Page 86 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

He puts his feet on the stage and then gets up in one fluid movement. “If you’re going to try and hide behind dyed hair, you’re going to need a whole new look, right?”

“Fine.” He has a point.

“Sound check,” he says and the other guys move to their positions to start the process while the stylist, his entourage, and I follow Jasper to another part of the arena.

Rook heads off to hold a meeting with the rest of security about the conversation I had with the guys earlier.

The room we end up in becomes a hive of activity while the stylist barks orders and his entourage set up the space with a portable massage table and a place to do my hair.

I have the sudden need to sit down. Or to get out of here.

Riot did all this for me. Do I want that to mean something? Or is this emptiness I’m feeling because I know I would have forgiven him two years ago if he had fought for us?

He didn’t though. And I’ve lost too much. Hurt too hard. I can’t forgive him now. I can’t even forgive myself.

“Come. Sit.” The stylist pats the back of the chair in front of him. I do as I’m told and he lifts the almost white tresses at the sides and piles them on top of my head before letting them slink down on their own. He purses his lips. “Oh, non non, mon amie. C’est très tragique. Did you do this yourself?”

“It isn’t obvious?” I grin awkwardly at him.

He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Oh, it is. You should not look this pleased with yourself. C’est merde. Your poor hair. It’s ruined.”

“That bad, huh?” I make a face at Jasper who very patiently has taken up sentry in a seat near the door to the room after collecting everyone’s cell phone.

It’s strange hiding out on a tour with the hottest band on the planet. On the one hand there’s almost no chance I’m not going to be noticed. On the other their security team is equipped to handle situations like stalking, bugged hotel rooms, bomb threats, and personal attacks.

“It’s pretty bad.” Jasper gives me an apologetic look.

The stylist laughs. “Don’t worry, mon amie. We can fix this. Shall we consider colors that will better suit you?”

“Practically anything,” I quip.

“A rich dark chocolate,” he suggests my natural color. “Or... a plum.”

“I want something less my normal.” I might not need to hide inside a disguise since I have a whole security team ready to make sure Marco can’t get his hands on me. But a change would still be good, and perhaps those fans who would notice me as Riot’s ex might not be so quick to recognize me.

“Cherry.” His keen gaze lights up. “Maraschino cherry. Such a bright beautiful color with dirty roots.”

Golden enters the room. He comes over to where we are and pulls a second chair up next to mine. “Dirty Cherry. That sounds like you.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I look at both men, lightness bubbling up in my chest that I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Très magnifique,” the stylist gestures a chef’s kiss. “Let me prepare.”

He leaves me and Golden to whip up the product he’ll need.

“You’re always smoking hot, Special K, but as a redhead? Are you trying to get me into trouble? I love a foxy redhead.”

“You also love a blonde. And a brunette.” I shove at his chest playfully. “And every color in between.”

He grins at me. Catches my hand and holds it to his chest. “I’d give them all up for you.”

“You would not.” I roll my gaze at him. “I love you, but you’re a total man whore.”

“Pity,” he says.

“Go sweettalk yourself into a facial while I get my hair done,” I tell him. “That’s why you’re in here.”

He stands and kisses my temple. “You would be the one woman that would be worth giving up every other woman on the planet.”