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“The gig will pay. We’ll give you twenty-five percent of our earnings that day. My advice would be to start letting everyone know where you’ll be now. There are no tickets necessary and no charges. Unless they want to buy food, and that’s where your money comes in. Most bands that come through have merchandise they sell: t-shirts, mugs, and EPs. But that’s up to you, boys. If you have any other questions before the festival, River can fill you in.” Shaking their hands one last time, Booker smirks when he walks by me. “They’re better than the last one. All of them, though?”
“Jesus fuck,” I mutter, meeting his stare. “What the hell did you guys discuss in the two friggin minutes I was gone?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Enough,” he mutters with a fake shiver of disgust. “Now, you’ll be in charge of their appearance on our stage. I’ll handle the food and the booze. Come October tenth, they’re your complete responsibility. It’ll give you a little taste of what band management is like.” He smirks, patting me on the shoulder before walking away toward his office with his hands in his pocket. He greets a few patrons here and there, shaking their hands, and finally disappears.
“So,” Asher begins, tapping the bar. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to plan before that show.”
For the rest of the evening, and every night after for the next three weeks—they come to the bar and plan out their set lists, hyping the future performance. Throughout the nights, they drink, eat, plan, and—my favorite—send Van the stink eye.
If I thought Van had gotten the message before, I shouldn’t have. Every night he sits in the same booth with a different friend, drinking while keeping an eye on me. And every night, the boys escort me out, drive me home, and Callum or Rad—or both—stay with me. Somehow, they feel the anxiety crawling under my skin and soothe me by never leaving my side. I’m still a strong, independent woman, and I happen to have four very protective bodyguards. The more I get used to their barbaric ways, the more my walls come down.
“Holyshit!Ican’tbelieve three-hundred and sixty-thousand people like us enough to follow us,” Rad gapes, marveling at his phone from my right.
Swiping up, he clicks through all the stitched and duetted videos of their performances. A pang of jealousy hits me square in the chest as these beautiful women grace the screen with their reactions, going on and on about how charming the guys are and what they want to do with them.
I cringe. God, they’re gorgeous girls. What will happen when Whispered Words are famous? And I’m me? Shit. I can’t think like that. They’re mine for now—in the present. But who knows what the future holds?
“FlashGram, too,” I say, tapping the screen a few times until it pops up. “It’s almost the same amount. You guys need more pics,” I murmur, scrolling through the hot action takes I took over the weekend at Dead End. Nothing beats standing on the bar and snapping pictures as they perform. It gives me the best height advantage and the best snapshots.
“Jesus,” Callum murmurs from my left, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tucking my head under his chin. Shivers roll through me from the proximity of our bodies. Day after day, Callum gets more and more comfortable in my presence, always finding ways to hold my hand or touch my body. One day, I’ll corrupt this boy into doing the one thing I know he wants. “I can’t believe it,” he says in awe, with his eyes glued to the screen.
“Well, believe it,” Asher says with a cocky grin, startling us from our huddle. “Whispered Words is taking over the damn world one stage at a time.” Asher tips his head back, admiring the back of the main stage we’re nestled behind, concealing us from the growing crowd beyond. The largest grin I’ve ever seen slithers across his lips. And this time, it’s not so damn scary.
Joy lights up his face, chasing away the massive amounts of shadows plaguing him. I don’t know what Asher’s home life is like, but every time he holds his guitar and strums the strings, he’s a different man—a lighter man. Music seems to have the same calming effect on Asher as it does me, and it draws me in.
“And it’s all because of you, River Blue,” Kieran says, stalking toward me with predatory intent. Warm hands grip my cheeks, tearing me from Rad and Callum’s grip as his lips graze mine, entirely devouring me in a matter of minutes.
Jesus. I’m panting by the time he lets me come up for air. Oh, and soaked, too. I swear my shorts are sticking to my damn vagina. But maybe that was his plan. By the look crossing his smug as fuck face, I’d say he did what he set out to do—claim me and make me horny.
“I didn’t do much,” I breathlessly say, panting to regain my breaths against his lips, melting into his grip.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Little Brat. You’re the reason we have videos on ClockTok. The only reason we were able to record our EP last week. Our downloads on The Dot are through the damn roof. And now, here we are,” he says, spreading his arms out, aiming his chest toward the large stage looming before us.
“Let’s start unloading,” Kieran says, nodding his head toward the Tahoe parked a few feet away and dropping his hold on me.
I wrinkle my nose, ten seconds away from asking him to unload in me instead. With a few choice words inside my head, and a lengthy lecture from myself, I think better of it. They have so much to do before their performance in two hours. And Asher would throw a fit. I’m going to Rad and Callum’s after the show, anyway. Speaking of…
River: Ma. You doing good?
Mother: Just peachy, kiddo. Korrine brought me a nice dinner. I’m feeling a lot better.
River: Glad to hear! I probably won’t be home tonight. The bar is closed, but I have lots of work to do at the Celebration.
Mother: I figured. You’ve been a busy girl lately. Keep up the good work. Don’t worry about me.
I snort. Right. Don’t worry about her. That’s all I do. If it wasn’t for the nurse and Korrine sharing the responsibility of caring for her, I’d be drowning in it all.
Looking back, I take in the boys who have clawed their way into my heart as they huddle around the Tahoe and slowly unload their gear.
Thankfully, the street festival workers let us drive it back here and back it up to the stage. Or we’d have had to walk a mile through the enormous crowds and back for more. Asher and Kieran pop the doors on the Tahoe and begin unloading it.
A blush takes over my cheeks, and I look away, focusing on the flapping curtain dangling backstage. In two hours, Whispered Words will put on the show of a lifetime for a roaring crowd of eager fans who came from across the country to see them. Since their ClockTok fame, their fan base has grown exponentially.
My heart skips a beat, anticipation shooting through me. Every time I see them perform, it never ceases to amaze me. Their music. Them. It all clicks in my soul like this entire thing we’re doing is meant to be, and fate brought us together like this.
Over the past three weeks, their social media presence has blown through the damn roof. Like an elevator exploding through the ceiling and flying into space, type of boom. The boys have recorded their EP at the school, uploaded their music to The Dot, and successfully invested in merch. All in a short period. It’s like all they needed was for me to light a fire under their ass and get them going with these goals. My chest puffs with pride watching my little worker bees make their dreams come true. I’d say I’m a proud mama, but that would be awkward. I’m the proud woman, standing on the sidelines, watching as their empire grows with every song they sing.
“Jesus, it’s hotter than Satan’s asshole out here,” Rad gripes, tugging at the collar of his new shirt. I’m sure he can’t wait to tear it off. “I’m sweating like a whore in church,” he whines more, puffing out his bottom lip like a damn child.
