Anya and the Shy Guy (Backstage Pass)

by Suze Winegardner

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and gently tugged her toward him. “No one’s ever said that to me before.” His gaze was on her mouth.

  “What? That they want to kiss you?” She was being pulled closer and closer.

  “Mmm-hmm,” was all he said before his lips touched hers.

  She opened her mouth for him, but he pulled away slightly, gently stroking his bottom lip against hers. She could feel his breath in her mouth, and it felt like he was living inside her as she inhaled. Her whole body felt like it was vibrating in anticipation of his kiss.

  As he yanked her whole body to his, his mouth crushed against hers, sending a zip of electricity up her spine. She couldn’t help but moan as he devoured her. Both his hands dived up the back of her tank top and she pressed against them, wanting to feel his skin.

  Suddenly he tore his lips from hers and held her at arms’ length. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I don’t have anything with me.”

  “Anything…? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have any condoms. I never expected…”

  She leaped back, off his lap and onto the floor, trying to ease up on the heavy breathing that was wracking her body. “What? What? No!”

  He snatched a cushion from the sofa and shoved it on his lap, looking at her in confusion.

  Oh. Ohhhh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” she started to say.

  “Oh my God, no. That was really presumptuous wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I jumped like five hurdles at once.” He looked really embarrassed, and she wondered if her face was as red as his.

  She took a breath and sat on the floor cross-legged in front of him, not touching him at all, until she leaned forward and rested the very top of her head against his knee.

  “I’m sorry. I got totally carried away by how lush you are. I’ve never…”

  “Lush?” she raised her head.

  “I’ve been hanging out with Miles too much. His Britishisms are rubbing off on me.” He grinned and flopped back against the sofa, taking a deep breath. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is ‘my bad’.”

  She felt like saying something truly honest. “You make me feel different. I mean I’ve never felt the way I feel when I’m kissing you. But I’ve never…done that before.”

  “It’s okay, neither have I,” he said with a smile.

  “Is that a lie?” She knew it was and grinned back at him.

  “Pretty much, but I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

  They sat in silence for a few seconds, just looking at each other. Then Will cleared his throat and pulled the sofa cushion more on to his lap.

  Anya looked blankly at him for a second and then collapsed back on the floor giggling.

  His matching laugh was warm and genuine. She lay there looking up at the sky, with her bare feet now on top of his, watching as the stars and clouds zoomed by.

  Could this be any more perfect?

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day was a rush of auditing. Something the band had to do whenever they reached a new venue. Each of the band members was responsible for making sure all their own costumes were present and accounted for backstage, that their guest lists were up to date, that they knew where the stage entrances and exits were, where all the cabling lay, what kind of floor the stage had.

  It was a day spent almost entirely with the other guys, going over steps and set lists. Ryder had had to go to the doctor with a sore throat and swollen glands, so they were sitting on the stage watching for his arrival to make sure he could sing that night.

  Matt found himself watching for Anya, too. Looking for a flash of her shiny hair, or the sound of her clomping boots. Nada. He hoped he hadn’t fucked it up the night before. He’d never, ever felt so into a girl before. Like he wanted to pull her apart, see who she was inside, and then put her back together again. He was painfully aware that he was beginning to sound like a creepy serial killer in his own head. Not that there were many un-creepy serial killers.

  “What do you think, Will?”

  He snapped out of his daydream. “What?”

  “If Ryder’s not able to sing, can you take the lead on ‘Hanging On’?” Trevin asked from his vantage point, sitting on one of the big black amps in front of the drum set.

  “I guess.” Shit, he’d have to spend the day practicing. Which meant he couldn’t go find Anya. “Will I get a run-through before the show?”

  “You wuss—what do you need a run-through for?” Ryder stepped onto the stage from the wings. “Anyway, I’m fine. Just have to gargle and spray some kind of salty fluid at the back of my throat.” He held up a large bottle with a prescription label.

