by Jayne Rylon
It was Kyra’s threat to leave the band, because she “couldn’t stand by and watch him lose himself anymore” that had finally spurred Kason to get help. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he needed it before that.
Worse, he knew that if Kyra abandoned him, Van wouldn’t be far behind. His best friend might never say it, might never cross any professional lines, but the way he was staring dreamily at Kyra right then proved he was at least half in love with the woman, even if he didn’t plan to ever do anything about it.
“Almost ready?” Kason asked her.
“I’m always ready, boss.” She grinned. “How about you?”
“I’m good.” I think. He’d be better if that gorgeous blonde woman from the motorcycle shop showed up backstage after the show. He might not be completely satisfied, but she would help him pretend like that was enough for a while. An orgasm or two would help even more.
“I’m going to get in place. See you out there.” Kyra smiled at him. “I’m proud of you.”
Why? he wondered, but he didn’t ask. No matter how she responded, he was ashamed of himself.
He hadn’t written a song in two years. That wasn’t so long that it was freaking people out yet—other than himself, of course. He had to find his creativity again. His drive. His passion.
But what if he couldn’t do it sober anymore?
Then this comeback tour might end up being a farewell tour instead. He guessed he’d had a decent career. Before the drugs and gambling, he’d been pretty careful with his money. He’d be okay if it all fell apart tonight or in the next few months. That didn’t mean he wanted a life without music.
All his worries faded away when a roadie knocked on the door twice and shouted, “Kason, you’re on!”
He jumped up and down a few times, his fists clenched and his arms tucked in tight to his sides before shaking them out. Van smacked him on the shoulder and said, “You can do it. You’ve got this. They love you. We all do.”
Kason refused to let them down. Not his friends and not the people who’d come there tonight to listen to him sing. He burst from his dressing room at a run, and didn’t stop until he was at center stage, all eyes and lights focused on him. Then he donned his showman persona, which cloaked his real struggles. It was easy to escape for the two and a half hours they played.
Nothing mattered but putting on a good show.
Performing itself was like a drug to him. It drove out the buzzing anxieties that nagged him when the world was quiet. Here and now, the only thing he could hear was music and the screaming of fans.
During his most popular song, Kason always picked someone from the crowd to sing to. To make a connection with. It made him feel less like a charlatan.
That night, he scanned the front row on the right side of the stage. Most everyone looked the same to him in the glare of the lights. Big hair, bigger hats, jeans, flannel, and old concert shirts were everywhere.
So it caught his eye when he noticed a man in a suit. What the hell was he doing there?
And why did that tie and steely gaze make him nearly irresistible?
Kason didn’t have too long to think about it. Kyra kicked off the beat that the rest of the band followed during the intro of “Secret Love”. He edged closer, trying to get a better look at the man as he began to sing. And suddenly it was more than that.
The guy brushed his hand across his eyes as if he was moved by the lyrics, or by Kason singing to him. The pain Kason recognized from within himself was painted over the man’s mostly clean-shaven face. Kason wanted nothing more than to soothe him, either with his song or with his hands and his mouth and his cock.
The lyrics took on new meaning as he imagined loving the sadness out of this man in the crisp white shirt and black slacks, making them both more whole than they seemed at that moment. A flash went off from a few feet away, nearly blinding him.
It made him aware that the very last thing he needed was the camera that fed the jumbotron to zoom in on his private performance and broadcast it to a stadium full of people.
No thanks.
Kason broke their stare and jogged to the other side of the stage before he made a fool of himself and did exactly what his agent and manager had been warning him against for nearly a year and a half now.
Stupid! He had to be more careful.
As he traveled past Kyra’s drum set, she shot him a quizzical look that he flat out ignored. He never changed positions during “Secret Love”. Never.
It broke the intention of the moment. Which was exactly why he was doing it now.
Fortunately, when he arrived at the opposite side of the stage, he caught the glint of platinum blond hair and a killer smile he hadn’t gotten to enjoy that day at Hot Rides. There was no mistaking Wren, though. She stood out, even in this crowd. He settled into the final two verses and delivered them as though she were the person he’d written this song about.
No one had to know it was actually about a man not so different from the one he’d started singing to. The first—and last—guy he’d ever had a crush on.
He hadn’t done anything about his attraction then and he wouldn’t do anything about the way that fan had moved him a moment ago either.
Hopefully Wren would come backstage later and remind him that he enjoyed a good old-fashioned romp plenty enough.
Kason sang his heart out to her, even if she didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her.
11
Kason charged off the stage, the rush of performing still pumping him up. Adrenaline was more powerful than any substance he could have imbibed. He went straight to his dressing room, peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes, then strode into the shower.
Stage lights were brutal. So was the amount of energy it took to put on a show like that. Thanks to his therapist-approved gym schedule and focusing on his health, his endurance had never been better. Even still, he was both amped up and exhausted simultaneously.
His cock hadn’t received the message.
