by Anthology
Hiya. Tonight’s menu: celebrational champagne shots out of my belly button after your show.
He grinned and shot her back a message.
What are we celebrating?
A moment later, he saw the comment bubble come up that she was typing.
Oh nothing, just the official notice that I’m on the Food Riot roster. Full chef status after this tour. I’ll give you all the deets tonight. Naked. Hope you didn’t work out too hard. Chef Lawless has plans for you.
“What’s that shit-eating grin for?”
Deacon looked up at Nick. He tried to wipe off the smile, but he couldn’t. “Nothing.”
Nick’s eyebrow winged up. “Right. Chef Lawless going to cook you up some simmering orgasms with a side of whipped cream?”
Deacon glanced down at his phone then up at Nick who was already standing, ready to leave. “You reading my texts, son?”
Nick grinned. “Maybe.”
He tapped back a quick congratulations and affirmative to the night’s festivities. He jammed his phone back into his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. There was no way he’d put a damper on tonight. They’d celebrate, and he’d try not to think about the fact that she’d be off on another tour soon.
And he’d be home, getting another album ready.
Maybe.
“Ready to get going?”
Deacon blinked up at Nick again. “Yeah.”
“I must’ve missed the really good text. You’re spacing out, Deak.”
He forced his lips to bend into a smile as he stood. “That you did, Nicky.” Deacon slapped him on the arm. “Let’s get this party started.”
They all piled off the bus and headed for the van used to transport them to the radio stations. Gray was already inside.
“There you are.” Jazz bounced into the seat beside Gray.
The only person that could pull a smile out of Gray was Jazz, and she didn’t spoil her record today. He smiled at her, his eyes shielded behind dark shades. “I took my shower before you water hogs did.”
“That’s Simon, not me.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Gray said easily. He scrunched down in his seat, tipped his Fedora down, then folded his hands in his lap. “Wake me when we get there.”
Jazz huffed, but settled with her phone. Deacon felt his phone buzz and knew she was already tweeting about the day’s festivities. Simon swung his way into the bench seat in the back beside Jazz, leaving him and Nick to take the bucket seats in the middle of the van.
Gordo took the passenger seat in the front and turned with his iPad poised. They were treated to a who’s who about the radio station and the morning hosts they were going to meet. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Deacon’s brain was full of names he wouldn’t remember, but at least he had a focus now.
And it wasn’t Harper.
The doors opened to a crush of fans lined up on the sidewalk, with white and orange sawhorses trying to keep them in some sort of order.
Simon rubbed his hands together. “Papa’s gotta work.” He hopped out, his arms wide. “Ladies, no pushing. There’s enough of me to go around, I promise.”
Deacon stepped out and cringed. Posters that matched the flags used for Burn’s release party lined the brick wall. All of them in black and cobalt blue boyband glory. Shit. He truly hadn’t missed those.
“Demon!”
Deacon scanned the crowd, surprised to see a group of men and women waving a silk screened panel of canvass with Deacon’s bastardized Oblivion logo on it. He greeted them with smiles and dug one of his ever present Sharpies out of his back pocket.
There were similar groups of fans clamoring for the rest of the band. Simon and Jazz were swallowed by a hoard. After he posed for photo ops and signed the big sign for his Demons, he waded into the crowd.
Jazz was being pushed around in the excitement, and he plucked her out and up onto his shoulders. She wrapped around his neck like a vine, with a shaky “thank you” in his ear.
The moment they walked inside the station, there were a bank of six foot tables. Silver and gold Sharpies, five water bottles, and a stack of CD’s were set up with matching folding chairs all lined up. At the far right of the signing table were two stacks of posters. One of the band, and one just of Simon alone with his shirt off, smirk in full effect.
Gordo came rushing in. “I forgot to mention the signing.”
“Yes, you did,” Nick said with a growl as he managed to get inside.
