People will talk. Pictures could be taken.
Next to us, someone clears their throat.
I fight my way through a fog of lust back to hard reality.
When I pull away, Rooster’s face is fierce, hot, and primal, reflecting the desires at war inside me.
He sets me down gently but keeps an arm around my waist.
Greg’s disapproving manager face is a bucket of ice water down my dress.
“Shelby, you need to get ready for the duet with Dawson.” Although he doesn’t scold me for the public display of affection, his stern tone conveys the gist of his feelings on the matter.
“I have plenty of time. Gonna take at least thirty minutes before Thundersmoke goes onstage. Their set’s about forty-five minutes. Another half hour to set up for Dawson…”
“Don’t blow this, Shelby.”
“I won’t,” I insist, annoyed he thinks I’d squander the opportunity.
Rooster remains surprisingly quiet during our exchange. Once I’ve made it clear to Greg that I have plans, I tug on Rooster’s hand and lead him back to my dressing room.
“I’m so sorry. I originally wanted to leave with you after my set. I never expected…”
“It’s fine, Shelby.” He settles his hands on my hips and presses my back against the door.
I peer up at him. “Were you mad?”
“Mad?” He frowns, his gaze darting from side to side. “About what?”
“‘White Knight?’ What I said? Your brothers—”
“I couldn’t give a fuck what they think.” He strokes his knuckles over my cheek. “You were sunshine lighting up that stage. I’m so impressed with how much you’ve changed since the Tipsy Saddle.”
“You think I’ve changed?”
“Only in the best ways.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“What do you need to do to get ready for this duet?” His voice remains neutral, so I can’t tell how he feels about me getting up and singing a love song with another man. Not just any man either, but country music’s biggest sex symbol—not that Rooster would know that.
“Uh, well, first, I’d really like to check out the festival.”
He draws back, forehead wrinkled. “Can you do that?”
“I’ve never tried before. But I figure if I change my outfit and slap on a hat, no one will notice me.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Shelby.” He twirls a finger through my curls. “You’re extremely noticeable.”
“Please? I never get to see the crowd from the other side.” I clap my hand over my mouth. “Shoot. I need to bring my guitar with me for the hospital visit. How am I—”
He’s already slipping his cell phone out of his pocket and texting someone. “Birch drove the van. I’ll have him meet us in the back lot. We can load up whatever you need.”
“Really? But…?” I don’t even want to ask how he’s going to get me to the show the day after tomorrow because that’s where we’ll part ways, and I can’t even think about saying goodbye when we’ve barely said hello.
He flashes another don’t-worry-about-it grin. “I’ll scrounge up a vehicle one way or another. I got you, Shelby.” He gently turns me around and tugs the zipper of my dress all the way down. “Change. I don’t think we have too long before your ass needs to be back here to get ready.”
I shimmy out of the dress, toss it on the couch, and run into the bathroom to check out my makeup. Everything’s more or less in place. My hair’s a little wild but nothing I can’t fix later. I race out of the bathroom, grabbing the jeans I’d worn earlier, a tank top with a pair of kissing flamingos on the front, and a pair of red and pink Converse sneakers. “There. No one will recognize me.” I hold out my arms for Rooster to inspect my “disguise.”
He smirks at the flamingos. “If you say so. Hat?”
I have a ratty red ball cap I brought on tour for bad hair days. Country Strong is embroidered across the front in worn white thread. I gather my hair into a loose ponytail and pull the cap into place.
“Better?”
“I guess we’ll see.” He jerks his chin at my trunk. “What else do you need?”
I grab my bag of dirty laundry, praying he wasn’t kidding about the washing machine at the clubhouse. A few clean items, a gift pack for my Dream Makers visit, and other assorted things I like to have with me get shoved into a plain tote. “Anything else, I’ll stuff in my backpack.”
Rooster picks up my guitar case before opening the door.
I stare down at my sad little bags. “I feel like a vagabond.”
He slips his hand around mine, guiding me through the crowded backstage corridor leading to the loading dock. “Why?”
