“Nice of you to join us,” he teases.
Setting my bag down on the opposite side of the coffees, I fall to the floor next to him and take a deep breath in. I’m just happy that somehow, I made it before Nash or Monica showed up to rehearsals.
Today might not be as shitty as I thought it’d be when I woke up late this morning. But I’m still fighting a mild hangover. “I need coffee.”
Without even giving him more of a response, I grab what I know is my iced coffee by how much lighter it is in color. I suck a third of the large drink down, letting the caffeine run through my body.
“Damn. Was it a late night for you, too?” he asks.
I groan, setting the coffee down and starting my own stretching. “Yes. Riley coerced me into going out. I almost overslept.”
Ziggy tsks. “That would not be a great first impression for Nash. Especially since you’re almost always early.” He holds out his hands, waiting for me to place my hands in his.
Spreading my legs to match my feet with his, he begins to lean back, pulling me forward with the motion. I can feel the stretch in my thighs and lower back. He pulls harder, straining my muscles even more.
I don’t bother to tell Ziggy I’ve kind of already had a first impression with Nash. It’s not like much came from that small conversation we had. And he’s right, I would have died in a pit of embarrassment if I was late to this rehearsal.
I also would’ve been terrified to face Monica’s wrath over it.
“Yeah, well, it’s the last time I let Riley talk me into going out for a while. I don’t know what I’ll do if the coffee doesn’t make this headache go away.”
Ziggy sits up, and we switch positions. My shoulder blades are nearing the floor when Nash, Monica, and someone I don’t know walk through the door.
Nash’s eyes pass over us briefly before Derrick jogs across the dance floor and exchanges words with the three of them.
The other dancers and I continue to stretch and warm up, waiting for Derrick or Lizzie to give us a cue on where they want us.
Finally, we’re called up to start with Here For a Good Time. We each take our place as Lizzie walks Nash through on where he’ll begin.
I’m staring at his back, taking in the pair of athletic shorts he has on as well as the sleeveless T-shirt. Even from behind, I can see the definition of the muscles in his shoulders. With his arms pulled in front of him, I can’t see all of them, but I know from previous inspection that his arms are just as chiseled as the rest of him.
We manage to run through the number a handful of times pretty smoothly. I have to give Nash credit, for how much he seems to hate dancing, he catches on quickly. And, he’s good at it.
During our latest run through, he only had a few errors. And those were pretty minor. For the most part, he’s caught on. Which, to be honest, surprises me. I guess he still has some of his boyband-past left in him, because he can dance—and he can dance well.
We spend the better half of our day practicing Here For a Good Time until it’s run from top to bottom almost flawlessly. Derrick lets us out two hours earlier than normal, telling us he’s giving us a Friday reward. I think it’s because we’ve impressed him and managed to nail the opening number, with Nash included this time, and that was his only real goal for the day.
Ziggy and a few other dancers and I are discussing our weekend plans when I accidentally bump into Nash. I swear he wasn’t in my direct path the last time I looked, but somehow he’s ended up here.
Judging by the scowl on his face, he isn’t pleased with the small mishap. “Sorry.” I smile up at him while the rest of the group continues walking to their bags. “I must’ve been distracted.” Going to side-step him, I’m shocked when he moves to block my path.
His eyes make contact with mine for a split second before he looks over my shoulder. Leaning in closer, his mouth lines up with my ear as he says, “Pay more attention next time.”
And then he struts over to the choreographers like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Asshole.
I’m on the ground, rifling through my backpack for my car keys, when a pair of sneakers lands next to my knee.
“Hey, Nora,” Derrick says, giving me a wide smile. “Can I grab you for a minute?”
I nod, nervous he’s about to tell me I did something wrong today.
My backpack makes a thump against the hardwood as I give up on my search for my keys. It turns out I don’t need them quite yet anyway.
“Sweet, over here.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and all I do is silently follow behind him. There’s a sinking in my stomach as we near the corner where Nash, Lizzie, Monica, and the guy from earlier whose name I’m unsure of talk quietly.
Derrick gently grabs me by the elbow, ushering me into the small circle of people.
“Nora, meet part of Nash’s team. There’s Nash, Monica, his manager, you obviously know Lizzie, and then Tyson, Nash’s publicist.”
“Hi, nice to meet you.” I hope my words come out more confident than I feel. Pushing the hair out of my face, I look at Derrick questioningly.
“You might be wondering why you’re over here,” Derrick begins. “To begin with, I just have to say, you’re killing it at rehearsals. I mean damn, Nora. You’ve got so much talent.”
Oh thank god. My racing heart is a clear indicator that I thought I was about to get kicked off the tour, the proposition from Monica and Nash’s team all but forgotten.
“Thank you.” I smile up at him, trying to ease the dread that was forming in my stomach.
“She’s just doing her job,” Nash murmurs, scrolling through his phone like this is the last place he wants to be.
Derrick’s eyes narrow at Nash momentarily before he regains his composure and looks back at me. “Okay, anyway, I’ll get to the point. Lizzie and I have been going through the whole setlist and what we envision for the choreography for each song. As you know, we’ve told you there are a few songs you won’t be dancing to. But there is one you aren’t on that, after further team discussions, we think would work best if you were.”
