He smiles warmly at me. “Sure thing. See you inside.”
He doesn’t bother putting the top of the convertible up before he disappears with Shawn. I close the trunk and walk to the bus. The door is still hanging open, so I step up to it and call out, “Hello?”
A young guy in jeans so worn they look older than I am jogs halfway down the stairs. His eyes go from me to the open door between us, and then he curses something about “Fucking Shawn” and complains, “I told him to close the damn door!” This guy looks Adam’s age, with a mop-top of curly reddish-brown hair and a chin layered with days-old scruff. His long, baggy Ninja Turtles tank makes him look even taller and lankier than he already is.
“Uh . . . Hi, I’m Rowan.” When it becomes clear that means nothing to him, I add, “Adam said to tell you I’m with him.”
The guy looks me up and down. “So you’re the tutor, huh?” I doubt I’m what he expected, but he smiles warmly at me and shakes my hand. “I’m Driver.”
“Nice to meet you.” I knock my toe against my suitcase. “Where should I put my stuff?”
“Oh, here, let me get that for you. Just hang tight.” He takes my suitcase and backpack and disappears upstairs. After Dee finished packing for me, I emptied everything out and started over. She pouted the entire time, complaining about the non-attention-grabbing things I decided to bring along. Flats. Jeans. Leggings. T-shirts. Basically, the polar opposite of what Adam’s “Peach” would wear.
After Driver hops back down to the lower level, I tell him what Adam said about locking up and taking me backstage. He closes up the bus and then walks me across the parking lot. There’s still a long line out the door even though the show’s already starting, but Driver cuts to the front and tells the bouncer I’m with him. Looking at all the girls in line, I suddenly feel way underdressed—which means I’m way overdressed—and way out of place in my black leggings, my blue T-shirt, and my black flip-flops. But it’s not like I have anything better to change into. I frown, realizing I really should have listened to Dee for once, even though there’s no way I’ll admit that to her when she grills me about this the next time we talk on the phone.
When we get inside, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. And then I hear Adam’s voice, and my eyes swing to the stage. Butterflies. So many butterflies. Why is it that the feeling I had sitting next to him gets multiplied by like . . . a thousand times when I see him standing onstage? The spotlight transforms his ordinary navy blue T-shirt and tattered jeans into . . . ugh, I don’t even know. He is too damn sexy. The front of his shirt is tucked into a studded belt, and he’s running a hand through his hair. I wonder if he knows the effect that has on the girls in the crowd.
By the confident smirk on his face, I’m guessing he does.
Adam talks to the crowd, laughing with Shawn and getting them worked up, while Driver and I skirt along the edges of the room to get backstage. When the first song starts, it makes the ground beneath my feet vibrate. And it’s good. Seriously—really good. I find myself staring up at the band again. There are five of them, with Adam front and center and Shawn off to his right. To Adam’s back-left is a guy much shorter and . . . well, slighter than he is. But maybe that’s just because Adam is so . . . Adam, sucking up all the attention without even trying. The smaller guy has short, light blond hair and is looking down at his guitar as he plays. Closer to the front of the stage, there is another guitar player, this one sporting a spiked blond mohawk. He’s just as tall as Adam, and his neon yellow T-shirt is hugging him so tightly I can tell he must work out. The drummer in back is a guy who is a little heavier, with cropped brown hair. He’s banging on the drums so hard and fast that my eyes are getting a workout just from following his drumsticks. He’s lost in the song, his entire body moving with the beat he’s setting. I could probably watch him all night, but then the beat slows down and the instruments quiet, and all there is is Adam.
I suddenly feel a hand on my elbow, and I realize I’ve stopped walking. I’m just standing there practically undressing Adam with my eyes. I look up at Driver, who points with his chin toward a door a little farther back, and I follow him. He shows a pass to the security there, and then we both slip inside.
“Ever been backstage before?” he asks as he leads me down a hallway packed with rolling band equipment and people bustling back and forth.