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CHAPTERFIVE
I’m flying high off the performance when we finally exit the stage after the encore. I can still taste Drew’s tongue in my mouth as I stride back to my own puny dressing room down the hall from his own.
All I want to do is go to the hotel and let him have his way with me, but we have VIP fans who paid extra to spend some time with us backstage, and as much as I want tojustbe with Drew, our fans deserve our attention, too.
It’s only been two weeks.
That’s what I keep repeating over and over again in my head as I walk with the rest of the band to the backstage room where we are meeting our VIP guests.
Fourteen days. That’s all.
The band took a break from our third album’s tour to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s. After that, we had a couple of shows, then took a couple more weeks off at the end of January. It really hasn’t been that long, but somehow, having Drew apart from me felt like waiting for a new day to come, only for the shitty day I had to reset all over again.
Drew almost always went back home to his hometown of Fredericksburg, Virginia to spend the holidays with his folks and sisters and their hoard of rescue pets.
His birthday was a few weeks ago, and I can’t wait to give him his belated birthday present later. I would have had it ready a couple weeks ago, but shipping had taken forever, and then I felt like a dick when I saw him and didn’t have a gift at the ready. Not that Drew cared—but I did.
During the break in tour, I stayed put in New York City, holed up in my loft. I can afford a bigger place, a nicer place, but I like where I live. It’s where I moved to after the release of our first album,Over Under Back and Forth,and the space is home to me now, despite the leaking kitchen faucet and the weird noises that occasionally come from the loft above mine. Unfortunately, the paparazzi finally figured out where I lived late last year, and I spent the majority of my holiday break and the last few days of January packing my belongings, searching for a new place to call home, and thinking about how I would have much rather been with Drew.
I FaceTimed him briefly on his birthday, but we kept it short and sweet. We didn’t text often for fear of someone finding us out, though admittedly, that’s more of my fear than Drew’s. During the last couple of weeks, Drew had agreed to be a guest drummer for a few up-and-coming bands and had been out of state, anyway. I wish I could have gone with him, or had a family of my own to visit, but my parents are drunks and don’t give a fuck about me. They never have. It was better to stay in the city and focus on packing.
Drew walks in front of me next to Brian. He arches his strong arms above his head and stretches out his defined muscles, both of his drumsticks still clenched in his hands. I know that he will eventually sign both sticks off to two lucky fans tonight, because he always does. I swallow hard at the memory of his arms in that same position just minutes ago, in that tiny dressing room, underneath the weight of my body. I can already feel my blood draining south. I shake my head and force my thoughts elsewhere.
We always keep the VIP meet and greets low-key. There are only a certain number of tickets available, and once they’re sold out, that’s it. Too many people cause too much stress. Our band has always found pride in being close with our fan base, and if you go over twenty or so people for a meet and greet, things tend to get stressful and chaotic. We don’t do the meet and greet at every show because being social after a long performance can be very taxing. We aim to host them at every other show, but if we’re close to home, or in a city where we haven’t toured before, we occasionally make an exception.
The guard by the door opens it for us, and we walk into a room much larger than the dressing rooms after giving him our thanks. The room is almost as big as my loft, honestly. But it’s quaint and cozy with plush, cherry red couches, snacks, and drinks on a bar table off to one side of the room. Our band’s merch is laid out nicely on a table at the other side if any of our guests want more swag. We make sure every VIP gets a t-shirt, poster, and stickers included in the price of the ticket. It’s the least we can do. They got us to where we are now, after all.
I immediately drop down on the smaller of the two couches and lean my head back, letting a heavy sigh escape from my lungs. I’m only twenty-seven, but after all the jumping around and screaming I do on stage, sometimes I feel much older.
Trish sits on the other couch and eyes me. She’s always trying to flirt with me, and if she was my type, I’d probably flirt back. She’s so skinny, I wouldn’t know what to hold on to, but she’s got an angular face and sleek blue-black hair that looks gorgeous against her light bronze skin. Her eyes are a deep brown, but they’re lost in all the eyeshadow she has on. Like the rest of us, she dresses to impress our scene, even though I know she mostly did classical concerts before signing on with us for this tour. She has ripped, high-rise, black skinny jeans on, scuffed Converse, and a crop-top cut from one of our band’s original t-shirts because she’s so short, and the original tee probably would have looked like an oversized dress on her.
If only Trish knew that Brian was the one who was dying to get a taste. From where he stood near the bar, his bright eyes were alert and drawn in on Trish’s every move. It’s so obvious, it almost hurts. But I’m rooting for him. Brian is talented, handsome, and young. He’s just a little socially awkward, especially in front of the woman he worships.He’s practically been head over heels for Trish since the beginning of the tour last year.
I’m about to scrounge up the strength to get my ass up and make myself a drink when Drew places two shots of what I assume is vodka on the coffee table in front of me. He sits down next to me so casually, it’s no wonder we’ve kept our relationship a secret for so long.
Still, his knee bumps against mine ever so slightly, and my body erupts in goosebumps.
I clear my throat and try to direct my attention away from the filthy images that pop up in my mind. “Vodka?” I raise a brow. “And…no chasers?”
He smirks, takes his shot like it’s water, and pats me on the back, ending his little show with a contentedahhh.The act makes me want to kiss him so badly that I distract myself by throwing back the shot, wincing as it goes down.
“Wimp,” he murmurs.
Trish smiles devilishly. “You two are too cute.”
I roll my eyes as Drew grins. Obviously, Trish doesn’t understand why that comment makes me uncomfortable, but Drew does. He pats my knee and pouts. “Was the vodka too much for the baby?”
Oh, he issogoing to pay later. Trish chuckles and opens a small bag of Fritos.
“No,” I grumble. “Another?”
Drew’s dark brows skyrocket, but instead of questioning me, he simply laughs and walks away. When he comes back, there are two more shots in one hand, and a Sprite in the other.
We clink the glasses together, an unspeakable toast in our eyes, and we down them. The alcohol goes down a little smoother now, but I really need warm lemon water after the show for my raspy throat. Still, the liquid feels warm and inviting.
I almost ask for a third as Sean comes into the room, finally done with his little smoke break. As the door opens, we can hear the fans eager to come in, waiting in line behind the threshold.
Our manager, Mike comes in after Sean and leaves the door cracked. “Y’all ready?” Mike is from some small town in Alabama, and he has the accent to prove it. He’s a soft teddy bear unless he’s super pissed, and he’d probably put his life on the line for each and every one of us. He rubs a hand over his shiny, bald head and takes in a breath, preparing for the last bit of mayhem before we can head back to the hotel.
