Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“See?” Quinn’s smile widened. “You got tea!”
It wasn’t a tour date or even a phone call, but I’d take it, because at some point in the last two weeks while those riders were being finalized, Zoe had not only thought about me, she’d taken time out of her day to make sure I had everything I needed. It wasn’t her heart with a ribbon, but it was something.
“I got tea,” I said with a smile.
21
ZOE
“You made it!” Monica waved forward as I raced toward the back entrance of the stadium. “Quick, they’re almost three-quarters through the set list!”
I flashed my backstage pass at the venue staff, and the security guard stepped aside, letting me through.
“Barely!” Philly was hot in the middle of July, and I’d been racing since I landed a little over an hour ago.
“You look great,” she said over her shoulder, walking me through the hallway.
“Thanks.” I’d pulled my hair up to avoid the summer humidity of the East Coast and forsaken my usually professional concert attire for a simple sundress because, for the first time in two months, I wasn’t working tonight.
Tonight, I was a fan.
“Which one is his?” I asked as the dressing room lineup started. “Never mind. Hey, Chris!”
“Zoe!” Chris swept me into a bear hug before setting me back on my feet.
I noted the lack of women outside the door. “Did the crowd clear out for the show?” I asked, motioning to the empty wall.
“He doesn’t let anyone linger. Hasn’t the whole tour. He’ll sign autographs, but the only other person ever in that dressing room is Brad.”
“Brad?” My head snapped toward Monica.
“New intern gets Nixon duty,” she said with a smile. “I’m assisting Ethan.”
“Nice! Moving up, I see!” I walked into Nixon’s dressing room and took a deep breath. There were two empty cans of orange soda on the vanity, and his favorite T-shirt lay forgotten on the arm of the couch. I ran my fingers over the soft cotton.
Three months were up.
Time to see if he’d followed through on his promise, or if he’d grown weary of falling asleep alone at night. My heart plummeted at the possibility. I should have told him I was coming. Should have given him the chance to tell me not to.
“You ready?” Monica asked from the hallway.
“Right. Yeah.” I dropped my shoulder bag at the end of the love seat and hurried out. My heart pounded faster with every step we took toward the stage. They were on the second verse of “Sweetness” when we reached the wing.
Monica handed me a set of earplugs, and I put them in as the stage came into view.
My breath caught at the sight of Nixon. His shirt was still on, which was odd for this late in the concert, his head bent, watching his fingers work over the frets. He was totally and completely in tune with the music. I’d never seen him look so good. The muscles of his forearm rippled with his fingerwork, and the look of intensity on his face was enough to make me shift my weight.
I knew that expression. I’d been on the receiving end of it every time he’d been inside me. He made love to me just like he played that guitar, with sure hands, expert fingers, and single-minded focus.
A mix of longing and need unfurled in my belly. These last three months had been incredibly busy, but there wasn’t a moment where Nixon hadn’t been on my mind. With the new album out, it was nearly impossible not to see his face or hear the music.
The song ended, and Monica said something into her walkie-talkie.
Jonas touched his earpiece, then nodded once but didn’t look our way.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she answered with a sly grin.
Nixon nodded to whatever Jonas said to him, then headed to the opposite wing, where a stagehand waited with a new guitar.
I backed away from the light as he headed toward center stage, facing me fully for the first time. There was no way I was taking the chance he’d see me until after the show—not with things so up in the air between us. I was too professional for that.
The lines of his face were tight with concentration as he adjusted the shoulder strap. It read Zoe’s. I couldn’t help but smile as hope blossomed in my chest. He still had it. Still used it at least once a show.
“He had one made for every guitar,” Monica said over the noise of the crowd.
My eyes popped wide, but she just nodded.
Nixon adjusted the microphone as the lights fell, leaving him in the lone spotlight. What was he doing? He never played without Quinn and Jonas. And was that…it was. The guitar was an electric acoustic.
“I lost a bet with Jonas earlier today,” Nixon said, his voice echoing into the stadium. “Turns out, there are indeed seventy-two steps up to the Rocky statue, not seventy.”