AllFreeNovel
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Should’ve canceled on Abdul the second Payton agreed to share her number.
But I’ve already been absent enough because of this little siren. I’m delegating more. Which has people talking. Of course the assumption everyone is making isit’s a woman. And in this case, they’re right. Only, instead of spending my nights in her bed, I spend them across the street from her, waiting for glimpses, like a goddamn creep.
It’s fully dark and the temperature has plummeted by the time I finally make it up to security.
“Belt, sir.” The deep voice of a bouncer stops me before I walk through the metal detectors, and I’m glad I decided to disarm in the car.
Gritting my teeth as I take my belt off and pull my phone and wallet out of my pocket, setting it all in a little tray.
My patience is wearing extremely thin and being corralled through here like fucking cattle is getting real old, real quick.
“You’re good,” the bouncer nods at me to collect my items.
I pick up the belt. Then quickly realize it’s not my belt. It’s black, non-leather and covered in square silver studs. Setting it down I grab my belt, also black but real leather, and no tacky studs. While I slide it through my pants’ loops, I take notice of the crowd around me. Lots of black. Lots of leather. Lots of long hair. On everyone.
What the hell sort of concert is this?
I shuffle ahead, my suit and loafers standing out in this sea of… what even is this?
“Phone?” a woman asks me. She’s about Payton’s age, hair cut short, and wearing a red polo signaling that she works here. When I don’t answer quick enough, she holds up a handheld scanner. “You got your ticket?”
Fuck. Me.
My jaw tics. “I don’t.”
She lifts a brow, then gives me a once over, as if to sayyou lost?Her weight shifts, one hip jutting out. “You here for the show? Or for that new owner’s thing?”
“The show,” I answer before I can think better of it. I don’t know who the owner is, but I should’ve winged it.
“Alright.” Her tone says she doesn’t believe me, but she points off to the side. “Head over there and get yourself a ticket, then come back to me and I won’t make you go through the line again.”
“Thanks.” My voice is gruffer than she deserves, but I’m one delay away from losing my shit.
The line to buy tickets is thankfully short and I’m sliding my credit card through the opening below the glass before the guy can even greet me. “One ticket.”
He picks up my card. “Regular or balcony?”
I wasn’t expecting options. “What’s the difference?”
“General will get you anywhere on the main floor. Balcony gets you access to the upper levels too.”
“Balcony,” I tell him. I don’t know where Payton’s going to be, and I’m not taking any chances.
Since it’s apparently 1994, the guy hands me a paper ticket and I turn around to stride back to the woman at the entrance.
“Nice.” She makes an impressed face when she reads the ticket. “Give me your left hand.”
“Why?”
The woman rolls her eyes at me. In public. At me.
What is happening to my life?
She picks up a neon green wristband. “So people know you can go upstairs.”
“Can’t they just look at my ticket?”
It’s a reasonable question, but the woman just blinks at me.