I hold up my laundry bag, which actually has “laundry” printed on the side, and the other plain bag. “Not exactly fine luggage.”
“You really don’t need it where we’re going.”
No one stops us on the way out. My pass is firmly around my neck and my cell phone’s in my pocket. Still, the feeling that I’m a naughty kid sneaking out after curfew clings to me all the way to the parking lot.
Rooster checks his phone again. “He’s here.”
A plain black, windowless van idles next to one of Dawson’s tour buses. As we approach, a husky man with the same Lost Kings MC cut Rooster’s wearing steps out.
“Hey,” he greets Rooster with a handshake, and lifts his chin in my direction.
“Thanks, brother.” Rooster nods to me. “Shelby, this is Birch; Birch, Shelby. I don’t think you two met before.”
“Hey, Birch.”
“Good show, Shelby.”
“Thanks.”
They arrange my stuff in the back of the van. A twinge of fear has me checking on my guitar twice before they shut the doors. I don’t like to be too far away from it.
Rooster seems to sense my dilemma. “Birch won’t let anything happen to it,” he assures me. Simple as that. No teasing or telling me I’m silly.
“Promise,” Birch swears.
We say goodbye and Rooster searches the grassy knoll around the parking area. “I think this leads to the lawn seating area if we follow it to the right. Then we should be able to get back into the pavilion. That okay?”
“I’m just excited to be out with you instead of cooped up in the dressing room.”
He takes my hand again as we hike up a gentle slope to reach the small dirt path curving to the right. “What do you usually do after your show?”
“Chill in my dressing room. Sometimes Dawson invites us to hang out on one of his buses.” I lower my voice because you just never know when big ears are listening. “Thundersmoke kinda keeps to themselves. We never really see them unless they’re onstage.”
“That’s…weird.”
I shrug. It had seemed odd at first, but I haven’t given it much thought lately.
We come to an eight-foot high chain-link fence and stop. Farther down, there’s a gate and Rooster leads us toward it. One flash of our passes and the guard lets us through. We hit a sidewalk that leads to a semi-circle of tents selling everything from thirteen-dollar cans of beer to cotton candy.
“You sure you’re not hungry?” he asks.
“Nope.”
To our right, a couple of booths are set up selling merchandise for the bands. Dawson’s is obviously the biggest and busiest tent. But mine has a longer line than I expected stretched in front.
Rooster squeezes my hand. “Think they sell a Shelby Morgan T-shirt big enough to fit me?”
I giggle at the thought of him in one of the pale pink T-shirts. “Probably not. Maybe I’ll have some input on the next batch and they won’t be girly pink.” I point to the flamingos on my shirt. “I want to design one with a flamingo in cowgirl boots.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Cute. Maybe it should have a little guitar too.”
“I like it.” And I really like how he embraces my idea instead of mocking it like other people have.
; He pulls out his phone again and sends a quick text. A few seconds later, he searches the lawn where the “seats” are made up of blankets and chairs people brought from home. Greg said the inside tickets sold out the first day they went on sale. Lawn seats were still available until a week ago, and now I see why. Every available square inch of grass is claimed by someone or something.
“They’re to the left.” Rooster points.
Even though the lawn’s crowded, somehow the bikers have managed to maintain a wide swath of grass between them and everyone else.
Rooster presses his finger to his lips as we creep closer. Murphy laughs when he spots our approach but that doesn’t provide Jigsaw with enough warning before Rooster jumps on his back, tackling him to the grass.
“Motherfucker!” Jigsaw shouts, pushing Rooster off him.
Rooster rolls to the side, laughing. “That was too easy.”
Heidi shakes her head as she approaches me. “Are you supposed to be out here?” she whispers.
I shrug. No one seems to be paying me any mind. “So far, so good.”
“You were great.”
“Thanks.”
Trinity joins us and gives me a big hug. Her husband, Wrath, nods at me.
