Stories From The 6 Train 1(50)

“You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t like an actual picture of you and Evan.”

Of course I would. If I’m being totally honest, I’d even go so far as to say that I’d be up for a night with him. The problem is that I have no clue how to go about that. It’s just so not me that even the idea of attempting it has my throat locked up with tension.

“Don’t worry, Tatum,” she goes on, as if she’s oblivious to my torment, even though I know damn well she isn’t. “I’ll have your back.”

I smile wryly. “Great. You for a wingman. Just what I need.”

Ana claps, because that comment right there? She knows I’ve already caved.

I cover my face with my hands, my cheeks burning. Totally mad. I have to be. Because the girl who deliberates obsessively over the smallest choices—chocolate or vanilla? I’m telling you it’s a debate of epic proportions—has just made the decision on a whim to seduce Evan Anderson.

Oh god.





46





Evan





I strum the last chord on my guitar, the noise reverberating through the sold out arena as I wail the last angsty, screaming lyrics into the microphone.

“Thank you and goodnight!” I thrust my fist into the air as the crowd goes insane, the noise level deafening. Pure euphoria riots through my body, adrenaline and the energy coming from the audience mingling together for the best high ever.

I fucking love my life. Why wouldn’t I? I’m Evan Fucking Anderson, lead singer of one of the hottest rock bands in the country. Shit, probably the world.

I have money, looks, fame, and a line of girls a mile long waiting for me in every city. Just begging to fuck me. Doesn’t get much better than that.

I give my signature cocky grin to the audience, then jog off stage with my boys, ready to celebrate yet another kick-ass show.

We laugh and high-five each other, me and these guys that I’ve been with since we were practically kids, and amble into the dressing room to change out of our sweaty shirts before we head to the VIP meet-and-greet.

I hate the damn things. But it’s all part of the gig. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find a hot chick who’s interested in getting a little extra VIP attention.

I chuckle as I pull a fresh t-shirt over my head and run my fingers through my mop of dark hair. The night is young, and the women are easy. At least around Gravity they are.

The guys and I make our way to the backstage area where the meet-and-greet is set up, taking our place behind the ropes.

“You ready?” the bouncer asks.

I grin. “Send ‘em in, man.”

Five at a time, he brings them in and lines them up, and we spend the next fifteen minutes signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. It’s not the highlight of my evening—at all—but I take my time, making sure I give each fan plenty of attention. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be where we are. That’s something I always try to remember.

“Here’s the last group,” the bulky guy says, pulling the door open again.

Only three file in this time, and my eyes roam over them, taking them in. A young kid that looks like he’s totally awestruck, and two girls.

I try to give the kid my full attention, signing the guitar strap he managed to get in with and giving him some encouragement about keeping at it with playing, but I can’t seem to focus. My eyes keep returning to the girl hanging back behind the rope with the black and pink hair. Like I’m drawn to her. I can’t look away, hard as I try.

It’s not just that she’s so fucking hot I want to know just what it would be like to sink inside her. Though she is, don’t get me wrong. It’s that she looks like she isn’t sure if she wants to run towards me or bolt in the opposite direction.

I tilt my head, halfway listening to what the kid is telling me, but my eyes rake over her. Ripped black skinny jeans, tight gray t-shirt, the hint of a tattoo peeking out from the low neckline, and a cropped black leather jacket. And fuck me. Full, round tits I want to bury my face in and never come up for air.

I mumble something to the kid, sending him on his way with some cliche words, then it’s her turn. She and the girl she’s with walk up to me, her friend gushing and smiling at me.

“This is so great. I can’t believe we’re meeting you. We’ve been fans for so long. Well, I mean, Tatum here has been your fan the longest. And really, she’s the one who’s the real fangirl.”

This chick continues to ramble on and on, but I latch onto the name like it’s gold. “Tatum.” I grin, turning the full force of my infamous cockiness on her. “Nice to meet you.”

She looks at me, her eyes wary, still seeming like she’s debating making a break for it. Huh. That’s a new one for me.