“Good. Then we won’t regret that Mylton Records has chosen to keep Sunder under its wing and at this point isn’t seeking breech of contract. You make sure you get this settled quickly and keep yourself out of jail. We’ll get you back out on the road as soon as we’re certain an incarceration won’t interfere with a tour. We won’t be losing money if another is canceled.”
My nod was short because he wasn’t asking me for an answer. This visit was a warning. Sunder was sitting belly up at the last chance saloon. Sad thing was, I had to be grateful for what he clearly considered generosity on his part.
“It seems we have an understanding then.” He straightened his tie and was gone, and Anthony was grinning, and I was standing there having no idea how I really felt.
“This is good news, Baz,” Anthony said, as if he needed to convince me.
“I know.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m going to grab my stuff…head home.”
With a speculative eyebrow raised at my subdued response, Anthony simply said, “All right. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
I left the office and went straight to the dressing rooms. Lyrik was on the couch, nursing at a beer while two girls crawled all over him, one on her knees between his rubbing greedy hands up and down his thighs, the other on the couch beside him, fingers preparing to get friendly as she teased under his shirt.
Fucking awesome.
Dude was always such a dog.
I shook my head, grabbed my bag from the floor, and stuffed the couple things I needed inside, doing my best not to be annoyed when I heard the telltale sounds of Ash going at it with some chick in one of the inner dressing rooms.
“So what was that about?” Lyrik asked, referring to the meeting Anthony had whisked me away to.
“Karl Fitzgerald.”
Lyrik’s dark eyes got intense. “And to what did you owe the pleasure?”
“They’re keeping us. Want us back on the road as soon as I clean up some of my shit here.”
Staring over at me, he sat silently while he seemed to absorb it, like he was rearranging the fate he’d already accepted and was making it something new. Then he just gave a quick nod. “Thank fuck.”
“Thank fuck,” I mumbled around an exhaled breath, wondering why there wasn’t a whole lot of joy surrounding it.
“You stickin’ around tonight?” Lyrik asked, still ignoring the chick who was working on undoing his fly. “We’re heading over to Kie’s. Looks like you could use a little something to help you unwind.”
Fucker had the nerve to smirk at me.
I just shook my head. “Nah, man. Austin’s hanging back at the house. I’m going to head home.”
The bitch at his side pouted. “You sure you don’t want to join in?”
Uh…no, I definitely did not want to join in. Normally after a show, residual energy flowed through me—this strange high filling me with this antsy bliss—and I was usually dying to get my dick wet. And hell, I was. But the last thing I needed was to get anywhere near Lyrik’s lanky ass. Getting naked with another dude involved was not ever gonna be my thing.
And the only woman I wanted was Shea.
Goddamn, I’d let that girl take up residence right under my skin.
“You sure you don’t want to head over?” This time Lyrik’s question was concerned because the asshole knew it, too.
“Nope. I’m good.”
Fucking lie, but if it was one I had to tell to make it through this, then I would.
“Give me a buzz if you change your mind.”
I slung my bag over my shoulder. “Yep.”
His words tripped me up as I pitched open the door. “Gonna have to figure this shit out. You can’t go on pretending like everything is just fine and finally coming together for you when it’s not. Know you, man.”
Pretending.
Pretending.
Pretending.
I didn’t honor him with an answer, just let the door slam shut behind me.
I wove through the mass congregating backstage, stopped a couple of times to sign some autographs, faked my way through some smiles for the overanxious girls who wanted pics with me.
“We love you, Sebastian!”
“Sebastian Stone, I love you!”
“Oh my god, I am so in love with you.”