Heidi reintroduces me to her brother, Teller, and his fiancée, Charlotte. Rooster points out everyone else. Sparky gives me a bleary-eyed smile when I lean down to hug him.
“Best concert I’ve ever been to,” he whispers in my ear.
“Aw, thanks.”
Everyone’s so careful not to say my name, I wonder if Rooster warned them ahead of time not to blow my cover.
Trinity takes Rooster aside for a few quick words. He nods and glances at me, then calls Heidi over.
Teller taps the cooler next to him. “You want anything?”
“I’m good.”
Rooster takes my hand again. “We need to get you ready.”
“We’ll walk with you,” Murphy says. “We’re going back to our seats anyway.”
“I see how it is. Too good for us,” Ravage calls out.
Ignoring them, Murphy takes Heidi’s hand and leads her up the hill to the sidewalk.
“You’re coming to the clubhouse later, right?” Heidi asks Rooster.
“Yeah. Trinity said we can take Z’s old room.”
Heidi wrinkles her nose. “Well, if you want to stay at our place, you’re more than welcome. Either way, we’ll catch up while the guys are in church,” Heidi promises. “Hope and Lilly are excited to see you again too.”
My heart kicks up. While I haven’t wanted to acknowledge it, I’ve been homesick. Remembering how welcoming the ol’ ladies of Rooster’s club were last time leaves a warm feeling in my chest. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone tomorrow.
First, I have to survive this duet with Dawson Roads.
Chapter Eleven
Rooster
Taking a video of my girl singing a duet of what’s apparently a ‘let’s fuck all night’ song is not on the list of things I wanted to do. Ever.
Yet here I am, standing to the side of the stage, preparing to do just that.
I must like Lynn.
And I must really like Shelby.
Jigsaw elbows me and leans in close. “You feel like a cuck, getting ready to film her singing with some other dude?”
Little bit, honestly. “You’ve been watching too much porn, asshole. I’m not a cuckold. They’re singing, not fuckin’ in front of me.”
“Yeah, but what if they get all hot and bothered—”
“Keep runnin’ your mouth, I’m gonna end you,” I growl. Why the fuck did I give this bonehead the extra pass Greg slipped me earlier?
“Be serious. You think she’s banging him?” Jigsaw lifts his chin toward the jumbo screens lit up with Dawson’s pretty-boy face. “I mean, they’re out on the road together. They’re lonely. Things get a little hot—”
“No. Stop running your mouth, dickface.” Fuck, I hope not. “Her mom wants to see the duet.”
“Her mom’s hot, right?”
“Would you shut up?” I gesture to my phone. “I don’t need your stupid commentary in the background.”
He pulls a fake zipper over his lips but continues laughing.
Dick.
I move closer to the edge of the stage to capture the best angle. I’ve also asked Heidi to record it since she and Murphy have tickets smack in the middle only a few rows back. Lynn will get the backstage and front-and-center experiences.
Dawson finally ends his eye-rolling bro anthem dedicated to tailgates, tan lines, and tiny cut-off shorts—not that I don’t enjoy all three things myself, but to devote an entire song to them? Christ. People really pay money to listen to this shit?
“Now, I got somethin’ special for y’all.” Dawson wipes sweat off his brow and squints out into the crowd. “I’ve been lucky enough to have this little lady on tour with me for the last couple months. Tonight, I asked if she’d help me sing a certain song.” He pauses and the crowd screams their enthusiasm. “Give a big, warm welcome to Miss Shelby Morgan!”
I hit record, expecting Shelby to enter from the other side of the stage like she did earlier. But the giant silver platform that raised Dawson from under the floor earlier rises again. A cloud of smoke billows through the air. As it clears, Shelby’s standing at the top of the platform, so tiny, but looking ready to kick some ass. She slowly struts down the ramp, one arm raised in the air, waving at the crowd. “How y’all doing?”
Dawson meets her at the end of the ramp, taking her hand like he’s escorting her to a fucking ball.
I’m white-knuckle gripping my phone but keep on recording.
