“Except Lorraine.” Zach patted his case.
Indie rolled her eyes. “Yes, Zach.”
“What? What if she got lost?”
“We would all perish,” Owen quipped.
“Lorraine is the heart and soul of the solo for ‘Cathedrals’, you uncouth bastards.”
“Is it like this all the time?” I asked Hunter.
“Hmm?” He looked down at me with a distracted smile. “Oh, yeah. Pretty much.”
I tapped my middle fingernail against my opposite thumbnail. I really didn’t want today be ruined by the ongoing feud between Bats and Hunter.
Indie pulled out her phone. “All right. I’ll find Reed. You guys get going.”
Everyone tumbled out, scattering in pairs. Hunter swung his legs out, then turned around to offer me a hand. I stepped out, almost hobbling myself as I took in the sheer volume of people lined up behind the barrier. Hollywood movie release, I’d been there done that, but this? We were in a back alley, in the middle of the afternoon for a taping of a late night show. It absolutely blew my mind that there were this many people waiting to gawk at the band.
The crowd moved like a living organism. A twirl of white and heavy blonde hair was the first thing I noticed. Hunter stiffened next to me.
Victoria Sheer glided by us in flawless white silk, her arm hooked through Reed’s. She turned for the cameras. An exquisite profile shot with her windswept hair flowing behind her.
Then she looked down and away, making sure to turn her body into Reed.
Hunter’s gaze zeroed in on Reed. No words were spoken, but the stare down made my blood chill.
But he didn’t spare a glance at Victoria.
Not a single one. The last little niggle of worry about the hold she’d had on him dissolved like sugar over flame. He truly was worried about his friend. And I think he was right to worry. Now that I knew he was mine—believed he was mine—it was so very obvious.
I was such an ass.
“That was perfectly choreographed.”
“What?” Hunter frowned down at me.
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“Hunter, we’re running late,” Indie called from the doorway.
He waved to Indie, then focused on me again. “Are you sure?”
“She’s a damn good actress, but yeah. Every move was to maximize a usable shot for the photographers across the way. ”
He cupped my face. The fury melted away, and the frown line that had bisected his brows faded. “What the hell would I do without you?”
I shrugged. “End up arrested and wearing a really ugly orange jumpsuit.”
He laughed as he tugged me along to the end of the line. “I look hot in orange.”
“No one looks hot in orange.”
Hunter urged me to his left, then switched our hands so he could hold his up. “I gotta get inside, guys.” His long-legged stride had me trotting to keep up with him. In heels. Again. Damn him.
He slapped hands all the way down, pausing briefly to shake a child’s hand.
The rest of the band had already made it through the line of fans. This time there wasn’t much mingling to be done. It was just too crazy.
He stopped at the doorway where Indie was keeping a watchful eye. He used our joined hands to twirl me out, then back and dip me for the fans.
“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly.
“She’s not the only one who can give them a show.” His eyes were a misty gray in the early afternoon sun. “This is the one I want the papers to remember. You and me. Always you and me.”
“You are not going to make me cry in front of these people, pal.”
“Never cry.” He lowered his mouth to mine. “Well, maybe sappy girl tears.”
I punched him in the shoulder, then curled my fingers around his neck and gave the crowd a show. I heard the shouts and the wolf whistles, then I forgot about the show. The man had a magic mouth after all.
He righted me, ending the display with a smacking kiss.
Indie stood just inside the door with her arms folded. “If you’re done with the romantic overtures, we’ve got a show to do.”
“Yeah we do.” Hunter dragged me behind him. Seriously, I was going to have to rethink the four inch heels thing being with this guy.
A maze of hallways gave me a blast of déjà vu. This time at the end was a huge empty studio, and the iconic desk on a raised dais.
The band was on the right of it in the little alcove where The Roots played for Fallon. Wyatt looked huge behind the downsized drum kit. Zach and Owen were tuning their instruments, while Keys was organizing her dual keyboard setup with her tech.
Owen called Indie over, and we were left alone.
“Guess I gotta work.” He lifted my fingers to his mouth, but instead of kissing them he went for the inside of my wrist. “Outside might have been a little bit of a show.” He lightly grazed his teeth over the fragile tissue, pressing a kiss to where my pulse was going haywire. “But we’re not. No artifice, and no fake glamour for the camera. You know that, right?”