The first song, we get mostly dead fish. A few kids know us and sing along, but most are just biding time until Van takes the stage. Then comes some banter, during which Adam introduces our band, gives our names, tells where we’re from. He explains what happened to the scheduled opening act, and then he and Shawn joke back and forth about rushing four hours to get here to give the kids a show. They tell the entire crowd about my wet willy incident, teasing me about it until the crowd is cheering loudly and my cheeks are burning red.
By our third song, we’ve completely won them over. Everyone is jumping in place, hands in the air, screaming their heads off at the end of each song—and even though most of them don’t know the lyrics to our stuff at first, by the third time Adam sings the chorus, new fans are singing along with him.
Song after song, we convert them, and at the end of our set, Adam makes them go crazy. “ARE YOU READY FOR CUTTING THE LINE?”
The crowd cheers for the headlining band and for the kick-ass performance we put on, and I practically bounce off the stage, high off the show and for a chance to see Cutting the Line—from right backstage. A year ago, I would’ve killed for this, and now, this is my life.
Van’s band is heavier than ours, with his backup singer growling hardcore lyrics into the microphone and Van’s voice assaulting all sides of the room. The girls in the front row are showing even more skin than Adam’s groupies do, considering they all have breast implants that are about five sizes too big. I wonder if that will be us someday, staring down at G-cup tits and playing to a room this big.
When Shawn’s hand discreetly sneaks into my back pocket and gives my ass a squeeze, I don’t risk acknowledging him. The guys and I are all standing in a line just offstage, and he’s using the leverage of my pocket to coax me closer to his side. I pin my bottom lip between my teeth as he teases me, and then, when I can’t take any more tempting or I’m seriously going to mount him where he stands, I slip my hand in the back of his T-shirt and rake my fingernails down his lower back.
Shawn’s hand stops moving, and then we’re both just standing there tortured. We were supposed to have today off, and I’d planned on sneaking away with him to a Laundromat or something, but instead, I’m stuck with his hand in my pocket and not a damn thing I can do about it.
When he gives me a look, I give him one back, and I realize what he’s seeing—me, with my big black eyes, staring up at him with a pouty bottom lip bitten between my teeth. He frees his hand from my pocket like he’s considering using it to haul me somewhere private, but then he rakes it over his scalp and strangles his hair between his fingers.
The corner of my mouth kicks up into a satisfied little smirk at how frazzled he is, and he immediately pulls his phone from his pocket, typing something out before mine buzzes in my jeans.
If you don’t want to be dragged back to the bus, you have to stop.
You started it.
Let’s finish it.
I peek up at the promising expression on his face, my blood flashing white-hot before I turn my attention back to my phone. The desire to go with him is so, so strong. For the past few weeks, all I’ve wanted is half a damn hour of privacy so I could see if fitting together with him would feel as good as I remember.
But what happens after? What happens when that half hour is up? What happens when we get home?
“We’re going to Van’s hotel party after this, right?” Adam asks, giving me a much-needed excuse to tuck away my phone before I type something stupid—like, “Can we talk about our feelings first?”
“Yeah,” Shawn answers Adam. “I think we have to.”
Chapter Fifteen
ONCE, WHEN MY parents took our seven-person family to Florida for summer vacation when I was ten, we all packed ourselves into one giant hotel suite. It had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a modest living space. My parents got the first bedroom; I shared the second with Kale, Bryce, and Ryan; and Mason took the couch. We were all in awe of how big it was.
Van’s penthouse hotel suite, which is filled with the most decadent furnishings I’ve ever seen, could easily fit ten of that Florida suite within its two-story walls.
Crystal chandeliers sparkle from the ceiling, glinting off of black marble columns that stretch all the way to a black marble floor. A bar lines most of the left wall, and beyond that, tropical fish swim in a built-in aquarium that stretches halfway around the room. The water casts waves of light onto the diamond-dust bar top and across the floor, which steps down into a sunken seating area in the middle of the suite. Sparkling side tables, priceless antiques, plush leather couches—Van’s suite was built for a king, and the far wall proves it. Made entirely of glass, it boasts the glimmering Nashville skyline, a kingdom to be admired.