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Kissing him was the best way to change the subject. No, she wasn’t okay. But she would be. He could help with that. The way he saw her, the way he made her feel—like she wasn’t something damaged and broken. It was a bittersweet fantasy that couldn’t last. But, for now, she was going to enjoy every minute of it.
His hands were tangling in her hair as he spun her, pressing her against the wall. “Good try,” he murmured against her lips. He cradled her face between his hands. “You can talk to me.”
She wanted to. Oh so much. But she wasn’t ready for this to end. “Go, get the keys. I’ll fix my hair…or something.” She headed for the bathroom, the fluorescent lights shockingly white after the near-gloomy hallway.
To the left was a powder room, likely one of the original dressing rooms for larger performance groups. To the right, the bathroom. She turned left and sat in one of the old, velvet-covered armchairs, her reflection staring back at her from one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
“I saw you come in here.” Becca Sinclair stood in the door. “I just had to meet you. I mean, you have no idea what your music has meant to me. Your songs.”
“Thank you.” Krystal smiled. “Have a seat. It’s a lot quieter in here. And cooler.”
Becca hesitated, one arm wrapped around her waist. She was super skinny. All long limbs and big eyes. “Sure.” She sat, her knobby knees peeking out from her frayed and studded white denim skirt.
“I like your skirt.” Krystal studied the girl, fully aware that Becca was studying her right back. “And your boots.”
“Jace seems really nice.” She shook her head. “And you two? That’s so cool.”
“You met him?” she asked.
“He and Tig were talking.” She shrugged. “You know how Tig is. Never met a stranger.” Her gaze wandered, bouncing off the sconces mounted near the mirrors, the pictures and prints hanging on the wall, and the rings and bangles hanging off her own arms.
“He’s always loved the sound of his own voice.”
Becca stared at her, then burst into laughter. “Good one.”
It would be too much to hope Becca would just come right out and say Tig was a good guy and had never done anything inappropriate to her. To anyone. Sixteen, twenty-one, to sixty and beyond. It didn’t matter. But knowing he wasn’t like that now, that her fear hadn’t given him permission to move on to some other love-starved girl, mattered a whole hell of a lot.
“How long has Tig been handling you?” she asked.
Becca was wide-eyed. “Handling?”
“Representing?” She clarified.
“Oh.” Her laugh was forced this time. “A couple of years. I was, gosh, seventeen? About?” She nodded. “He knows how to get things done.” She was doing that avoidance thing, looking anywhere but Krystal.
And it made Krystal want to cry. “You know there are managers you could consider? If you’re interested?”
Becca was playing with her bangle bracelets. “Why? He takes care of me.” Her dark eyes met hers then. “After everything he’s done for me, that wouldn’t be right.” She stood. “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m a real big fan of yours. Real big.”
Krystal smiled, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair. “I know this job can be hard sometimes, so if you ever want to talk, I’d be happy to listen.”
“You mean that?” She took a deep breath. “Really?”
“Really.” She nodded. “Us girls need to stick together. Here.” She handed Becca her phone. “Plug in your number.”
Becca did.
Krystal called her. “Now you have my number.” She smiled. “Call me, for whatever. Whenever.”
“Okay.” Becca had a really sweet smile. “Okay, I will. Thanks.” With an awkward little wave, she left.
Krystal sat forward, elbows on her knees, and covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to read into every little thing Becca had said or done. It was pointless and likely to drive her crazy. There wasn’t much more she could do or say.
Wrong. She stared at herself again.
“You should have said it.” She hugged herself. “Told her.”
And if she was wrong? A
