Once her mouth is close to my ear, she whispers, “Just think, when Mr. Bodyguard over there actually lets you in, all these bitches are going to want to beat the crap out of you.”
“Thanks for”—I pull Tori out of the way before Violet can doze her over as she flounces off in a blur of highlighted hair and floral perfume—“making me feel better about being alone for the rest of this tour.”
“Just stating the obvious.” She steps in front of another woman and her boyfriend so that we’re first in line to talk to the doorman and jabs her manicured index finger in my direction. “She’s on the list.”
The bodyguard gives me a long once-over, from my black fringe sandals, to my ripped skinny jeans and loose black high-low tank, and finally up to my blue eyes. “Name and ID?” he asks. He lifts an eyebrow at Tori. “If she’s not been cleared with the band, she’s not getting in.”
Lowering my head, I look through my bag for my license and say as quietly as possible, “Sienna Jensen, and check for Victoria Abrams, too. She should be on the list.” Even then it feels like all conversation around me has come to a standstill. As the bodyguard looks at his iPhone for confirmation, the door behind him opens several inches. Sinjin pops his head out, and the squeals around us are deafening.
He winks a green eye at his admirers before addressing the bodyguard. “These two are in, David,” he says. The bodyguard returns his gaze to Tori and me, his lips curled into a suggestive grin.
I know what he’s thinking. Hell, it’s obvious.
And I feel my blood begin to boil.
I’m about to open my mouth and let him know I’m not what he thinks I am—and how sad it would be for him to think badly of me even if I was—but Sin does it for me. “And just so we’re clear, the redhead will be around for the rest of the tour. Lucas’s girl, so it’s a real quick way to wind up jobless.”
As David moves aside for us to go into the lounge, a flush creeps past his neck and up to his face, and he mutters a slew of apologies. Once I’m inside the room, which is nearly filled to capacity with members of the crew and the lead guitarist and drummer of Wicked Lambs, I give him a reassuring smile. He tips his head in embarrassment.
Even before the door is securely closed, the women in the hallway begin whispering. Words like “Lucas” and “bitch” and “lucky” jump out to me. My teeth are clenched when I meet Sinjin’s amused gaze.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.
He shrugs, wiping sweat and short strands of black hair off of his forehead with the red and black striped towel draped around his shoulders. “Might as well make it clear now before David looks at you like you’re nothing but a piece of ass in front of Lucas.”
He throws himself down on a plush loveseat, between two women dressed in Your Toxic Sequel tanks that they’ve customized (by strategically ripping them up to show off their boobs and flat stomachs) and not much else. “Besides, none of us wants our guests being treated like shit.”
“He’s got a point,” Tori whispers from beside of me, and I roll my eyes.
Of course he does, but I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with any of the crew, especially one of the bodyguards. Nodding stiffly at Sinjin, I debate on whether I should look away or keep staring as one of the women—the one with the auburn pixie cut—openly slides her fingertips inside of his jeans. She winks up at me.
Screw it, there’s no way I’m looking away now.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it on my own from now on, but thanks for the help.” I start to walk off, but I stop, earning a wide grin from Sinjin. “Do you know where Lucas is?”
He moves his head to the left. “In there, but he’s doing an interview. Might as well help yourself to some food while you wait.” He inclines his head to a long table of refreshments and drinks on the other side of the room.
“Thanks,” I say, steering Tori left when she heads toward the food. We find Lucas in a separate lounge area. He’s on a black leather couch with Cilla, sitting entirely too close for my comfort, and talking to a pretty journalist I’d seen on set a few times during my Echo Falls days. On the opposite side of the room, a cameraman is snapping photos rapidly, so I back out of the room.
“Who the hell does she think she is?” Tori hisses, her eyebrows furrowed as she stares at Lucas and Cilla.
“That’s Cilla.” I can’t keep the worry out of my voice, and Tori gives me a sympathetic expression, which I quickly look away from. “I’m hoping that—”
I swallow my words when someone wraps an arm around my shoulder. I immediately recognize the barbed treble and bass clefs on his forearm, so I turn my head, coming eye to eye with Cal. Like Sinjin, he’s lean and pretty close to my height, but Cal is also ripped for a skinny guy.
“Enjoying the circus?” he asks, glancing from side to side at Tori and me, earning nods from both of us. “I’m Cal, by the way,” he tells Tori, as if she doesn’t already know.
Once they’re formally introduced, and she’s told him about her co-workers Calvin Romero cubicle shrine, he turns to me, his lips spreading into an easy smile. “Crazy shit, huh?”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about Tori’s co-worker or this—being backstage at a rock show—but I bob my head. Because seven feet in front of me, Cilla’s palm is still lying on Lucas’s thigh. Her head is tilted back as she laughs at something the journalist is saying, and Lucas is grinning, too. Sinjin is seven feet behind me, and by now, there’s a 50/50 chance he’s talked one of his fangirls (or both) into giving him a blowjob.
My blue eyes never break focus with Cal’s dark brown eyes. “Yeah, crazy.” I start to ask where Wyatt is, but then I shake my head. Right now, I’m not sure I want to know. “Is there—will they always do interviews after the shows like this?”
Looking into the other lounge, he cringes. And to my mortification, gives my shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. When he answers, he avoids my question, but I can’t blame him. “Got a bottle of Jager and Lucas’s Red Bulls. Shots before fans and press come in?”
Though Tori’s a peppermint schnapps type of girl, she quickly agrees, so I have no other choice but to go along with them. But as Cal guides us away from the doorway of the lounge, I can’t help but take one more glimpse at Cilla and Lucas. I can’t help but see how easily they respond to each other as they discuss the tour. And I can’t help but feel a painful pressure in my ribcage as I force a smile at Sinjin, who joins us once Cal starts doling out the Jager and Red Bull.
The two women who were with him have disappeared, and Sin doesn’t mention them as he sits next to me. “Get used to it,” he whispers into my ear.
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but I already know what he’s talking about. I’d be na?ve not to. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re going to have to suck it the fuck up if you’re going to get through this tour. Jealous, pissy girlfriends and wives don’t last long. Why do you think Kylie’s not around? And Cal’s last girlfriend only stuck around for a few months?”
He doesn’t mention Lucas or himself, and I don’t think he will, even if I stressed the subject. I paste on a smile that makes my face feel like it’s cracking and grab my drink, holding the highball glass a little too roughly.
“And here I was thinking you were going to be all sweet to me.”
“Not sweet.” He pries the Jagerbomb out of my hand and downs the drink for me, ignoring my protests. “But respectful. Honest. At the end of the day, being around all this shit, honesty is what you’ll want more than anything.”