  All of them laughed except for Nathan who looked bemused. “Don’t worry, Nath. You’ll understand when you’re older, mate,” Miles said, giving the poor guy a noogie.

  “So what’s up with you and that reporter chick?” Trevin asked in such a way that Matt knew it had a double meaning.

  “I’ve got her under control. Don’t worry.”

  “Her?” Miles swiveled around and raised his sunglasses. “You have ‘her’ under control? How does that work?”

  “I meant ‘it’. I have ‘it’ under control.” He couldn’t possibly have Anya less under control. Under his skin, yeah. The rest? Not so much.

  “Just be charming. And don’t chuck any of us under the bus. Ix nay on our secrets,” Miles said.

  “I don’t have any secrets,” Nathan said, shrugging.

  Lucky bastard.

  Trevin stood up. “Okay, I guess that’s us for this afternoon. Nathan, I think you’re up first for makeup today, but check the list on the door just in case.”

  Matt made a run for the edge of the stage and jumped down.

  “Your knee really seems to be better,” called LJ from the third row of seats. Where had he come from? “Amazing recovery, really.” His face was static. No emotion. No happiness at his recovery. Shit. Did he really suspect?

  Matt hesitated for a moment and then continued walking. “Thanks to you,” he said as he rushed past the man who had put his brother in rehab.

  Don’t let me hit him. Don’t let me hit him.

  He repeated his mantra until he was out of the seating area and back to the bus.

  He checked the makeup list as he went in and, indeed, it was Nathan up first, followed by him. Pulling his phone out of his pocket he sat heavily in one of the booths. He checked Instagram, then his private Twitter account, and then he couldn’t help but go to WowSounds.com.

  On the Road

  Thank you for all the great comments, I’m going to start reading some of them to Will, see if he feels like replying to any of them. Put your lippy on, ladies, he might be looking at YOU(r) comment.

  It turns out the post-show euphoria lasts a long time. A loooong time. If you were one of the last out of the stadium last night, the chances are that Will was watching you leave from his perch on the roof. Boy seems to like heights, or the sky, and he can even name some stars (not counting Nathan, Ryder, Miles, and Trevin).

  Matt grinned and made a mental note to Google some star names to identify for her next time.

  If you’re a World of Warcraft girl, you are already on Will’s list. He’s an expert at the game, as it seems are the rest of the band. They play online under aliases, so who knows? You could have already played them!

  And in the best news of the day, I’ve been told to take photos…so look out for some candid photos of the not-so-shy guy, Will. What will I catch him doing? What would you LIKE me to catch him doing? Keep it clean please!

  More from NOLA tomorrow! Stay tuned to WowSounds.com!

  Photos? Maybe she’d let him take photos of her, too? He wished he already had one to look at. That’s it. This evening’s mission is to get photos. This evening. Hmmm. He knew a couple of the guys were breaking out to go see Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. Maybe he’d take Anya, too. It would be good to get out. It was so busy down there Ryder had assured them that with minimal
disguise they’d have a great time.

  Or maybe he’d just keep her to himself.

  …

  It was so weird. There was even a photo of him online with bandages around his knee. She flipped through the pages of the fan site. She couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that she was actually kissing the guy who was in so many photos and magazines. It was strange. When they were together, he didn’t feel famous. But when they were apart, she couldn’t put together the Will in the photos and the Will she knew. Kissed. Whatever. It was like two different Wills.

  She grabbed her notebook and paged back nearly to the beginning. Will had been brought up in Jacksonville, Florida, and she knew somewhere she’d written down the name of his high school. There it was: Joseph Hood Memorial High School.

  She underlined it slowly. Should she? No. That’s, like, totally stalkerish. This was a tour thing. Given what Natasha had said, it could just be a couple of days thing. She shouldn’t be mooning. She shouldn’t be wanting to see what Alice Singleton looked like. Who would ever find out? She quickly searched for his school online and clicked through their gallery by year.