As always, when he finished performing, he had a raging hard-on.
In his younger days, there had been willing women waiting in his dressing room to solve that pesky problem for him. Now, though, he preferred to take things into his own hands instead of having Van or someone else on his team stock his room with very willing females like they were nothing more than the snacks laid out for him to munch on.
He must be getting old. Or maybe he was growing up.
Either way, he wasn’t leaving this shower until he’d relieved some of his arousal, or he was liable to make a fool of himself. That or make bad decisions once he found himself surrounded by the fans and crew waiting to celebrate another amazing performance with him backstage.
Would Wren be there?
He wrapped his suds-covered hand around his cock and began to stroke it.
Kason imagined what it would be like if she was, if he could carve out a space for them to actually talk and get to know each other, or if she was as adventurous as he suspected and they skipped out on the after party to do more than just chat.
He would try to take his time with her, but the odds of that happening—or her even wanting something gentle and seductive from him—were slim.
They would tear each other’s clothes off and burn the night down as they fucked each other’s brains out. Kason pictured what it would be like to lie back and let her have ultimate control. She’d ride him, unashamed of her power and passion, using him to please herself while letting him rest up for when they changed places.
Once she’d taken her fill, he’d let himself loose, flipping her over and driving into her until neither of them could resist the temptation of succumbing to one final orgasm together.
As he pictured it, his hand sped up, jerking his hard-on furiously.
Except at the last moment, it wasn’t Wren’s bright blue eyes he pictured staring into his as he exploded or her red lips he fantasized about kissing as he poured his come inside her. Instead, he imagined the man
in the suit, the one with the shattered soul.
The daydream blurred and the man was suddenly there, standing beside the bed, watching.
Just before Kason came, the man fisted Kason’s hair in his hand and undid his belt, then his suit pants. When Kason—still fucking Wren—turned his head, took the guy’s dick in his mouth, and sucked, the guy would lose every shred of the self-control that was holding him together, despite how damaged he was inside. He’d groan and shake, rising on his tiptoes to embed himself in Kason’s mouth.
Kason would suck greedily until the man couldn’t restrain himself a moment longer and orgasmed, shouting Kason’s name. Not someone else’s. Not a woman’s. No, Kason’s.
What would be even better would be if Wren enjoyed it. If her pussy wrung his cock even as the man’s release flooded his mouth, Kason would be in heaven.
He groaned, then shuddered and braced one hand against the tile to keep himself upright when his knees threatened to buckle. His balls drew tight to his body as he shot all over the shower walls then spilled the rest of his release down the drain.
That was the only place his lust could go. He sure as shit couldn’t allow it loose outside his fantasies.
Even if his epic climax hadn’t softened his cock, that thought alone would have. He finished his shower in freezing cold water, then stumbled into the main room, still drying off.
Van was guarding the door, keeping the rest of the world out until Kason was ready to face it. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? I have a secondary route. I can slip you out the back if you want to avoid the chaos and go to bed early. Or hang out at your house or whatever you need. I’ve got your back, Kason.”
“I know you do. Thank you.” He wrapped his towel around his waist and started getting dressed. “It means a lot that you’ve stuck by me, Van.”
“You might pay me, but you’re more my friend than my boss, you realize?” Van was always serious, but he was even more so when he said, “You can trust me, Kason, with anything that’s bugging you.”
Not everything. If Van knew what he’d been thinking of a few minutes ago, would he still be standing there? Or would simple everyday things like getting changed in front of his bodyguard suddenly become weird? He didn’t need that kind of complication in his life.
So he changed the subject. “Tell me the truth…how was the show? Did it suck or was it as good as it used to be before I went off the rails?”
“Never heard a crowd scream louder.” Van grinned. “You killed it, Kason. You’re back.”
He nodded because he believed he was on the right path again. As long as he didn’t do something dumb, he could reenergize his career.
Kason smiled because the strains of a song began to play in the back of his mind. Faint, but the music—new music—was in there waiting for him to discover it. He was going to be okay. “Let’s celebrate.”
He exploded from his dressing room, not too proud to admit the roar of applause, whistles, and shouts still had the power to move him even after nearly ten years of working as a fulltime musician. Even better, he saw her. Wren. Right there in front of him.
His stare clashed with hers, and the appreciation written there erased the effects of the hand job he’d given himself less than ten minutes ago. He didn’t even try to fight it.
The list of shit he could have was a lot shorter now than before.
Motorcycles.
Music.
Booze.
Drugs.
Gambling.
Sexy thoughts about men.
Women. Lots and lots of women.
Hell, that last vice was practically part of his job description. So he did what he was learning to do best and lived up to everyone’s expectations.
He strode to where Wren was leaning up against a wheeled case the roadies were about to refill with wires and scaffolding so they could roll out of Middletown and set up wherever the next show would be. When you never stayed in the same place long, it made it tough to do things the old-fashioned way. You know, meet a girl and ask her out, take her to dinner a few times before kissing her goodnight and working your way up to spending some quality time together in bed.