Nash laughs, shoving his phone in his pocket angrily. “What team? I know nothing about this.” He looks over at Monica, clearly waiting for an explanation.
She looks him dead in the eye. “We’ve talked about this. You haven’t wanted to be in on any of the tour prep. Every single meeting we’ve had that has to do with your tour has been on your calendar. This is just another thing you didn’t want to be involved in, so we handled it for you.”
A line forms on his forehead in displeasure.
“We’re wanting Nora to dance with you on Preach.” Derrick’s words come out bluntly.
I rack my brain to think of what song that is, but it must be from his new album because I’m not familiar with it.
I nervously shuffle my feet, fully aware we’re the only people in the studio at this point. “Okay, yeah for sure I’ll do it.” I try to throw the words out to help ease the tension, but it’s no use; Nash is glaring at Derrick as if he just told him his dog died.
“Preach is a slow song. One of my slowest. It’s just me and a guitar up there,” he says through a clenched jaw.
“Oh, well, I don’t have to…” I thought my words would satisfy Nash, but all this does is earn me a dirty look from him.
Dude, maybe the tabloids are right. He seems like a complete dick.
“You will start the song on your guitar. But you will perform a majority of it with a headset on while dancing with Nora. We want to try new things with this tour. We think your fans will eat up seeing you do a slower dance with Nora. Plus, from her auditions, that is Nora’s specialty. She should be able to bring the song back to life beautifully,” Lizzie offers. Her tone is soft, her eyes cautiously watching Nash.
“We’ve got some great ideas for the direction of it, man,” Derrick interjects.
I look down at my leggings to see if there’s a piece of lint or hair or something to distract me
from how uncomfortable I am right now.
It turns out Monica has a few tricks up her sleeve to force me and Nash together, this one being performing a song with just the two of us.
“I finally relented on letting dancers on this tour when it isn’t something I’ve done since I was in a damn boyband. She’s not dancing with me to Preach. Not happening.” There’s a bite to his words that none of us miss. It’s obvious this is something he’s serious about.
Monica sighs, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “Give it a chance, Nash. If you hate it in a few weeks, then we’ll talk. But try it our way.”
“What if I don’t want to?” His brown hair flops over his forehead as he turns his body in her direction. He raises his eyebrows in what seems like defiance as he waits for an answer.
“For fuck’s sake, Nash, could you not be difficult for one part of this tour? We’re trying to give your fans the experience of a lifetime. You should join us.” Monica’s phone pings from her purse, but for once I don’t see her go to answer it instantly. Instead, she stays locked in a silent stare-off with Nash.
After what seems like forever, his shoulders lower. “Fine. But I’m holding you to the fact that if I hate it,” he looks at me with a taunting grin, “which is likely, then we don’t do it. Deal?”
Monica gives a nod of her head. “Deal. The two of you can stay back with Derrick so he can walk through his ideas.” She breezes out of the room after that, Lizzie and Tyson hot on her heels.
It leaves Nash, Derrick, and me alone in here. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to distinguish that this is probably the last place on earth Nash wants to be, but to his credit, his feet stay planted.
“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking,” Derrick begins, while Nash and I both listen carefully—whether we want to or not.
Fuck. This. Shit.
Derrick might as well be talking to a brick wall right now, because I’m not listening to a thing he’s saying. I’m too busy wallowing in my anger. This is yet another part of my tour I have zero control of.
Most of my slower songs are songs I poured my fucking soul into. They’re meant to be performed with just me on the stage. It’s supposed to be me, the fans, and the lyrics I’ve threaded myself into.
Now she’s ruined it.
And what’s worse is she doesn’t even realize it. She laps up every single word Derrick says like a damn dog. It’s borderline pathetic.
I’m not sure how he plans on making this song better—his words, not mine—but I’m betting that, come two weeks from now, she’ll have wasted all her time learning the choreography to this song.
Because while I’ve accepted that I’ll have dancers on my tour, what I’m not accepting is dancing to songs that were written as a way for me to connect with my audience.
Fat fucking chance.
“Ready to start?” Derrick asks, giving Nora a look that doesn’t sit well with me for whatever reason.
She gives him an enthusiastic nod, reaching over her head to stretch. Derrick averts his gaze as her perky tits jut out. Nora hasn’t bothered to hide much of her body in the outfit she chose to wear today. It’s the first thing I noticed when I walked into the studio today. Those athletic leggings of hers hug every curve and muscle of her legs. Forgoing wearing a shirt, she’s been dancing around in a sports bra all day that’s left little to the imagination.
I hate that my eyes were always on her, even in the moments she spent talking to someone other than me.
I’ve been wanting my attention anywhere but on her, but there’s something about the way she moves that makes it hard to look away.
Derrick was right when he pointed out how talented she was. I have no idea if she’s been on tour with another artist before or what her dancing resume even looks like, but it’s hard to miss her talent.
No matter how talented she is, though, I still don’t want to do a dance with just me and her. And I plan on letting Monica know it.
Yeah, that’ll be a no for me, sir.