  Okay, she could stop now. But she didn’t want to. She clicked on the right year for his ninth grade and scanned the names attributed to some of the candid shots. Singleton, Singleton, Singleton. There!

  She was really sweet looking, all straight blond hair pulled back with an Alice band. Appropriate. She looked a bit like Natasha—all fine features and really pale skin.

  Nothing like Anya.

  She turned to her Will page and wrote more facts.

  Twisted his right knee.

  Says he hasn’t kissed anyone on the tour. (lie)

  Definitely kisses on the first date. (see Natasha)

  Has had sex before. Wonder who with?

  She shook her head and snapped out of it, closing down the school site and tapping her fingers on the table. Her email blinked and she opened that instead.

  Mrs. Anderson.

  Please make yourself available to meet me Thursday at the Rendezvous Café in the French Quarter. It would be great to see you there at, say, 1:00 p.m.? Let me know if that suits you. I’ll bring your checks and we can discuss how long you’ll be staying with the tour and how long your children and husband can cope without you!

  Best wishes,

  Cynthia

  Stress peppered her shoulders, pulling her muscles tighter and tighter. She hunched them to try and ease the stiffening. No, no, no. No. One look at Anya and Cynthia would know full well that she wasn’t a married woman with kids. Her job would be over, and she’d probably have her pass revoked. Probably? Definitely. Today might be the last day with Will. Her last chance to get her scoop. Her last chance to spend every second kissing him that she could. A cold infiltrated her stomach and she wrapped both arms around her middle.

  A granola bar hit the top of her head. “Eat,” Natasha said. “You look super pale. Are you okay?”

  “Sure, I’m fine,” Anya pushed out weakly.

  “And I’m Beyonce. Wanna see me shake ma thang?” She turned around, hitched her shirt up, and shook her ass at what seemed like a hundred miles an hour.

  Anya laughed, there was no way she couldn’t. “How’s Nick?”

  “Nice sidestep, girl. What’s up?” She slipped into the opposite seat and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”

  “Really it’s nothing.” Anya started to pick at her cuticles which, even as she did it, she knew was one hell of a tell. She looked up and stuffed her hands underneath her thighs.

  “Is it Will?” Natasha asked. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard you talking last night in the back room. I had no idea you were in any way close…or I wouldn’t have mentioned…you know.” She cocked her head in sympathy.

  “Oh God,” Anya moaned and put her head on the table.

  “Come on. It’s okay. Tell Aunty Tasha about it. I’m older and wiser.”

  She picked up her head. “You mean you’re faking being older.”

  “Oh sweetie. Whatever you say, at twenty-three I’m still a lot older than you, aren’t I?”

  Anya couldn’t say anything. Everything seemed to be imploding around her.

  “Okay, enough. I have an hour before I see Nathan for makeup. Let’s bust this joint and go find some coffee. We can talk. Really. I’m a great friend if you give me a chance.” Her voice was soft, and the expression in her eyes couldn’t have been more genuine.

  Maybe she needed a friend. Natasha had assured her that they were friends now. Family even, and she really hadn’t done anything to make Anya think Natasha wouldn’t be a friend. But she’d lived so long depending on just herself and Jude. And she never really spoke to Jude. Even when he was there physically for her, he had rarely been there mentally. She wanted—needed—to take a leap of faith. She nodded and stood, hoping she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

  A few minutes later she was spilling. Partially, at least. There was no sense in boring Natasha with all her pathetic life issues, but she did explain about meeting her boss at WowSounds and that she thought Anya was married with kids. When she’d finished, Natasha just looked at her, mouth open, eyes round. She goggled Anya for a good ten seconds.

  And then she laughed. Firstly a huff almost of disbelief. Then what can only be described as a guffaw, and then she was giggling, holding on to the table in the snack hut. Like, literally holding on.

