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The last note echoes above the crowd, and I don’t waste a single second. I shrug off my guitar and leave it on the stand for the roadies; kick a cable out of the way and set off for the wings.
If Tudor is still next to London, whispering shit in her ear, then I don’t care that he’s some genius songwriter. Don’t care about our collaboration; don’t care that he makes hits rain from the sky. If he’s still sitting with her, I swear to god—
I stride into the shadows and find her beaming at me. Alone. Bouncing down from her flight case and shaking out her stiff limbs, her fiery hair swept over one shoulder. She’s in frayed denim shorts tonight, courtesy of the Spanish heat, with a baggy purple shirt knotted at the side of her ribs.
“That was amazing!”
London flies into my arms, same as always, her curves pressing against the hard planes of my body. And as I bury my face in her hair and suck in a deep breath, as I hold her tighter than I should, I don’t care. Don’t care that I’m crossing a line.
I’m unsettled.
Goddamn Tudor. What did he want from her? Will she give it?
I can’t ask. It’s none of my business.
All I can say is, “Did you like the show, baby girl?”
Don’t trust myself to ask anything else. But when London laughs and nods, her hair tickling my throat, I still want to groan. Did she enjoy it because of him? She must be bored of hearing us play by now, right?
“Tudor was telling me—”
I pull back and take her by the wrist; tow her into the shadows between thick black drapes. We’re only a few feet away from the stage here too, but the sounds are muffled, caught up in the thick fabric hanging down from the rafters, and it’s extra hot and dusty.
My lips graze her earlobe. The scent of her shampoo tickles my nose. “What did Tudor tell you, London?” My hands find her hips and squeeze, and I’m acting insane, but I can’t seem to stop myself. She’s mine.
“He, um.” She wrinkles my black t-shirt in her grip, holding on for dear life. She’s breathless. “He told me about a guy he met earlier. A guy in full mime makeup at the bus stop.”
Okay. Okay, so it was just a regular story.
I still can’t let go of London’s hips. Not now that I’ve finally got my hands on them.
Her skin is soft and heated as my thumbs track over the bare sliver above her shorts, and I feel her shiver all the way down to my bones.
“Are you jealous, Dex?” London’s voice is strangled, and she asks it through a laugh. Like it’s such a crazy thing to imagine—me losing my head over this girl.
But yes, I’m fucking jealous, and I tell her so with a growl. “I know I’ve got no right, baby girl. I can’t help it.” I tug her closer, my eyes drifting shut at the heat of her body against my own, and we’re alone here. In a shadowy pocket of our own private world. “Don’t want anyone else touching you. Don’t want them looking at you sideways. Don’t want any of it.”
Soft lips press against my throat, and my eyes fly open. Did she just—?
“Come on.”
Maybe I dreamed it, because London’s taking my hand. Towing me back out to the crowded wing, with people all around and roadies barking into headsets and not an ounce of privacy.
She doesn’t let go of me though, does she? Not even when eyebrows raise and whispers pass behind hands. Not even when Jefferson does a double take.
“I’m gonna show you something,” London says, and tows me toward the exit.
I prowl after her, glaring daggers at anyone who looks our way twice.
Seven
London
“Look at that girl.” I fight to keep my voice steady as Dex Kincaid crowds against my back. He worked up a sweat tonight, and his body is an inferno against mine. We’re on the edge of the lobby, tucked in a shadowed doorway where no one will see us, and the crowds from tonight’s audience are milling all around.
Against one wall, there’s a pop up stand with Run Along Ruby merch. Stacks of cardboard boxes are covered with long tables, and band t-shirts and signed posters are spread out to show the wares. A slender girl with black shoulder-length hair hurries back and forth behind the table, taking cash and giving back change. She’s harried but efficient.
“The merch girl,” Dex says flatly.