The lights dim, and Dawson’s band slides into a slow, seductive melody. Dawson releases Shelby and starts crooning about a one-night stand he doesn’t want to end.
I refuse to acknowledge the parallel between his lyrics and my own relationship with Shelby.
Jigsaw side-eyes me with this pitying expression I want to punch off his face. I shove him to the side instead.
Shelby belts out her part of the song, staring at Dawson with a doe-eyed expression that I have to remind myself is all part of the performance.
When the song finally, mercifully ends, I take a breath.
“Shelby Morgan, everyone!” Dawson yanks her close and kisses her cheek. “Thank you, darlin’.”
I press stop on the recording.
Jigsaw slaps my shoulder. “Good luck with that, brother.”
“Fuck off. It’s for the show.”
His mouth twists into a devilish smile. I brace myself for whatever’s about to come out of his foolish mouth. “Well, look at it this way. She can’t ever give you shit for working with Stella’s company.”
Fuck, I hadn’t given the club’s budding porn empire a lot of thought lately. Since marrying Lilly, Z’s shifted most of the responsibility for running it to me. Which is fine. I don’t have the same history with Stella he has, and I certainly have no interest in developing one.
“I’m not worried about it.”
He searches the stage again. “This whole tour’s one big ol’ sausage fest. Shelby’s the only chick?”
I nod toward Dawson, who’s moved on to a song about bonfires, boots, and big trucks. “He’s got backup singers.” I tug on Jigsaw’s pass. “Maybe this should’ve gone to Heidi.”
“Nah., I got your back.”
I snort at that. “You obviously haven’t seen Heidi swinging her hammer.” I wave at him over my shoulder. “Come on.”
The security guard recognizes me from earlier but gives Jigsaw a longer inspection than required. Guy must not enjoy his good health.
Shelby’s signing things for a group of fans. Half of them are men with worshipful expressions on their faces. I swear to God, one of them is a grown-ass man with a plushy-looking brown bunny backpack slung over his shoulder. Now I’ve seen everything.
I place my hand on Jiggy’s arm, stopping him.
“Behave,” I war
n.
We park our asses against the wall across from Shelby. She glances up and smiles at us.
“Shit, she’s cute.” Jigsaw rubs his hand over his chin while giving my girl a long, slow eye fondle. “I get why you’re so—”
“Don’t,” I warn.
When she finishes with the fans, she bounces over to us, a happy smile lighting up her face. “What’d you think?”
“You were the best part of Dawson’s whole show,” Jigsaw answers with his hand in the air like he’s swearing an oath.
I flash my phone at her. “Sent the video to your mom. Waiting for Heidi to send me hers and I’ll forward it too.”
“Oh my gosh!” She jumps up, looping her arms around my neck. “Thank you! I was so nervous, I forgot.”
“No problem.” I lean down and wrap my myself around her, tucking my fingers into the back pockets of her jeans. “Jiggy’s right. You were the best part of the show,” I add in a lower voice.
“Stop.” She ducks her head. “I was so shaking so bad, I flubbed a couple lines.”
“Couldn’t tell.”
She tips her head back and yawns, covering her mouth at the last minute. “Sorry.”
“You must be exhausted. Ready to leave?” I’m not sure if she’s supposed to stick around but I’m dying to be alone with her.
“Yes.” She unwraps herself from me and steps back. “Let me check with Greg. You guys can hang out in the hospitality room if you want.”
We follow her down the hall. Her dressing room’s been cleared out. Looks like most of her band’s gear is gone as well. “They pack up already?”
“Yup. We always do as soon as we’re finished.” She flashes me a quick smile. “No time to waste. The rhythm of the road keeps on rolling.”
Chapter Twelve
Shelby
Heart still racing from the unexpected extra performance, I follow Rooster to his bike. He hands me my helmet but before I strap it on, I reach up and touch his cheek. “Thank you so much for everything tonight.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure you did. It was real nice having you here.”
Rhythm of the Road Page 7