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All my focus was on figuring out who was trying to get to Iain.
I worked on my laptop while the guys had their makeup and hair done. Regan and I messaged back and forth with the PI back in Nashville. Regan’s contact in the Nashville PD had agreed to look at the phone messages and unofficially start a file. That was the best they could do. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Regan was busy tracking down the flower delivery while I made a list of anyone who had met with Iain back in Nashville during the past six months. I went through security log sheetsand sent requests for as much video footage as I could—from the rehearsal studio to Bandit’s head office to the clubs the guys frequented. The studio or office wasn’t a problem, but the clubs, well, it was unlikely they would cooperate without police warrants.
Bibi returned to the dressing room and offered everyone more drinks and snacks. I took a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels and munched on them while watching Iain getting his hair done. The stylist, a twenty-something guy named Payton, was gushing over Iain’s hair. Just remembering how those soft strands felt in my hands had my body heating and my cock twitching. I honestly could not blame Payton in the least.
Until Payton’s flirting with Iain kept going, and my jealousy began to mount. I kept shoving in pretzels, determined to keep my possessive streak under wraps. I’d probably break a tooth from all the grinding going on, never mind the crunchy snacks.
“So, Holls, who gave you the beard burn?” Brodie asked.
I choked on a pretzel and began to cough violently.
“You all right there, Daws?” Ronin asked with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Reaching for my water, I took a long sip and managed to clear my throat. “Fine. Good.”
“No comment,” Iain replied.
“Come on, it’s not like you to kiss andnottell.” Faise chuckled.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Iain returned. “You and Ronin finally admit that you’ve been in love with each other since high school, and I’ll tell you about the beard burn.”
“Ooh,” Brodie clapped his hands together. “This is getting good.”
“Fuck off,” Faise grumbled.
Ronin’s face was bright red. “As if.”
I felt Lennie’s stare on me, but I kept typing away. Best to ignore the shitstorm that would soon pass.
“It was me,” Payton announced.
I whipped my head up so fast that my neck cracked.
“But you don’t have a beard,” Ronin countered.
“Baby, these lips are aggressive.”
“Really?” Ronin gave Payton the once over. “What are you doing after the show?”
“You, if you’re lucky.” The stylist winked at the mirror, and Ronin fanned himself. “Or maybe you back there, the handsome Viking with the red hair?”
I felt my face heat, and I realized I was staring—at Iain, not Payton—and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m on the clock.”
“I’ve never let that stop me,” Payton quipped as he sprayed Iain’s hair. “Some of the best sex of my life has happened on the job. Or, in the chair to be specific.”
“Storytime, Payton, tell us more,” Ronin encouraged.
“You couldn’t handle it, baby.”
“Please, we’re rockstars. We’ve seen and done it all. And that’s not just a saying,” Brodie bragged. “Like there was this one time, in Spain, at this house party, a group of?—"
Van groaned and got up. “And I’m going upstairs now.”
“Honey, come on, no one compares to you,” Brodie purred.
“I love you too, but unless you want me to go caveman and haul you out of here over my shoulder, it’s best I don’t hear any of your stories.”
