Nashville Boxed Set #1-3

by Bethany Michaels

  I peeked out the blinds again. Still no activity from his bus. It might be safe to venture inside the building and check out the dressing rooms without seeing Shay at all. I slid on my flip-flops and grabbed the garment bag containing my stage costumes from the hook on the back of the bedroom door. I figured I could hit the dressing room now to drop off my costume, go for a run, eat a light lunch and grab a shower and then maybe a power nap back on the bus, since I'd hardly slept the night before. I was so wound up about the tour, details about the show and each song swimming through my head that all I did was stare up at the ceiling until light began to slip through my bedroom blinds.

  I stepped off the bus into the sunshine and quickly crossed to the door at the back of the venue. I nodded at a couple of the crew guys as I hurried along. They nodded back or said hello, addressing me by name, but they were too busy to want to chat and too well-trained and used to working around celebrities to approach me for an autograph or a photo, which suited me just fine.

  I slipped into the back door and slid off my sunglasses just as Shay, shirtless and sweating, came out of one of their equipment trailers pushing a huge trunk on wheels.

  "Where do you want this one, Charlie?" he shouted at a guy holding a clip-board, who seemed to be running this organized chaos.

  "Same place as the other one," he said, barely looking up.

  My first thought, as I came skidding to a halt, was to wonder why Shay was helping to unload the truck when it was clear there were plenty of guys around wearing black t-shirts stamped with "crew" in bold white letters across the back. But then I looked at Shay, muscles straining to push the behemoth cart, sweat pouring down his defined back and dampening the waistband of his signature ratty blue jeans. His cowboy hat had been swapped for a baseball cap, turned around backwards, and if I hadn't known him to be country music's Entertainer of the Year for two years straight, I would have sworn he was just one of the guys on the crew. Only hot. Really hot.

  I swallowed and froze, hoping he wouldn't notice me and my staring. He didn't and shoved the huge trunk down a hallway towards the stage. Flustered, I continued towards where the dressing rooms should be located, but there were some renovations going on and signs pointing in all different directions. Usually Kaylee had already scoped everything out and knew exactly where I was supposed to go, but in my haste to avoid Shay, I hadn't bothered to find her first. I turned a corner, then another, realizing I was becoming hopelessly lost. Frustrated, I turned and went back the way I'd come. I hoped.

  I came to a T and decided to head to the left, just wanting to locate the dock again or the stage, but as soon as I rounded took a couple steps down the narrow corridor, Shay stepped out of one of the rooms on the left and I nearly ran right into him. Perfect.

  He only looked surprised for a moment before he grinned down at me, cocking an eyebrow. "Looking for me?"

  Shay was all masculine self-assurance and testosterone. Sweat dripped down his face and his hair was damp where it stuck out from under his cap.

  "Hardly. I'm looking for my dressing room."

  "You're in the wrong end of the building, princess." He gestured back the way I came. "Your dressing room is close to the stage. Somehow I ended up with a hole in the wall half a day's hike from yours. Wonder how that happened?"

  We both knew exactly what had happened. Daddy had been trying to keep Shay as far away from me as possible, just as I'd asked him to, and had Shay relegated to the back forty. I smiled sweetly. "I have no idea what you mean."

  "Right. You want me to show you the way or not?"

  It was on the tip of my tongue to refuse, but the garment bag was getting heavy and I really didn't want to trek back out to the loading dock, with Shay, in full view of the crew to find Kaylee.

  "Yes. Please."

  Shay took the garment bag from me and tossed it over his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a couple of pounds. "This way."

  The corridor was too narrow for us to walk side-by-side, so I followed him down the hallway, unable to keep my eyes off his ass. Shay's backside in snug jeans was just too much temptation for a woman to resist and I deserved a small treat, I reasoned. I cleared my throat and focused on the bare bulbs lighting the interior. "So what on earth are you doing unloading the truck? Can't afford your half of the crew’s fee?"

  "Funny. I get too stir-crazy just sitting around waiting till show time. I like to get out, do something useful. Charlie lets me help out. Keeps me calm."

  "Doesn't the union have an issue with that?" From listening to Daddy complain how hard it was to get anything done with union labor, I knew how touchy the crew was about outsiders doing their jobs for them, even if it was moving a single case out of the way.

  "Charlie lets me jump in when I whenever I need to burn some nervous energy. Best cardio there is. How 'bout you? Nervous?"

  "Of course not. I've been on stage since I was 5 - years - old. Professionally since I was 14. I don't get nervous." I imbued my voice with as much haughty confidence as I could muster, hoping he would buy it. It would be too embarrassing to admit to my nerves, to what this tour meant to me, how much was at stake to me personally, as well as professionally.

  Shay stopped and turned to lean against the narrow block wall, staring at me. "Yeah, I'm nervous, too."

  "I'm not."

  "Liar. I can see it in the shadows around your eyes. Either you're as nervous as me, princess, or you spent last night doin' something else besides tossing and turning and worrying." He arched his eyebrow suggestively.

  "Fine. I'm...concerned. We should have done a second full rehearsal. So, what, I should grab some lights and climb the rigging?"

