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There was someone off in the corner of the closed club. Someone in the last seat in the last row. For a second, hope surged.
Tristan. He’d left work to see her rehearse. Maybe he’d even have enough time to come backstage. She could find Sparks and they could—
Jeez, get it together. Fling, remember? You’re at work right now. This is what matters.
Not going for a threesome fuck in the nearest bathroom. Sure, they could try it, if she wanted to risk getting caught and kicked out of the band for not being serious enough. She wasn’t Malachi Shawcross, and she definitely wasn’t Molly McIntire. They’d been courted.
Wanted.
Prized.
She’d had to push her way into Warning Sign and hope like hell they didn’t find an easy reason to push her right back out.
Besides, the person in the back row was too slight to be Tristan. Even from that distance, when she blinked, she could see the person wasn’t very broad-shouldered. Male or female, she wasn’t sure, but they weren’t built like Tris, that was for damn sure.
Who was it? The club was supposed to be closed. Lila would pitch a fit if she found out someone who wasn’t supposed to had sneaked inside.
No supposed outsider was sanctioned. Not Tristan, not anyone.
Closing her eyes, Juliet turned her back to Michaels’ to do her typical shimmy as she rocked out on the bass. The music flowed through her veins, as molten as lava, and she let the rhythm force out everything crowding into her mind.
There was just this moment. Just the music. Just what felt good.
“Goddammit.” A crash of the cymbals had her eyes flying open to land on Mal. He was half standing, half sitting behind his kit, and he was snarling. “I can’t fucking keep time with his bongos pounding in my ears.” He flipped one of his sticks, and West had to duck so it didn’t nail him in the head. “Bongos. Seriously. What the fuck?”
“Bongos are a legit music instrument, just like your kit.” The always unflappable Ryan barely reacted. “If you’d rather, I could—”
“You know what I’d rather? Not to sit here all day rehearsing songs we’ve already done four thousand times. Maybe none of you have better things to do, but I do.” Mal stood up and saluted, before slamming his remaining stick on the drums and climbing down from the kit.
Juliet sighed and pulled her guitar strap over her head. She didn’t understand why Mal went postal so often. Not to mention she’d seen him throw his sticks several times only to come back and collect them later after rehearsal had finished. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he was putting on an act.
Almost as if he wanted to get his ass kicked out of the band. But why?
“Damn, we almost made it through one whole song without a manstrual episode.” Michael shook his head and slung his arm around her shoulders. “With you and Mol and Elle, we just buy you extra chocolate. Not sure what would help with my brother’s issues.”
“A good fuck,” West said. When silence reigned, he shrugged. “Always helps me.”
“Yeah, and your left hand sent you flowers just last week.” Ryan rolled his eyes and pushed aside his much maligned bongos.
“Gotta say the man has a point. Never say no to a good fuck.” Michael grinned at Juliet. “That’s just logical, right?”
She laughed and shifted toward Elle. “What a guy thinks is good and what a chick thinks are two different things.”
Elle nodded. “Preach it, sister. Faking it doesn’t mean we want you to keep going.”
“And going and going and going…”
“Clearly, you two haven’t been with the right men.” Michael gave Juliet a loud smacking kiss, then offered the same treatment to Elle.
“So says every male.” Laughing, Juliet glanced toward the back of the stage, locking her gaze on the man standing off in the shadows.
The one holding a clipboard and staring right at her with killer green eyes. And this time it wasn’t just his irises that were colored that shade. His jealousy practically flattened her from a dozen feet away.
Holy shit.
Chapter Sixteen
Immediately, Juliet leaned away from Michael. She knew he’d just been messing around, and it meant nothing. They were just having fun, just blowing off steam.