Jazz laughed, already back to her perky self as she slid down Deacon’s back to skip around the table. She plopped down in the center seat and cracked the seal on her water bottle. “Hey, Simon, maybe we can get a jar and do another signing body parts thing. All those willing victims—aka wild hyenas—outside…”
Simon glanced at Gordo. “Make it happen.”
Deacon sighed and took his place at the far left hand side. It was going to be a long-ass day.
CHAPTER TWENTY
September 7, 9:45 AM - Fame Monster
His face hurt. And his wrist.
Deacon was also pretty sure that he now would see spots permanently from the sheer volume of flash photos he’d smiled through. The fans had been the easy part.
Well, until the radio station bussed in winners from a local mall. The small group on the sidewalk had been child’s play. The lobby had been overrun with screaming women and shouting men.
Then there had been the radio station winners that they had to do one-on-one meetings with. He slapped another smile on his face when someone tapped on his elbow.
Deacon turned and instantly crouched down. A little girl, no more than six, stared up at him. Her blonde hair was slipping from two pigtails and her huge blue eyes reminded him of another woman.
Shit. She was like a mini-Harper.
His first real smile in hours melted the tension in his shoulders. “Hey there.”
The girl nibbled on her bottom lip. “Are you Demon?”
“Some people call me that.” He tapped the end of her nose. “But I have a secret.”
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes widening even more.
“I prefer Deacon,” he said in a low whisper.
She smiled brightly. “That’s a pretty name.”
He mock-frowned at her. “It’s a boy name.”
She giggled while holding out her hand. “I’m Jasmine.”
“You are? I know a Jasmine, too.”
“You do?”
Damn if her eyes weren’t the most beautiful blue. Like a clear summer sky. Like Harper’s. He cleared his throat when she tilted her head. “Yes. Our drummer’s name is Jasmine.”
“No, it’s not. Her name is Jazz.”
“Cool nickname, right?”
“My mom calls me—”
“Jazzy! There you are!”
The little girl turned and waved at her mother. The sunny blonde rushing forward matched her daughter in every way.
“Oh, my dear God.” The woman blinked down at her daughter and then at Deacon who was just as tall as she was in a crouched position. “You’re—” Her mouth dropped open and her fingers fluttered over her neck, then to her purse, and back to the collar of her shirt.
She seemed to pull herself together and smoothed her hand down the little girl’s hair. “You scared Mommy.”
“I couldn’t find you, but then I saw him. You know, because he’s so tall and all.”
Deacon grinned and stood. “Hi, I’m Deacon.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” The woman tilted her head up to meet his gaze. She stuck her hand out. “Mary.”
He shook her hand.
“Can we get that picture now, Momma?”
“I’m sure he’s busy, baby.”
“No, that’s fine. I’d be happy to. We were just getting acquainted when you came over.”
Jasmine held her hands up. “I’ll never show up in the picture unless you pick me up.”
“Jasmine Marie! I’m so sorry.
She’s not usually so rude.”
Deacon chuckled. “Is it okay if I pick her up?”
“Oh yeah, she’s a monkey. She’ll climb right up if you let her.”
“Is that right?”
He held out his arm and sure enough, Jasmine climbed up his arm and latched her legs around his waist. Well, as much as her six year old legs could. He supported her butt with his forearm, then lifted her up onto his shoulders.
Jasmine squealed and wrapped her tiny hand around his neck. “This is officially awesome.”
“Hey kid, that’s my spot. Don’t get too comfy.”
The little girl’s nails bit into his neck. “Oh my God.”
Deacon grinned down at their Jazz. “Hiya, Pix.”
“You flirtin’ with all the girls, Manster?”
“Maybe.”
Nick and Gray came up behind Jazz. The usually cool and quiet Gray was smiling—an honest to God, full-blown smile—up at the kid.
Simon was still holding court, this time with his charity in mind. Didn’t mean he wasn’t scrawling his signature across many a breast for his own pleasure as a side benefit.