  A slow grin spread across his face and danger glinted in his eye. "Well, now, that's one way to let off some steam, but I can think of something better." He let his eyes drop to roam my body and there was no doubt what was on his mind.

  Sex. Hot, fast, stress-reducing sex.

  He took a step forward, trapping me against the wall, my garment bag tossed over his broad, bare shoulder. Bracing both arms against the wall on either side of my head, he leaned in.

  "Manual labor is good, but what I really prefer is a bit of exercise best done one-on-one." He stroked my che e c k with one finger, sending erotic shivers up my spine.

  Despite my annoyance and at his arrogance, I could feel my muscles starting to go soft at his words. Seeing Shay like this had stirred up memories that needed to stay buried at the back of my mind. My dreams had become filled with thoughts—memories—of Shay, naked and damp with perspiration, his hands on my body, between my thighs. His mouth skating across my skin, hot and wet and driving me wild. I hated that I still wanted him. I hated it more that he knew it.

  The glint in his eye told me I could make it a reality once again and though I was tempted for a split second, remembering the aftermath of our last affair and how it had almost ended my career came crashing over me like a bucket of ice water. Not to mention I'd only ever been another notch on his bedpost. The truth was I didn't trust myself around Shay even now. I needed to stay away from him for my own sanity and for the good of the tour.

  I clenched my teeth and shoved at him. "I don't have time for this," I said ducking under his arms and heading down the corridor.

  He let me get to the end of the hallway before he called to me. "Hey, you want your clothes or are you planning to perform in the buff? If so, I'd like to know so I can grab a good seat."

  I stomped back, grabbed the garment bag from him without a word, then spun and headed away again as fast as I could without it looking like I was running. I half expected him to come after me, but the only thing that followed me down the hallway was his deep, sexy chuckle.

  *****

  The thing Shay loved most about his job was performing live shows. He loved how the building hummed with the energy of thousands of fans. He loved how a mess of boxes inside a truck this morning had turned into a stage full of instruments and rigging and lights and amps by the af
ternoon. He loved watching the efficiency of the stage crew as they ran wires and set up the mics and at the sound check, he loved hearing his voice echo though the empty auditorium, knowing it would sound completely different once the place was full. It was still a sort of minor miracle to him, getting where he was and realizing that people actually paid to hear him play—that someone like him would headline a tour.

  Well, co-headline.

  Since they’d been unable to come to an agreement about who would open the first show, they’d flipped a coin. Michelle had lost the toss and had to perform first tonight. He peered at the stage from the wings as Michelle finished her final song. He loved her voice, always had. From the first time he heard her as a teen on the jam box in the barn where he worked on his Momma's old Caddy, her voice had reached out and grabbed him and made him believe the words she sang were just for him.

  But she wasn't that little Shelly May her Daddy had dressed up in ribbons and rhinestones and sent out on stage all those years ago. The ribbons and rhinestones were eerily identical, but she was Michelle now, a woman grown, and her voice had deepened slightly with the years. It was seasoned, richer than it had ever been, and he closed his eyes for a moment to just listen.

  Michelle sang the song technically perfect. She hit every note and every step she took seemed calculated. But there was no energy in it. No emotion. Cold. The audience could feel it, too. They applauded at the end of each song, but it wasn't the roar of a crowd truly moved and thrilled to have the opportunity to experience Michelle in person.

  She finished a cute little rock-a-billy number she'd been ending shows with for more than a decade, waved and threw a couple of air kisses to the crowd and hurried off the stage as the lights went down.

  Michelle's stage assistant—different than her personal assistant or her manager or her PR person— took her guitar and handed her a bottle of water and a towel. He wondered, not for the first time, how many people she had on staff.

  "Nice job," Shay said, pushing off the wall.

  "Thanks," she smiled, but it seemed like she was just relieved to be off stage.

  She was a little out of breath, but otherwise calm, so unaffected by it all. When he came off stage, he was always riled up, ready to go some more, adrenaline pumping and his mind going a million miles an hour. It wasn't unheard of for him to go back for an encore and play for another hour if the mood struck him. Or to go out with the crew after the show and blow off steam by rocking a nowhere bar and throwing back a few beers. It was exhilarating, exciting, the best gig in the world.

  But Michelle looked like she'd just clocked out of the button factory after an 18-hour shift.

  "You're on in five, Shay," the stage manager told him patting him on the back. "You got everything you need?"

  "Just about."

  He looked at Michelle and his eyes dropped to her full mouth, colored lightly with lipstick in a shade that would have suited Shelly May.

  "What?" she asked looking up at him.

  "I have this pre-show ritual," Shay said stepping towards her.

  Michelle's personal assistant giggled and Shay had a feeling Kaylee know what that ritual was. He'd talked about it enough in interviews.

  "Uh, good for you," Michelle said distractedly, patting her face dry.

  Deciding to use the element of surprise to his advantage, Shay and swooped in, gathered Michelle in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, briefly, but with enough umpf to let her know she'd been kissed.

  She shoved at his chest and he let her go almost immediately, though what he really wanted to do was kiss her until she stopped fighting and kissed him back. The physical attraction between them was real and it was strong. Always had been, always would be, he suspected.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" She asked, those brows of hers coming together in what was becoming a familiar look of irritation whenever they were in the same room.

