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Witha smile of thanks,Irelinquish myFenderto my guitar tech, then jog to catch up withBeau, who’s passing his bass to his own tech.Iclap my cousin on the back asIcome up alongside him.
“Ican’t believe we just headlinedMadisonSquareGarden,”Isay as we make our way through the ordered chaos of load-out toward the dressing room.
“It’sfucking incredible.”Hisblue eyes, so similar to mine, are bright with the same excitement that courses through me.Wemay have played in bigger venues, to larger crowds, but there’s something special about finishing our tour here, where so many legendary musicians have performed over the decades.
Caleb, walking in front of us withZac, turns and holds both hands in the air. “Livingthe fucking dream!”
Zacshakes his head but doesn’t hide his smile.He’sa lot cooler about it than any of us.Consideringhe’s also the bass player forFractured, one of the biggest rock bands in the world, it’s not exactly a surprise.Thisisn’t the first time he’s played in one of the world’s most famous arenas.
Butit is ours.Andof all the experiencesI’vehad in the four years sinceBeauandIjoinedCrossfire, this is up there with the best.
Zacthrows open the door to the dressing room and steps through, only to stagger to a halt when a pretty, dark-haired woman throws herself into his arms.Herecovers quickly, gripping her under her thighs to steady her.AndthenIlook away, because he’s pushing her up against the wall andI’mnot interested in watching him make out with his fiancée.ConsideringCassie—a fucking talented songwriter, and the woman who somehow managed to make our workaholic front man finally slow down and smell the fucking roses—has been travelling with us on the tour bus for the last four months, it’s a sight we’ve all become familiar with.
Iroll my eyes atBeau, who smirks.
“Ican’t fucking wait for a shower,”Calebsays.Heruns the back of his arm over his forehead.Thelights in the arena were intense, and we’re all covered in a sheen of sweat.Caleb’sfaux hawk is wilting, and the shadows under his eyes attest to the exhaustion we’re all feeling.
“Ican’t wait to sleep in my own bedroom tonight,”Beausays.
I’min complete agreement.I’mlooking forward to getting back toLAand crashing in the brand-new bedIbarely used before the tour started.Monthsof sleeping in hotel rooms and on the bus have me dreaming of my king-size mattress andEgyptiancotton sheets.
Allthat’s standing between me and the fulfillment of that dream is our last meet and greet.
Anda long, hot shower.
* * *
Anhour and a half later,I’mclean, slightly buzzed, and itching to call it a night.
Oneof the remaining fans is reluctantly unwinding her arms from around my waist after pressing up against me for a photo whenBeauwanders up.Hehands me another bottle of beer. “Imeant to ask you before.Haveyou spoken toShaelately?”
BeforeIhave a chance to respond, the same fan interrupts. “CanIget a photo with both of you together?”Thelook she flashes us is bright and excited.Apparently, the sight of my cousin and me next to each other is too much to resist.
“Sure,”Irespond quickly.It’sa good excuse to put off answeringBeau’squestion.
Thepretty blonde,Ithink her name isJennyorJamieor something beginning withJ, slides between us and hooks her arms around our waists.Ismile into the lens of the phone her friend holds up and wait for the shutter sound.ButIshould have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.Nowthe rest of the group is gathering around to have their photos taken withBeauand me together as well.
Interactingwith a crowd of women determined to rub their bodies against me isn’t exactly a hardship.Iusually have no problem with the attention, but my head’s already back inLA.AndBeau’squestion aboutShaeis nagging at me.
Thelast of the fans, a gorgeous brunette with eye-popping cleavage that she’s dressed to accentuate, looks up at me, then over atBeau.There’sa wicked glint in her eyesI’vecome to recognize. “So, do you two ever, you know,” she lowers her voice to a seductive purr, “share?”
Thenumber of timesBeauandIhave been asked this question, or straight out propositioned, is insane.Imean,Iget it.Beingshared by two men is obviously as common a fantasy for women as having two women at once is for most men.Throwin the rock star aspect and that we’re both well over six feet and hit the gym regularly, and more than a few women are keen to make that fantasy a reality.
Butit’s not going to happen.
“Theonly thingIshare withBeauis an apartment,”Itell her, grinning at her little pout of disappointment.
“Andthe genetically inherited inability to dance,”Beauadds with a smirk.
Thethought of getting naked withBeau, even with a gorgeous woman between us, is beyond unappealing.We’venever shared a woman—sexually anyway—and we’ve been careful to never chase after the same one.Itmight not have been something we ever discussed, but it’s definitely become something of an unspoken rule.Afterall, having spent half our teenage years sharing a bedroom, and now being in a hugely successful band andstillliving together, lusting after the same woman is asking for trouble.
Aswirl of mahogany hair and a glimmer of big brown eyes flicker through my mind, butIshake it off.Thatwas a long time ago, and things have changed.Itdoes bring me back toBeau’squestion, though.Whenwasthe last timeIspoke toShae?Amonth ago or more?
Toofucking long.
Guiltstabs me.
I’vesent her messages here and there, butI’vebeen negligent in calling her.Andconsidering that she’s one of the peopleIcare about most in the world, that’s not good enough.Especiallysince it’s happened more and more often since she broke up with her asshole boyfriend a year ago.