The mother…Mary, was it? Names tended to stick around long enough for him to sign the name on the paper, CD, or program before it was lost to his overloaded brain. She was twisting the handle of her purse as she nibbled on her bottom lip.
Deacon knew that look. It was a photo-op look. Instead of watching the woman agonize over asking, he opened his other arm to Jazz. “Let’s give this nice lady and her daughter a picture before we have to head upstairs to the studio.”
“Oh, right. Sure,” Jazz said brightly. She snuggled into his side and tugged on the little girl’s purple and black sneaker. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Jasmine.”
Jazz’s eyes lit up. “Mine, too!”
“Deacon told me.” Tiny fingers tapped his neck. “My mom calls me Jazzy, though.”
“Close enough. I gotta say…totally cool name.”
Mary stepped in front of her daughter on the other side of Deacon.
“Did you want all of us?” Deacon asked.
Mary nodded. “Yes, please.”
Gray and Nick flanked him. Gray automatically slipped in beside Jazz, and Nick slid an arm around Mary’s shoulder.
“Gordo! Over here.” Deacon shouted into the crowd. Shellac and Polo boy rushed over, juggling his iPad and lanyards with radio station VIP passes on the front.
“We have to move upstairs to do the acoustic set.”
Jazz bounced once. “Take this poor woman’s picture and we’ll go wherever you tell us to.”
Deacon had to force himself not to roll his eyes. Jazz in sugar-shock mode was almost too syrupy to stand. But as usual, Gordo got flustered and did anything that Jazz asked him to.
It was truly sickening.
A few minutes later, Mary’s phone was full of pictures and Jasmine was back on the ground, fingers linked with her mother’s. Gray plucked out two strings from the handful of passes Gordo held and slipped one over the little girl’s head and handed another to Mary before disappearing into the crowd.
“We’re going to have to rename him Vapor,” Nick muttered.
Deacon leaned down and pressed a kiss to mini-Jasmine’s cheek. “Stay cool, Jazzy.”
They all said goodbye to Mary and waded their way through the neverending crowd to Simon. Two girls sat on the table with their tops scrunched up to show off tanned, bare backs. Simon, of course, was scrawling his signature across their skin very slowly.
Nick, Gray, Jazz, and Deacon all clustered together with folded arms. Jazz had her hip cocked and her head tilted in that Jazz way that made all of them squirm.
Simon finally sat back and studied his handiwork before looking up. The idiot didn’t have an ounce of remorse. He simply shrugged and stood. “Time to work?”
Jazz tipped her head back and growled. “You’re such a pig.”
“Ah, but I’m your pig, Jazzalicious.”
“Do not call me that.”
Simon leaned forward and kissed each girl. “Sorry, girls. I have to go sing now. See you after the show tonight? You can show me the tattoos you’re off to get.”
The two women nodded and hopped down. They were wearing nearly identical outfits—skirts that could be belts, and clingy, sparkly tops.
All the shiny things that Simon couldn’t resist.
Deacon rolled his eyes. They were staring down the sixth week of the tour and Simon seemed as enamored with the groupies now as he had when they’d first released “The Becoming”.
Deacon spotted Gordo making a dash for them, his little chicken legs working overtime to get across the lobby. “You done?”
Simon twirled his Sharpie through his fingers. “Don’t be jealous, gents. I can’t help it if the women love me more than you.”
Nick simply lifted one brow, staring Simon down.
And still, no shame to be seen.
“Gordo’s coming to collect us.”
“Finally,” Nick muttered. Their lead guitarist loved the music portion of their duties, but hated the public niceties. Three hours was way past his boiling point.
If Gordo had let them know there would be a signing, Deacon knew Nick would have found a way to make himself scarce.
Gordo waved to them from the elevator as he held the door open.
Nick and Gray flanked Jazz, leaving Deacon and Simon at the back of the pack. With heads down, they managed to get to the elevator without being stopped.
When all of them were alone in the elevator, Gordo slapped the top floor. “All right, I have some news.”