  "My ritual."

  "He always gets a kiss for luck," Michelle's assistant said, clutching her clipboard and not taking her eyes off Shay.

  Michelle reddened slightly. "Well, I don't feel like being manhandled every time you go on stage, so find some other woman to assault next time, OK?"

  "That shouldn't be too hard," Michelle's assistant said breathily. "He picks a different girl every show. Never the same one twice."

  "Seriously? You just go around kissing random women before you go on?"

  "It's tradition. I would have thought you'd understand that." Shay winked at Michelle. "See ya after."

  Shay strode out on stage as the band started playing his opening number.

  He jogged to the middle of the stage and the lights came up.

  "Hey, y'all! Are you ready for a show?" He shouted into the mic.

  The crowd roared and Shay felt the adrenaline pump through his veins. He smiled.

  Oh yeah, this was it. This was where he belonged and he'd do whatever it took to stay there.

  Chapter Four

  I barely had time to grab a water, a cold one this time, back on my bus, before Daddy started knocking at the door. My heart sank. Whenever a show went really well, Daddy lingered inside and schmoozed with the promoter and any VIPs that might have been backstage. But when a show tanked, he was knocking at my door wanting to know why before the last note died. I hadn't even hadn't even removed my stage make-up or combed the hairspray out of my hair yet.

  I steeled myself for the worst.

  "You decent?" he called from outside the bus door.

  "Yeah, Daddy. Come on in."

  My father came up the stairs of the bus and noticing how the gray hair around his temples was spreading, I realized all of a sudden just how much he'd begun to show his age the past few years. He'd turned 53 last November, but had the energy of a man half his age when it came to helping me with my career. Whether it had been driving me all over the countryside to perform in union halls and county fairs when I was just getting started, or going to bat for me with promoters, the label, and my PR staff now, he had been with me on every tour, ever y concert, every recording session since the beginning. I knew that the time he invested in my career had eventually played a part in my parents' split, though he denied it. The man had basically given up his life so that I could live my dream and I never forgot it. Yet another layer of guilt and pressure to add to my already heavy burden. Yet another reason this tour had to be successful.

  I put on a bright smile. "Hi, Daddy."

  He sat down heavily on the bench across from me and looked at me in the way I knew so well. "What happened out there? You looked like a cardboard cutout of yourself."

  "I...thought it went pretty well."

  "It didn't." He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "You lost the audience by the second number."

  "I don't know what to say." Disappointment weighed as heavily on me as a crown made of lead.

  "People are counting on you, Michelle. Robert is sticking his neck out for you."

  "I know."

  "People around town are saying you're washed up. A has-been. If this doesn't work out, we're done."

  "I know."

  "Then you have to do your best. Every night. Every show." His voice was low, but stern. He wasn't yelling, but it sure felt like it. I remembered every bad performance and every talking-to I'd received afterwards. I might be grown now, but disappointing Daddy , made me feel exactly as I had when I'd been caught liberating a beer from the crew's cooler after a show when I was 17.

  "You've got to concentrate, girl. Give this thing your all or don't do it at all."

  Boy, had I heard that one before. It might as well have been tattooed across my forehead. But he was right. I hadn't felt comfortable on stage. Maybe it was just first night jitters. Or maybe it was Shay. I frowned. He annoyed my, got under my skin and he had thrown my game off.

  "Do you want to pack up now, Michelle? Because I've got horses at home that need feeding."

  "No , Daddy. I want to do this. The next one
will be better."

  "OK." He nodded and stood.

  I stood, too, and my father gave me a brief hug and a peck on the forehead. "Get some sleep, Honey. You look a little tired."

  I nodded. "You're right. I think I'll head to bed right now."

  "Good. I'll tell Kaylee that you're turning in for the night. We're rolling out first thing in the morning."

  "’Night."

  My father stepped off the bus, leaving me alone with a boulder in the pit of my stomach.

  I could hear Shay playing faintly and feel the strong bass of his set beneath my feet. From the crowd's reaction, they liked what they heard. Figured.

  I moved to the bathroom and started removing my stage make-up. I never liked to go back to the dressing room after the show, preferring the privacy of my bus. In the old days, it had been for my safety. Going directly to my bus, I could avoid the crush of fans and people milling about backstage. The unsavory elements my father had always said, terrified that I would be kidnapped and held for ransom. But I doubted I would be mobbed now if I went out naked and stood in the middle of the VIP room. People would maybe glance my way before rushing for Shay. It made me want to hit something, even though I knew it was my own fault for blowing my set.

  I changed into my favorite pair of yoga pants and an old Tootsie's t-shirt then grabbed my phone and went to the social networking site where fans often posted real-time concert updates to see how bad the damage was.

  @ Shay Rogan show in Charlotte." One person quipped. "Shelly May opened. Didn't know she still sang.

  Not helping.

  Shay looking hot, another concert goer posted and there was a grainy cell phone image of him on stage.

  I rolled my eyes and kept scrolling, hoping for some positive comment about my performance or even just a mention that I was there at all. No such luck.