Page 34 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

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Two days later, I drove myself to the concert in my own car, by myself. The knots in my gut disqualified me from trying to engage in any social patter with anyone else.

My clammy hands gripped the steering wheel as I pulled into the preferred parking area behind the stage—right next to a few Escalades and a stretch limo—had to be Ashley’s.

When I slammed my car door, I sniffed the air detecting smoke. The scent of weed that usually hung over this outdoor concert venue had yet to make its arrival, but tobacco had gotten an early start.

Ashley stepped out from behind one of the trailers, flicking her cigarette to the ground and tamping it with the toe of her stiletto. As she glanced up, she flashed a grin.

“Hey, Noelle. Conor really saved the day with his act, didn’t he?”

“He did, but honestly, Ashley, nobody with an ounce of sense would believe from those In-N-Out pictures that Conor was cheating on you...with me, of all people.”

“Ludicrous, I know.” She rubbed her finger across her front teeth as if that could remove tobacco stains. “But like I told you on the phone, Noelle, I’m not going to be anyone’s punching bag—not even a pretend punching bag.”

“Conor and I will definitely keep our distance, so it won’t happen again. I want the stunt to benefit your image, not harm it.”

“Yeah, because even when Nico was cheating on me, I got the blame when I dumped him. People scolded me online for not standing by my man when he went to rehab.” She sniffed, and I almost felt sorry for her. “And he didn’t even need rehab. He did that to get the pity vote. Prick.”

Placing my hand over my heart, I said, “My friends and I all thought he was a prick.”

“Thanks.” She tossed back her blond mane. “Now let’s go kick some ass tonight.”

Shanice burst from the trailer behind us and gave me a quick wave. “Ashley, take those heels off, kick your feet up after the sound check, and stop chain smoking if you hope to have a voice tonight.”

Ashley jerked her thumb at Shanice. “Can you believe this bish? She’s supposed to be my stylist but acts more like my mother.”

“Well, fuck you, too, and get back in here so you can swap those heels for something soft. I don’t even care if it’s a pair of those hideous bunny slippers. And pick up that cigarette butt. I know it’s yours.”

“Oh, alright. Don’t let them start the sound check without me, Noelle.”

“I don’t think they’re even ready.” A guitar riff made me eat my words. “I’ll tell them to hold off.”

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I hurried to the stage. At least Ashley seemed to be in good spirits. Shanice wasn’t kidding—she was the diva whisperer.

I jogged up the steps and stopped Jermaine, the stage manager. “Can the band wait for Ashley?”

He scowled. “They’re just...”

I put my hands together as if in prayer, and Jermaine stopped.

“I got you.”

He crossed in front of the band, shouting out directions to delay them, and I blew out a breath. Problem number two solved already in a night that promised about 568 more.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I swung around, ready for problem number three.

Conor crossed his hands over his chest. “I didn’t do it.”

“Do what?” My gaze flicked over his fit—especially the white tank beneath his open denim shirt. I managed not to drool.

“I’m just taking the piss, Noelle. You looked so fierce when you turned around.”

“Big night. I’m a little on edge.”

“It’ll be fine.” He lowered his voice. “Did I do something wrong at that press conference after rehearsal the other day?”

“No.” I gripped the strap of my bag with two hands.