Simon’s shoulders slumped and he stared at his feet. “We have eight more meet and greets,” he muttered.
“No, Simon. For your information, this is very good news. The sales for this tour have turned around so sharply that Trident is giving you an extra ten minutes per set for the rest of the tour.”
Nick dropped his arms to his sides. “Holy shit.”
Jazz instantly started bouncing.
Deacon frowned. “Ten minutes?”
“Yes, giving you a fifty minute set. The next few shows are big ones, as you well know. So we need you in top form. I sent you a few songs that have done the best on the YouTube channel that I’d suggest putting in the show.”
“Now you’re telling us what to play, too?” Deacon bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Nick and Gray mirrored each other by both dipping their hands in their pockets. They were far more in sync with each other than they’d want to own up to. Especially on stage.
Gordo went on as if Deacon hadn’t spoken. “I think you should do them acoustically today, and that way, people will be excited to see them on stage tonight.”
Deacon opened his mouth, irrational anger coasting up his spine.
Jazz laid her hand on his arm, giving him a look. “That’s great. It would have been more helpful if you’d let us know earlier, so we could have practiced, Toby. Tell the radio hosts to give us a few minutes?”
Gordo’s shoulders relaxed. Jazz knew how to twine any one of them around her finger. Gordo was no different. The whole using his real name trick—damn effective.
Handling was exactly what Deacon usually did. When the hell had he handed that particular piece of his job to Jazz? And he couldn’t even be mad about it. He’s been in his own head so much that Jazz had been stepping in a lot lately.
Time to get his damn head in the game again.
Simon cracked his knuckles. “‘Ripcord’.”
Nick turned his head to Simon. “What?”
The elevator dinged open.
Simon walked out in the lead with all of them following. The room was sterile as a bank. Tan walls, tan carpet, tan couches, with boring seascapes on the walls.
Deacon knew the effect was supposed to be soothing, but all it did was make his shoulder blades itch.
Without even asking, Simon headed for the door marked break
room. They all followed him to a table.
“Look, this is a good thing.”
Gordo hovered around the fringes of their little powwow until Simon turned, his charm-face in full effect.
“Hey Gordo, how about you check in with the radio people and see if we can get a practice space, huh?”
“Right.” Task in mind, Gordo rushed back out into the vanilla lobby.
“‘Ripcord’ is one of our better songs, but we don’t ever get to play it. And it sounds really cool acoustic, too. Remember when we did it at the afterparty at the beginning of the tour?”
Deacon nodded, his fingers itching for a guitar.
“Then we can do ‘Too Still’ as well.”
“A love song?” Nick sneered. “What the fuck, man?”
“No, he’s right.” Deacon dug his phone out of his pocket to jot down notes. “We’ve only let out the rock songs lately.”
“Because that’s what we are,” Nick said with a growl.
Deacon sighed. From a marketing standpoint, they’d only had one slower paced song. “The Becoming” was sex on legs, and the rest of their songs were in your face, but they really hadn’t showed just how awesome they were lyrically yet.
“Too Still” showed the other side of them.
“Reason one, relationship songs are universal.” Deacon held up his thumb then his forefinger. “Two, we don’t want to be pigeon-holed as the band that only sings raunchy party songs.”
“We like raunchy party songs. They keep the crowd moving,” Simon interjected.
“Look at Rebel Rage. They can’t get out of their own way, or the shadow of their party songs. We’re more than that.”
“He’s right.”
Gray’s quiet voice swung everyone’s attention his way. He rubbed his finger under his nose. “The slower songs give us more leeway with guitar solos, as well as show that Simon can do more than scream.”
“Thanks. I think.” Simon folded his arms across his chest.
Gray shrugged.
Nick scrubbed his hands over his face, then squared his shoulders. “Let’s see how it goes.”
Deacon glanced at Jazz. She’d been suspiciously quiet. She was twirling one of her drumsticks through her fingers and gnawing on her bottom lip. A far off look had taken over her eyes. “Pix?”