  Anya was stunned. And then she saw a sliver of desperate humor. In an “if you didn’t laugh you’d cry” way. She cracked a smile. And then she was laughing, too. More at the snot running down Natasha’s face and her seeming inability to sit up straight in her chair.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Just… What a fix to get yourself into.” She shook her head. “Are you going to meet her?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I can’t claim twenty-four hour rabies, can I? Can I?” Could she?

  “Is that a thing? It could be I guess,” Natasha said. “So the bottom line is, you have to see her and pretend to be, say…twenty-four? That’s probably the youngest you’d be able to fake claiming a hubby and kids.”

  “I don’t even have anything to wear that would be right for someone that old.” She mentally scanned the clothes she had and it took about 0.3 seconds.

  “Come find me before you go to meet her, I’ll see if I can’t put together a look that might see you through. And if I can’t, I’ll go for you. I’ve read all your blogs, so I know what she’ll be expecting. Don’t worry about it. See? Aunty Tasha can fix everything! Oh my God, I just realized: if you get fired you won’t be back here again, will you? No more Will, no more articles…shit, that blows. I’m definitely going to come up with something, okay?”

  “Okay,” she almost whispered. Natasha was right—no more Will. She couldn’t get her head around that one. Nor her heart. She had to do anything she could to stay. She…she was doing this for Jude, right? Was it wrong of her to be thinking about losing Will, too?

  Natasha hugged her awkwardly over the table, and Anya had no words to express the emotion that was bubbling up in her chest. Someone wanted to look out for her. Someone was willing to help her. It was unfathomable. The last month her mother had been coherent, all she’d said was that everybody was out to get them, and that Anya shouldn’t trust anyone, rely on anyone. To be honest, she’d kind of taken the advice to heart, except where Jude was concerned. She released Natasha and sat back down. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, honey.”

  They fell silent for a minute or so while they sipped their coffees. And then the door burst open and banged against the side of the hut so hard that the whole place shook. Natasha rolled her eyes at Anya and whispered, “Sister Act,” out of the corner of her mouth.

  “What did you say?” the older of the two girls demanded. She was tall, immaculately made-up, even though she didn’t look old enough to need that much camouflage. She dug her fists into her waist, ey
es flashing.

  The younger girl with her slunk away, head down, toward the woman who was making the coffee.

  Natasha grinned. “I didn’t say anything to you, sugah,” she drawled.

  “I can get you fired in a heartbeat, so watch it.” Wow, she was so…nasty.

  “And how many people have you said that to this afternoon, sugah? Ten? Twenty? It kind of loses effect when that’s the only thing you have to say. Why don’t you try being nice to people for a change?”

  “I don’t need to be nice. I’m famous,” she sneered back. Anya guessed she had a point there.

  “Why don’t you go terrorize someone who cares? We’re done here.” Natasha rose from the table and Anya hurried to follow. She did not want to be left here with Cruella de Vil.

  Outside, Anya couldn’t help but say something. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone be so mean to people in real life.”

  Natasha sighed. “Yeah, I know. Someone should tell her that life isn’t actually like some show on the CW. But it ain’t gonna be me. I need my job. And this is a great job.”

  “Thank you again for helping me,” Anya said as they started walking back to the parking lot full of trailers and buses.

  “You’re welcome. It’s nice to have you around, honestly. Maybe I’m being selfish by helping you.”

  She squeezed Anya’s arm, and tears threatened to well up in her eyes. People were nice. Well, maybe except Cruella. Maybe there were other people out there who would help her, too. Maybe she didn’t need to live her life all alone, all the time. She would think about that.

  “Hey, stop by the makeup trailer in about an hour. I should be doing Will then.” She shook her head. “Not doing him. You know…just doing his makeup.”

  Anya couldn’t help but laugh at her sudden concern. “It’s okay. I knew what you meant. Okay, I’ll drop by.”

  “I think you’ll like it. The makeup chair is like a confessional. Let’s see what we can get him to spill for your blog posts. I love them, by the way.” She winked and left Anya in front of Hanging On.