aplease shut upglare. It might have worked if she had met me more than once many moons ago. “You were his girlfriend for almost six months, weren’t you?”
After extracting the truth from Jenni’s frank eyes, Melanie’s bugged out ones drift to me. “You lying little witch!” Her high-pitched squeal booms down the hall. “You said it was a couple of dates!”
When her shriek gains us attention I don’t want, I plead for her to be quiet. I’ll even get down on my hands and knees if I have to, that’s how desperate I am for us to have this conversation anywhere but outside the room Rise Up is holding their fan meet and greet.
Before a single pathetic beg can escape my lips, Melanie’s attention is diverted from glaring at me to gazing at Nick. He strolls into the corridor, smirking at his screaming fans. They might be awarded his smile, but they’ll never gain his focus. He has eyes for only one person in the room. That person is his fiancée.
Once Nick kisses Jenni on the forehead and nods a greeting to me, I introduce him to the bursting-at-the-seams Melanie.
“I tried to get in your line, but…” Melanie’s starstruck gaze turns to the long line of mostly girls that goes down the hall and around the corner. “…I like you and all, but that shit is crazy.”
When she hooks her thumb to Nick’s adoring fans making gaga faces at him, Nick chuckles. Melanie was able to jump the queue since I caught Slater’s drumstick at the end of the concert. I really shouldn’t say caught. It more hit me in the head before landing in my lap. I still have a headache from where it struck me on my left temple.
Anyone who catches Slater’s sticks or Nick or Marcus’s guitar straps gets to skip the line for the fan meet and greet. Since I was reasonably sure Slater would deny my request for a signature if I arrived at his table, I was hoping Melanie would agree to go back to our hotel with an unsigned stick.
Silly me. Even considering that for a second was foolish. Melanie wanted to go backstage even more than she wished she hadn’t given Devon Cooper her virginity. And when Melanie wants to do something, we do it—hence our unplanned trip to Seattle.
I try not to eavesdrop on Jenni and Nick’s conversation when he brushes his lips against the shell of her ear, but I can’t help it. There are over three dozen people gawking at Nick, yet it’s as if there’s no one else in the room when he stares at his fiancée. That could have been me if I didn’t foolishly throw everything away.
I drag my thumb under my eyes to ensure they’re dry as Jenni says, “Everyone is getting ready to head to the after party. You two should come.”
Her offer barely leaves her lips when Melanie shouts, “Yes!” at the top of her lungs.
My reply is a lot more reserved. “Thank you the offer, but it’s very late, so we better call it a night.”
