Still, he had a weird feeling tonight he couldn’t explain. Every town was different. Maybe San Jose had good vibes.
He’d written a song about her called “Brown-Eyed Butterfly.” It was about racial harmony, too. Jack would probably laugh his head off if he heard it, but Rodney would see to it the song went on one of their albums. He needed to take the upper hand with his brother, someday. In the meantime, he was too busy trying to keep up with the tour.
After autographs, selfies, and some exuberant hugs on the girls’ part—one of them even squeezed his ass—he tried again to leave. After he’d taken only two steps, Zach, their manager, waltzed in.
“Not so fast,” he told Rodney. “Get ready to meet your backstage pass.”
Damn. Somewhere amidst the onslaught of the blondes, he’d forgotten about that crucial part of PR. Some were great fans. Others acted obnoxious and nosy, assuming backstage pass meant permanent access to their lives. Occasionally, one was a sexpot, and, yeah, he’d hooked up with a few. Tonight, however, he just wanted to hook up with a hot pepperoni pizza and a good night’s sleep.
Zach made frantic gestures to stage left. “Come on out here, honey. These guys have places to go and people to see.”
“I bet she’s a dog.” With his chin, Jack gestured to the blondes draped on either side of him. “You missed your chance, bro’.”
But the backstage pass didn’t look like a dog. She was a long-legged, golden-brown skinned beauty with curly hair. His heart missed a beat.
She was…Dee.
Chapter Eight
San Jose, CA
Rodney paced in his hotel room. Would Dee show up? Please knock, honey. Please. But it would be better for his career and family harmony if she didn’t. The room was decent enough. It had wi-fi, a refrigerator, and a bed strewn with multi-sized pillows on a white spread. But it felt sterile and so damn empty after playing to an audience of adoring fans.
The last thing he’d expected was for her to appear backstage. At least it explained the funny feeling he’d had during the concert. The crowd was special because she’d been in it. Before Jack could open his mouth, he’d scribbled his hotel information on a napkin, thrust it into her hand, and sent her out the door.
Half an hour passed. She wasn’t coming. He’d never have the strength to do Seattle if he didn’t get some rest. His stomach growled. When was the last time he’d eaten? He plodded to the phone to order a pizza then kicked off his boots and sacked out on the bed.
When he heard the knock, he woke up, remembering the food order. Still half asleep, he hobbled to the door and opened it.
“Where’s my pizza?”
“What?” Dee asked.
“I ordered a pepperoni pizza.” He laughed as he grabbed her wrist and tugged. “Get in here, girl.”
Once he’d gotten her inside, he hugged her close, his knees weakening as he inhaled the unique fragrance of her hair—roses and class. She wore a cute turquoise dress with daisies on it. It ended above her knees, showing those legs he’d soaped up in the shower.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said.
He held her at arm’s length. “Why did you? To California, I mean.”
“Client business. A guy at the company I visited had a backstage pass he couldn’t use, so he gave it to me.” She looked down. “Besides, I wanted to see one of your concerts while I was conscious and not bleeding everywhere.”
Obviously, they hadn’t been able to forget about each other after Georgia.
“I felt you in the audience,” he told her. “I’m so glad you came.”
But, now that she was here, what should he do with her? Being alone with her and a king-sized bed—and a nearby shower—could lead to only one thing.
“I missed you,” she told him. “Did you miss me?”
In reply, he lifted her up and deposited her on the bed. There, he kissed her throat and lips. Both burned with feverish heat despite the air conditioning.
“What do you think?” he asked as he stroked the satiny skin of her thigh.
A knock, louder than Dee’s tentative one earlier, sounded on the door. He jumped off her and staggered toward it. When he opened it, a pimply teenager stood there holding a box. The scent of melted cheese and pepperoni surrounded him.
“That’ll be fourteen-fifty,” the kid said.
Rodney had forgotten all about the pizza. Dee had distracted him with…other hungers. When he thrust his hand into his pants pocket to get out some money, he discovered he had the world’s biggest hard-on. The delivery boy probably noticed, too.
Once he pulled out a twenty, he grabbed the box and practically threw the bill in the guy’s face. “Keep the change.”
As he closed the door, he realized the delivery boy could have been a reporter in disguise. He could have snapped pictures of him with the hard-on and Dee in the background, lying on his bed. Scandal was the last thing he needed to hit the papers and one of the reasons why he’d ended their tryst in Georgia.
He really needed to be more careful, but when he turned to set the pizza on the long dresser, the bed was empty. Only an imprint remained of their writhing bodies as they’d necked.
“Dee?”
She emerged from the bathroom. “I figured you wouldn’t want anybody seeing me here, so I went to freshen up.”
Relief sliced through the tension in his shoulders. “Thanks. Being a celebrity sucks sometimes.”
She eyed the box. “Can I have a slice?”
“You can have as much as you want,” he said, opening the lid. “I hope you like pepperoni.”
“I’ll pick them off.” She peered under the box. “No napkins?”
“I guess he forgot them. We could use toilet paper.”
She snickered. “Uh, that’s okay.”
“Welcome to life on the road.” When she looked at him with questioning eyes, he clarified. “It’s just an expression.”
“Well, it’s a far cry from the charity