Or even the less-old-fashioned way of hunting for someone on a dating app and meeting up for a good time. He didn’t even have time to swipe right on someone or the guts to put himself out there knowing he’d have crazy fans show up instead of people interested in him for him. The one time he’d tried, he’d been reported for attempting to catfish someone. They hadn’t believed it was really him.
So he just went for it, for Wren, the way he’d gotten used to operating.
Kason reached out and put his hands around her slender waist. When she beamed up at him instead of slapping his scruffy face, he bent down and sealed his mouth to hers.
Half the people around them cheered louder. The rest, mostly women who didn’t approve of his not picking them to manhandle instead, grew quiet. But Wren, she melted.
Her tough, indifferent mask fell away at the first contact of his lips on hers. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him without a moment of hesitation or insecurity. If she gave a fuck about what any of the hundred or so people swarmed around them thought, he couldn’t tell.
This was the woman he’d glimpsed the other day. The one who’d met his gaze directly at the shop and dared him to criticize her for her hanging on to the memory of a dead lover. The one who’d done her job despite having someone famous waltz into her shop. The one who’d tried to obscure a killer body beneath work clothes that did nothing to highlight the subtle curves he was now familiarizing himself with. The one who was a mechanic of some sort and certainly not the garage’s receptionist.
Kason’s hands wandered from her waist, up her back, and then lower, lower to the curve of her ass. Wren didn’t object. Instead she hummed and leaned into his embrace, giving him a non-verbal green light by spearing her fingers into his hair and tipping his head so she could reach him better.
She slipped her tongue into his mouth and sparred with his own, meeting him thrust for thrust.
In a flash, he realized that sex with her would be…incredible.
Wren was a wildcat. A badass in an angel’s clothing.
Well, okay, an angel had never looked like her with that slinky black dress, but still.
Kason was about to signal Van to escort him and Wren to whatever secret wormhole he’d arranged when, from behind them, a man called her name. Maybe the dude couldn’t tell they were busy. The equipment case was probably hiding Kason’s hands, which were about to slip beneath Wren’s dress in full view of anyone who cared to look.
“Wren? Is that you?” the newcomer persisted, even though he had to have figured out what they were up to by now.
Instantly, she stiffened. And not in a good way.
The heat and liquid grace she’d been as she burned in Kason’s arms vanished in an instant. Tense and shocked, she jerked away looking guilty as fuck.
Kason wondered if he was about to brawl for the first time in a while. He might welcome a fight if he hadn’t already been about to let off this steam in a much more enjoyable way. Wren had amped him up without hardly trying.
He’d been so intrigued by her that he hadn’t even asked if she had a boyfriend. It looked a hell of a lot like she did. Kason tried not to be judgmental, but loyalty meant something to him. If she’d been cheating on someone with him, the rest of her ultra-attractive qualities didn’t matter.
The other guy was coming closer now, though several women—including the petite lady with dark hair Kason recognized from Hot Rides—attempted to shield Wren from his ire.
“You better talk to him before security tosses him out,” Kason said, his desire fading.
“It’s not what it looks like.” Wren put her hands on his forearms and squeezed. “I swear.”
“Oh yeah? Because it looks like your boyfriend—” Kason glanced up for a better view and realized the man
who’d shouted for Wren was none other than suit-guy. Of fucking course it was.
“Ex,” Wren hissed.
“What?” Kason asked, confused.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend. And I fucking hate him even more now than I did before.” The crinkles around her eyes and the sadness in their aqua depths called her a liar. She was hurt, but she didn’t hate that man.
“I thought he was dead.” Kason spoke without thinking. He didn’t want to be intrigued by Wren, her handsome-as-fuck ex and whatever convoluted history they clearly shared.
“My other ex.” She crossed her arms as if to shield herself from his reaction, though she had no idea how opposite it would be from what she expected when she clarified. “I was in love with them both. At the same time. But when Johnny died, Jordan and I fell apart. Except I can’t seem to get rid of him all of a sudden. Excuse me, please. I’m going to take care of that right now.”
Kason hoped everyone was too distracted by the spectacle Wren’s very-alive ex, her five smokin’ friends, and now Wren herself were making to notice the steel rod in Kason’s pants. She’d said what?
Had he heard her correctly?
And just because suit-guy and someone else had shared Wren, that didn’t mean they’d shared each other. In Kason’s mind, though, that’s exactly what he was picturing, just as he had earlier.
Had some part of his subconscious picked up on their matching sorrow?
He didn’t have time to think about it more because right then Wren whirled around, and strode toward the spot where her friends were clearly trying to corral her ex.
Kason gestured to Van, then pointed to the brewing situation before diving in himself.
There was no chance in hell he could walk away now.
12
Jordan hadn’t had any intention of actually going backstage after the concert. Yet there he stood in the security line clutching his…no, Johnny’s…backstage pass in trembling fingers.