Yet here I am, following Derrick into the center of the studio to get this shit show on the road.
For now, I’ll be a semi-good listener because I respect Derrick, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.
“This is what I envision…” Derrick begins, looking over at me. “Nash, you’ll be standing at the end of the catwalk, with your guitar,” the prick emphasizes, calling me out from my previous outburst of wanting it to just be me and my guitar for this song.
“For the beginning of the song,” he continues, “Nora will be behind you, her back against yours.” He points to the spot where he wants me to stand. As soon as I take my place, he grabs Nora by her shoulders, gently moving her until we are back-to-back.
Her narrow shoulders fall against my back, and I can tell the exact moment she takes a long breath in. The two of us angle our heads toward Derrick, waiting for his next instruction.
“Perfect.” He takes a step back, tilting his head. “I’m going to go get the song playing and walk you through what I imagine for the beginning of the song as it plays.”
His shoes squeak against the polished hardwood as he crosses the space to the speakers. While we wait for him to find the song, the song I’m dreading listening to on repeat, I step away from Nora. I don’t see any reason why we need to continue standing against each other while we aren’t practicing.
Pulling my phone from my shorts, I scroll through the infinite number of texts I’ve received in a short time. Most are other celebrities wondering what’s going on tonight. It’s no secret that wherever I go at night, the party comes with me. I don’t respond to any of them, not knowing what the hell I want to do with my night.
The quiet space is soon filled with the chords I’ve written. The strumming of my guitar, beginning the song. Before Derrick can turn around and find me as an unwilling participant, I step back until Nora and I are touching from shoulder to calf.
“Nash, you’ll have your guitar for this part,” Derrick says, stepping back toward us.
“You’ve said that,” I breathe out, tired of him throwing my words at me from earlier.
“And during that part, Nora, you’ll begin by standing still against him. As soon as…” he waits a few seconds, “this beat picks up, you’ll quickly turn around, hugging his back.”
Derrick pulls a remote from his pocket, then pauses the song. He stares at Nora for a moment until she realizes he wants her to follow his instructions.
She’s silent as I briefly lose the warmth of her body. Just as quickly as I lose it, it returns. Nora is rigid against me; clearly unsure what Derrick wants her to do next. Her temple presses into the space between my shoulder blades as she looks to Derrick for more direction.
Derrick steps forward, standing directly in front of me. He reaches around me, grabbing each one of her arms and pulling them underneath my own, placing them on my chest.
“Your hands will start here,” he instructs.
Her hands are warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. He spreads her fingers until one hand is splayed out over my right pec, right over my tattoo of a baby grand piano. The other hand falls low on my abdomen. My muscles tighten involuntarily beneath her touch.
Still holding her wrists, he drags each one of her hands over my body.
“What the fuck,” I mumble, feeling like I’m part of some weird threesome I didn’t sign up for.
“Your hands will be all over him. Remember he’ll have a guitar, so you’ll have to go underneath his arms and make sure you don’t get in the way of him playing.”
“Yeah, because I’m so used to being groped while performing,” I add, holding my arms in the odd position.
I wish I had my guitar in this moment. At least it would give me something to do with my hands. Right now, they’re just hanging in the air awkwardly.
“We’ll get a guitar in here so we can ensure it doesn’t distract him.” Derrick glares at me, taking a step back.
I laugh, unaffected
by the scowl on his face. “I’m used to getting mauled by fans daily, her touch is no different. It sure as hell won’t distract me.”
Her hands tighten on my shirt, a quick reaction to my words. “Well, that’s not what you said a second ago, asshole.”
Her little nickname for me is said under her breath, but I still don’t miss it. My lips twitch in a smile at her outburst.
It appears the sweet girl I met in that small office has some claws.
Maybe this will be fun.
“I was just pointing out how I don’t want you feeling me up to mess me up while I’m, ya know, still playing guitar,” I respond lazily under my breath.
“And I’m just pointing out that I’d rather not be feeling you up.” An aggravated sigh warms my back, her breath hot.
Chuckling, I look over my shoulder and make eye contact with her. “Keep telling yourself that, Rose.”
“Not my name,” she chides, looking to Derrick as if he has any power of turning my asshole tendencies off.
“Could we continue here?” I ask, looking down at where her hands still rest on my body. “I’d like to get this over with so I can go meet up with a girl whose hands I actually want on me.”
And it turns out there’s more spunk behind all her ass kissing, because she pinches me ever so slightly.
Derrick shakes his head, clearly not prepared for the two of us to be so difficult. “Sooo…” he says awkwardly, stepping closer to us once again. He pushes play on the music, talking loudly over it when he says, “Your hands will roam over him until the words begin.”
As if on cue, my voice surrounds us.
Derrick continues with, “As soon as the words start, you’ll step out to the left.”
Nora does just as he instructs, her body now only pressed against one side of my body.
We spend the next hour going over the beginning of the song. Until the chorus hits, she’s going to just basically crawl all over me in front of thirty-thousand people. Great. I don’t know how that’s supposed to entertain my fans more than if it was just me up there, but whatever. I’m attempting to be a good sport.
Founded on Goodbye: A Rockstar Romance Page 5