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It’s Friday night, which means concert time for my band, Alyric Bliss. Well, concert might be a stretch. Basically, we have a gig at Infinite Bliss, my father’s club, opening for another band. We play five songs total, and my dad is making us sing our own stuff in order to prep us for when we record.
“You look nervous.” Sage¸ the drummer of our band, remarks. With his blue hair, multiple piercings and tattoos, and edgy clothing, Sage looks the part. “I thought you’d be over your stage fright by now.”
“I am over it.” When I peer out at the packed room, my body contradicts my words as a thousand butterflies on crack start to flutter inside my stomach.
“You pointing it out isn’t helping, so stop being a dick,” Nolan, our bassist, tells Sage while twisting the knobs of the bass he’s holding. Nolan is a little less grunge and more boy band-ish: spikey blond hair and blue eyes with these crazy full lips that don’t seem like they should belong to a guy. But he plays a sick guitar solo, so he’s cool in my book.
Sage tosses a drumstick in the air then catches it like a baseball. “I’m not being a dick. I’m just stating the obvious—that she looks nervous for it being our seventh performance.” I scowl at Sage, and he raises his inked hands in front of him. “Sorry, I’ll stop saying it.
”
“Thank you.” I peer back at the floor, and my stomach drops again.
Even though I won’t admit it aloud, Sage is right. It seems like I should be over my stage fright by now, yet before every performance, I feel as jittery as I do when I drink too much coffee.
“And where the hell is Ayden?” Sage says from behind me. “He should have been here by now.”
“He’ll be here,” I assure him. Still feeling a little concerned myself, I decide to text him.
Me: We’re on in like 40. You’re on your way, right?
When he doesn’t reply right away, I start to get all twitchy. With the Soulless Mileas out there constantly tormenting him, it’s hard to remain calm whenever he goes MIA.
After five minutes drag by, I squeeze through the mob of intoxicated people to get to the bathroom and check my appearance. I’m not really a makeup girl, but I reapply the kohl liner around my bright green eyes and dab on some lip gloss. Then I comb my fingers through my long, blonde hair, smooth my hands over my black shirt and plaid skirt, and tighten the laces on my red boots. The last thing I ever want to happen is tripping over my shoelaces.
After I’m done, I push out the door and head back to the stage. As I’m passing the bar, I notice a woman staring at me. She’s very model-esque: long legs, flowing blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a tentative wave.
“Um . . . hey.” I have no clue who she is, but she acts like she knows me.
“You don’t know who am I, do you?” she asks with a mixture of amusement and nervousness.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” She rises from the barstool, scooping up a half-filled wine glass from the counter. “I’m Ava. I used to know your mother and father back when they lived in Wyoming. I was out here visiting and heard your father had a club, so I thought I’d stop by.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell, but my parents rarely talk about the people they knew back in Wyoming.
“That’s cool. You should track my dad down and say hi.” I scan the bar then the hallway that leads to my dad’s office. “He’s around here somewhere, more than likely in his office, but he wanders out here during performances.”
“Lyric!” Sage hollers from the backstage area with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Time to get your ass up here!”
I roll my eyes at him. “Sorry. I guess I have to go. But, seriously, go say hi to my father. I’m sure he’ll want to chat with you about the good ol’ days or whatever.”
She offers me a small smile when I wave, and then I hurry through the crowd. My heavy boots clunk against the steps as I dash up the stairway to the backstage.
“Dude, Sage, my bro, my friend, what are you thinking, screaming across the stage like that?” I ask as I duck behind the curtain. “My dad’s not going to be happy with you acting like a spastic mad man.”
Sage gives me an innocent look. “I tried to text, but you didn’t answer.”
I check my phone and realize the battery is now dead. “Has Ayden texted you yet?”
Sage shakes his head. “And I’ve texted him like fifty times.”
As I grow even more worried, I open my mouth to tell Sage to hand me his phone so I can call Lila and Ethan, but then the door to our right swings open.
Ayden rushes inside with his guitar case in hand. “Sorry, I’m late. My car was being a pain in the ass and wouldn’t start.” His hair is dripping wet, water beads his skin, and his soaked grey shirt clings to his body.
I gawk at him like a pervert.
If you want to see perfection,
Just look right in front of you.
So gorgeous and flawless
With dark, haunted eyes,
Lips that taste so intoxicating,
A body that . . .
Good God, that body.
I want touch it, run my hands all over him.
“Lyric, did you hear what I said?” Ayden interrupts my lustful thoughts.
I rip my eyes off his body. “Nope, not a damn word.”
He inquisitively glances down at his shirt then back at me. “You okay?”
“Yep, I’m great. I was just”—I shrug—“checking your sexy body out.”
Astonishingly, he doesn’t blush as our gazes meld. It’s been a week since we got caught in his bedroom, and we’ve been trying to behave ourselves, but behaving has increased the sexual tense to about an . . . oh, eleven hundred.
Sage clears his throat and shatters the moment into oblivion.
Even though he seems fine with Ayden and me being together, sometimes, when we show a little PDA, he gets annoyed.
“Why didn’t you answer your texts?” Sage asks Ayden as he stuffs his drumsticks into the back pocket of his jeans.
Ayden blinks his attention away from me. “You texted me?” When Sage nods, he pats his pockets. “Shit, I must have left my phone at the therapist’s office.”
“You scared us,” I tell Ayden. “Or at least me. I think Sage was more worried we wouldn’t have a guitarist.”
“Hey, I was kind of worried,” Sage gripes. “I’m not that big of a douche.”
“Fine, we were all worried.” I lower my voice and lean in toward Ayden. “I thought something bad happened.”
“It wasn’t anything like that. Just car trouble, like I said. Everything’s fine, though. The detective following me around helped me jumpstart it.” He shakes his head, showering me with water.
“Gee, thanks for the shower,” I tease, raising my hand to wipe the water off my face. “Is he still keeping an eye on you?”
“Yeah. Lila says it’ll only be for a bit longer since nothing has happened in the last few weeks.” He steps forward and gently brushes his fingers across my cheeks and lips. “I need you not to worry about me so much. I don’t want you to panic every time I’m late.” He places a featherlight kiss on my mouth. “I hate thinking that I stressed you out.”
He tastes minty and smells like rain. I breathe in the scent and taste, softly sighing against his mouth like a lovesick girl.
“I can’t stop worrying about you.” My eyelashes flutter as he tangles his fingers through my hair. “It’s part of the job title as your best friend.”
A soft groan slips from Ayden’s lips as his hands travel down my back.
Sage clears his throat again. “Get a room, would you? Jesus, it’s like one step away from watching porn.”
Ayden shakes his head at Sage. “So, what did I miss?” he asks me as he sets his guitar case on the floor.
“Well, we go on in, like, thirty,” I tell him then shoot Sage a conniving smile. “And Sage has been pissing his pants that you weren’t going to show up.”
Sage glares at me. “Yeah, right. You’re the one freaking out, and not just about Ayden.”
“What else are you freaking out about?” Ayden asks me with concern.
I give a shrug. “I already told you that I still get nervous every time we’re about to perform.”
“What can I do to help?”
“You could talk to me about something else. Take my mind off stuff.”
Nodding, he takes my hand and leads me back to the corner of the room. When he sits down on the floor, he pulls me down with him so we’re sitting across from each other.
“So, I’ve been talking to my therapist about that experimental treatment I told you about a while ago,” he starts, resting against the wall.
“The one Lila doesn’t want you to do?” I crisscross my legs and rest back on my hands.
He nods, fiddling with the leather bracelet I gave him. “But I’m not really sure she has any say in it anymore.”
